Not So Steady.

Today was yet another day littered with light misty drizzle, exploding with unending stillness- where the rain wouldn't let up nor actually become something. It would only suggest the idea of rain, casually coating people's hair and clothing, listlessly littering the edges of everything. And I stood at work, wandering, wavering, gazing out the window, wishing I was anywhere else. I stared at women with faces which were cut, pulled, placed. I stared at them disgustedly, glaring. Those foul creatures. And I claimed, more than once, and seriously so, "If everyone who ever had surgery for purely cosmetic reasons would just fall over and die now, I would volunteer to go around and clean up the bodies."

How is it that people can be so shallow? That who they are is so defined by how they look that they would sooner give up their bodies to plastics and scalpels than actually be a person or learn anything about themselves. I think of this and I think of the life you live isolated, mostly, from these people. And I wonder if I would rather see them, broad as the gloomy day, or hide from them beneath papers and the past. I suppose it's rather the same thing, that the past is just like now, that people have always been frightened, meekly peeking out from behind their own eyelids as if from behind a curtain, on a stage.

I sometimes peer out into the darkness and wonder what it is I'm doing, mascarading as someone who lives a life outside of words. As if I am capable of understanding anything without promptly putting it properly in paragraphs, in phrases. The more I force myself to sit here, staring, at the blank, buzzing screen infront of me, the more I articulate the things I would often rather forget. I feel so responsible for people, I find it ridiculous. Everyone I've ever actually known I feel somehow responsible for. Because the second I know someone I feel like I have some objective insight into their personalities and I can better help them to understand themselves. Unfortunately, I often forget that most people would much rather meander motionless through a life they don't understand than take the time or effort to change, or even understand. I give so much weight to the few who do; they carry me through.

I can hear the mice run amok through my apartment. The sink is dripping steadily, every few moments. I am trying to ride on all the words which came before these. I am not so steady myself.

I dreamed about some strange sort of heaven and hell. There was a concubine of some kind sucking me down but at the same time I didn't know if this fellow, with whom I was in love, wanted to go back to heaven or to hell. I couldn't even tell which was more pleasant. Except this creepy concubine was in the lower level of this Alice in Wonderland-esque world and I figured that was hell. Now that I write it down I realize that I've had a dream which took place here before. I remember the long winding road with the yellow hills to each side. In the other dream, which I must have had 5 years ago or more, I was trying to get somewhere which I thought would be the finale of the dream but I was in a wooden wagon and nobody was pulling it. These dreams are all so symbolic. I wish I remembered more.