31 August 2010

when the cat and I have a disagreement we go on a love offensive, making extra efforts to acknowledge one another. yesterday I caught him sneaking out of the backyard and then at night while I couldn't sleep he came and slept on the bed beside me, which he never does. cat love cannot be overrated.

30 August 2010

late at night I hunch in child's pose trying to let a sense of impending something dissipate. my brain does somersaults and never will be too soon to be publicly reminded of the things I thought when I was psychotic so I've been quietly taking my morning pill then to knock myself out. I want to go back to school and back to working in a museum but I have so much failure on my side none of it feels good. quick, I need to do some vacation-y things. instead, yesterday I turned off the computer and read an introduction to Foucault's ethics, which I have never done for classes, and it felt perfectly safe and sane.

28 August 2010

one of my dad's golf buddies has a daughter with breast cancer. do I know her? I asked. Joanna, he said. She's not 25 I said, I went to high school with her. Radiation, double mastectomy, I lost my appetite. Fuck. I will send her a present but she was not my friend and I didn't know. She travelled and I saw her on the bus sometimes, she would tell me I looked great. She was beautiful, vivacious, dark hair, student council queen, the career counsellor's favourite.

27 August 2010

other things I silently close my ears to in yoga class: "massaging cervical vertebrae" and using my "nose like a paintbrush to make tiny centimeter wide circles." gross.
today: read curious george and the three-year-old had a meltdown. it became obvious that I am nowhere near as responsive as his good mother, though my biological clock be extremely noisy. I worry I am doomed to make depressed autistic retard babies who would rather shit their pants than ask me to take them to the bathroom.

26 August 2010

my slow-motion disaster unfolded and it looks like it is going to be okay. I am learning to play by the rules, I am learning how not to fail.

25 August 2010

relaxation exercises seem to trigger a ptsd-like mixture of agitation and fury in me, recalling all of the extraordinarily stressful events in my life when people told me to do some fucking relaxation exercises. it was a good thing we eventually got to the yoga tonight.

23 August 2010

I had a dream about walking through a park full of children to find a ferry boat because a bridge was looking very menacing as though it would kill me. When I woke up I looked for Boris. The world can never have enough sensitive and perceptive boys, they make life feel like living. I spent the day scouting escape hatches.

22 August 2010

i like octopus on my desktop. via ffffound and dethjunkie

21 August 2010

paper is handed in. what a disappointment. i am crying.

20 August 2010

butchering up some lovely academic prose. all that's left now is rearranging the final section (with half my brain). I'm not sure I'm actually offering arguments but there are points marching one after another down the page.
a subtle punning has slipped into my consciousness, presenting itself as the solutions to my more intractable problems - four/fore, a roast chicken sandwich, rescuing the cat from a dead mouse. This was the part of losing my mind that felt like I was seeing the truth. I hope it's just clouds passing through. This medicine has a naturalistic feel.

18 August 2010

The “Ode To Man” from Sophocles’ Antigone
by Anne Carson


Many terribly quiet customers exist but none more
terribly quiet than Man:
his footsteps pass so perilously soft across the sea
in marble winter,
up the stiff blue waves and every Tuesday
down he grinds the unastonishable earth
with horse and shatter.

Shatters too the cheeks of birds and traps them in his forest headlights,
salty silvers roll into his net, he weaves it just for that,
this terribly quiet customer.
He dooms
animals and mountains technically,
by yoke he makes the bull bend, the horse to its knees.

And utterance and thought as clear as complicated air and
moods that make a city moral, these he taught himself.
The snowy cold he knows to flee
and every human exigency crackles as he plugs it in:
every outlet works but
one.
Death stays dark.

Death he cannot doom.
Fabrications notwithstanding.
Evil,
good,
laws,
gods,
honest oath taking notwithstanding.

Hilarious in his high city
you see him cantering just as he please,
the lava up to here.

The New Yorker 16/08/10
whenever I see a little tiny house I think of myself living there someday. I have been walking a lot in order to keep my mental anguish in check. I never needed help with my homework in my whole life but last night my mother, who is a teacher, sat beside me and asked me to explain about what I had written so that I could write more. I've never been so calm when writing, I had been on the verge of tears. This morning my cat slept at my side, which he does rarely, pulling his paws over his face and turning his neck up to the ceiling, purring. So it goes, so I still need to do more.

12 August 2010

what I did (yesterday): arranged some wildflowers.
things I want to do: sleep

things I do not want to do: finish my paper which is half done

10 August 2010

I have been summoned for jury duty. Am I disqualified on account of being mentally infirm?

06 August 2010

I went to the show, and it seems that not only do I want Joanna Newsom to be my new friend, lots of boys really like her too. Joanna Newsom's beautiful harp broke a string early on, making for less low end harp which was disappointing, but her voice was clear and there was percussion, two violins, a trombone and a multi-instrumentalist arranger person. She had girlie roadies. I bet you didn't know that trombones were used primarily as instruments in church before Mozart made them symphonic in part of a church scene in The Magic Flute.

05 August 2010

I want to write something but really I just want you to love me.

04 August 2010

other circus tricks I mastered as a child

-walking on stilts
-making balloon animals (with googley eyes)
-arial somersaults on trampoline

03 August 2010

I like going to yoga where I pretend for an hour that I am a cat. I like having my focus narrowed down to just moving, or holding still.

It reminds me of my favourite part of synchronized swimming, which, incidentally, had nothing at all to do with smiling, synchronization, or teammates. It was the part where you put on a black bathing suit and recited figures, linked body movements requiring concentration and slowness. It was so boring to watch it's been cancelled from high level competitions now. Luckily the world is not yet bored of yoga.