I was thinking about my loafe family tree idea and I wasn’t sure about the roots. Who would everyone in the tree stem off from? And I decided it should be me, walt whitman and the internet. this trinity makes up the whole, the loafe we know today.
so it’s true that I’m feeling a bit more prolific these days. At the very least I am feeling the need to write, regardless of my follow through. It’s good, I suppose, since I like writing and all. But I know me and I know my habits and tendencies, and when the urge to write is this steady and strong it’s because I’m feeling pretty low. There are all sorts of very valid but very temporary reasons why I might be feeling crappy, reasons outside my normal cynicism. Because I’m not talking about my everyday life-sucks-I-hate-George-Bush-the-weather-is-lousy-I-need-more-candy crappy. And it’s not just a matter of being patient while my life settles into place here. No, this is the kind of crappy I’m not so good with, the kind of crappy that I have no room, energy or time to deal with anymore.
Now, I’m not talking CRAZY CHRISTA from a long time ago. We’re light years away from her, thankfully. But I feel itchy, you know? A chilly, tingly hum in my bones.
It’s all these little things knocking me off balance, things like not being able to sleep so well, finding myself distracted, staring off into space too much during the day, losing interest in the things that normally make me happy (like TV!), getting too easily frustrated with Ryland. My dreams lately, while not bad, are filled with too many old things, faces and places shaking off the dust, stretching their limbs, poking around where they don’t belong. It’s too much.
This is me. wandering eyes, wandering mind, wandering heart.
Maybe I just have too much time on my hands right now. I need a job. I need school to start. I need it to stop fucking raining already.
all this water lately, water water water. what is she trying to tell me? water.
water.