Today was rather productive, in some ways more than others. I didn’t finish the painting, yet decided on the three walls red, one white style. The wall with the door is white, my mind convincing itself that it could mean or symbolize some kind of freedom, colorless, or perhaps waiting to be colored in, my future.
The colors, eggshell in finish. Eggshell is like painting a thin coat of plaster on a surface, expecting yes, it would be porous if you poured something on it. It’s like touching a chalkboard, though not so hard, this eggshell thing. The dude at the hardware store gave me a red that had primer in it to boot, therefore saving my ass labor and frustration at painting and painting and seeing right through it.
I understand what my roommate spoke of, having been here alone all day. It is quiet, lonely. Earlier this evening I had tea with my neighbor. We spoke and spoke and spoke. And I realized I was divulging personal feelings about my family to him for some reason. Only to later examine it all and realize that not having anyone to listen to me aside from E to any great degree allows me the space to say lots of messed up or personal things in efforts to communicate. It is never quite reciprocal, given that people must be slightly appalled at the ease with which I do spit shit out. But I never expect any reaction, and would probably be much more comfortable to not have any at all than to have anyone say anything.
I am so tired. Took the lisinopril for the first time in a month, and it has made me want to pass out.
I guess I should do that. So much to do tomorrow.
kicks.
August 26, 2005 at 12:46 pm
I understand what my roommate spoke of, having been here alone all day. It is quiet, lonely. Earlier this evening I had tea with my neighbor. We spoke and spoke and spoke. And I realized I was divulging personal feelings about my family to him for some reason. Only to later examine it all and realize that not having anyone to listen to me aside from E to any great degree allows me the space to say lots of fucked up or personal things in efforts to communicate.
It is for the exact same reason that I recently told a bovine shoe salesman of my desire to commit suicide.
He apologized for not having the shoes I wanted.
I explained to him: “Oh, it’s not the shoes. It’s my life.”
August 26, 2005 at 4:22 pm
Franthith
Exactly. I told the orthopedic’s secretary when I first made my appointment: “This is ridiculous, perhaps I should just put a bullet in my brain”.
I tend to open up to the wrong people at all the wrong times simply because if I had a vested relationship with them (ie, a friend) then I would expect that the stuff I would say would be pegged as negative and they would go away.
With strangers you can tell them virtually anything without fear of rejection. Because oftentimes it’s not as if they asked in the first place.
I miss you Francine. My room is painted the bloodiest brightest red right now. Not saturn red, but pretty fucking close.
Many hearts to you.
August 26, 2005 at 4:31 pm
I tend to mentally spew to strangers as well, though not so much lately ’cause there’s no one here to talk to. :/