Originally uploaded by a delicious fairytaile
Sit in a cafe for an hour. Watch the strangers walk by and as they pass, try them on, like a new jacket.
I love you echoes in your ears. What would he be like to talk to? Why would she be perfect? Would you walk on the beach or have long uncomfortable silences where the time was marked only in tears? Not because you want to posses the jacket, but because you're curious how it feels on, how it falls, why it's sitting in the corner of a dusty second hand shop or thrown across the trunk of an expensive car, patches and all.
There's a tension across my shoulders that I don't quite understand yet, and might just be tiredness. We're almost through the top heavy, assignment due every day of class portion of the film course and I just need to finish the take home exam for the theatre course by wednesday. I like having rapid-fire deadlines, but I've noticed that our class has decreased in size again, and a few people have that haunted, sinking look. I'm still really on holiday; I haven't not had a job for this long since I was...13 I think. It's odd, and I'm going to end the lack soon, but I am enjoying it.
I've almost learned the first cadenza for the Mozart concerto, which makes me happy, and I've changed it a little, so it sounds a bit nicer - I might take out some of the weird trills as I can't see them ever sounding anything but akward, but I'll work on them a little bit more before killing them - maybe it's just me. I'm a little stumped on the cello, as I'm starting to get a sore wrist after playing, which is no good - it might be time for another lesson or two to keep me from developing bad habits. I need to write a letter to an old friend, but how to start? Perhaps in the middle, that always seems just odd enough to shake out any writer's block/uncomfortableness.
I'm distancing myself again, which might be good, I guess. I feel the return of the dryness, but it never lasts long now. There is something to be said for the simplicity of having clearly defined beginnings and endings, as my superego would no doubt argue, but I'm not happy with an approach that feels to me like a construct. Nothing new there, I suppose, but as usual, I'm mulling things over without really forming the thoughts. I have two large things to accomplish within the next week or two and then Catfish, so really I don't have time to think too much, but it's both a procrastination device and a destresser for me.
The retelling of day to day events, the little mundane details and rambling list of things to do; boring, maybe, but these moments are the things that make me. I used to hate it when my mom would come home after working at home depot and insist on telling me about this or that customer, the stupid boss, the shoplifter, all the boring-to-me-funny-interesting-to-her moments. Now I do it to her and notice, and I do it to people I know, and notice. I've always tried not to, because it bothered me, but now, occassionally, people tell me that I keep things to myself, that I'm closemouthed or even secretive. It's not that I want to keep things from people, just that I've always assumed no one was interested. It is nice to talk of little things, but I'm afraid of common courtesey standing in the way of annoyance. Each sentence is a world of discussion in itself, some I can't finish, others would never end.
