--taken from A.O. Scott's review of Inception, mostly because it was funny and strangely apt maybe/probably not.
Mostly I feel twitchy, not quite melancholy. But there is this overwhelming thing cast--like a rodent made of wires, and how the cave of the torso is carved to exist in space of any place. Always empty. Unable to hold.
I think perhaps, partly fallout from the weekend, but more than that--fallout from everything. What I remember from random summer weekend afternoons when I was nine, or from knowing all these pieces I need to keep in place, to be careful, to worry even more about all things, at the same time and yet not worry about anything because ultimately I have no real control.
I'm not making sense. Tread my shoulder through thick muck, that would feel right.
I was telling Aiko today how I just remembered again that I want to take an undergraduate creative nonfiction writing workshop in Spring--hopefully there is one available that fits in with my other classes. For some reason, remembering this brought be a great relief and comfort. It was peculiar.
And then I can't remember what it was like to be in school anymore. I can't even imagine Fall semester (which is coming up). Like, I was in school? I read things and talked about them (not really)? Other students? Book-learning? Huh? I've exploited myself and vomited and the same time, somehow in a Prometheus punishment.
I do not feel like myself. Slovenly, no--something else. Here: I haven't really cooked in a long time, I need a haircut, my clothes every day are a mess and I feel like a total slob. I know that I don't look it but I only feel so lusterless. I want to feel good, for myself. So I keep telling myself: August, August, August.
I know I should be excited, but I don't feel anything like that mostly because I can't really comprehend. Or simulate what it would be like in my mind. Unable to dream something that wonderful. Don't get me wrong--I know it will be great, and it's happening, and it will make me really generously happy, but right now, it's just wire-rodent for me.
The not-really-eating thing is taking a lot from me. I haven't had money to really get much in ways of sustenance, and I've been living off free food that I find/keep from work functions, then skip dinner. I don't feel starving or hungry, but today when there was a free food announcement (usually sent out after meetings to the work community) and I got half a vegetarian sandwich and some chips--my body was doing this crazy tremoring, weak thing. I felt like a lost homeless trying to come home.
I know this is not good. And it's not for that much longer. But even in this brief course/bout of this, I feel disconnected from myself. As though the stake which kept me with me got unearthed, a splinter buried in some other insignificant sweater.
Maybe I just mean to say that I'm sad and I want to go home, but I don't have that place. Or feeling.
I don't even feel anxious about this lost-ness feeling anymore. Not even resigned. Mostly, just looking at the feeling from outside of myself, trying to read it, as one's fingers traces faint grooves in a slate's surface.
Does that mean I'm losing my emotions?
JJC said something random today about how people can't become un-famous, only infamous. And I replied that maybe it could work if the person disappeared and anything about the person disappeared (things, stories, pictures, everything referenced on the internet)--that's not really possible, but maybe if that could happen, then a person could be un-famous.
So when I say, losing my emotions, I mean growing un-emotions. Not emotionless . . .
But just, maybe. Blanched. A non-physical/material albino.
