wow – just when you think you’ve made some kind of crappy, throwaway entry, out come women from the woodwork afflicted with all manner of vaginal discomfort. Power in solidarity, girls, we’ll whip ’em yet!
Sadly, today I have nothing to say except that I’ve lately felt a bit like I’m living in a Joyce Carol Oates novel… not depressed, exactly, just… nothing. Nothing seems real lately, that’s maybe a better way to hit the nail on the head. Everything feels disembodied, and a little warped, like I’m in a dream. I have all this wedding planning to do, I have things to wrap up from my last job, projects to start for the new job, there’s the apartment move and the dress shopping and meetings and film screenings and all the rest, but I feel like I’m just floating along in all of it, not really paying much attention to what’s going on.
“We inhabit ourselves without valuing ourselves, unable to see that here, now, this very moment is sacred; but once it’s gone — its value is incontestable.”
And I’m not quite sure how to snap myself out of it. Everything has taken on a kind of thrumming mediocrity, everything except the gardens in the Fens, and all I care to do is sleep and read. I know that now is the time I should be bursting with ambition, and I have vague ideas about making a film or taking a class, perhaps just doing something insane – last week I had a vivid daydream that I woke up one morning and just took off for parts unknown, leaving my cell phone behind and bringing only the rotating five outfits I wear every day. I pictured myself chatting with line chefs in Texas and making friends with gingham-clad old ladies in Alabama. Then pulled on my “work pants” and set out for the day.
Sometimes I’m not sure that I even care that much one way or the other, but it kind of sucks to have time slipping around you like water.