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| Sunday, November 30, 2003 |
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The problem with staying home on a Saturday night is that your head starts spinning into a spiral of uncertainty, paranoia, and stretches of loneliness. I am usually relieved by the company of my brother but last night he decided to gallivant with friends. If I had known earlier that he went to the book fair in Rockwell, I would have dislodged my butt from the computer chair and squandered away my dad’s credit card budget on pieces of literary escape.
Instead I sit and stare at my map of the world. I should be finishing my MRR so that it will be done in time for Friday’s deadline - then again I am but a premier procrastinator. So here I go once more, gazing at the twists and turns of gray that dance in the liquid air. In between puffs and sips of rum-spiked iced tea (yes, I already told you I am an alcoholic) I wonder where the next few months will take me. January to May will be like a zephyr and I fantasize of the places I will experience. Various locations I will engulf like “kami-fuckmes, cure-my-rant vodkas, screw-you-drivers and bum cokes.”
“UH-OH” goes my computer screen and I rush to see who else is awake at 3am. Ah the Zigmeister in London. Not really an insomniac, in his timezone he’s actually at work bored as hell. He just returned from his native Bilbao and is still in misty la-la-land. I can’t wait. To pave the trail and take the roads less taken, especially by a Corporate whore/MBA graduate who presumably desires his or her tuition ROI within days after graduating. Do I have the audacity to ignore all that for a few years to cultivate something I’m unsure of? I wonder – ironically giving the analogy of driving behind the wheel - I wonder how it feels to force the gas pedal down like a heavy rock and speeding out of control. Or driving with nowhere to go. Sounds liberating, and dangerous. Coward.
Some people react before thinking. Some people punch then ask questions later. I speak then kick myself in the morning. I thought I had nothing to lose…by being honest and letting it go. What a dim-witted thought. In all other aspects I am a coward, but when it comes to sentiment I am like that car with no brakes. Self-extension, intensity and impulse are my calling cards. Maybe this is just my addiction to beating the odds. Wearing your heart on your sleeve is like gambling…with everything to lose.
Dream Interpretation session is scheduled tomorrow at 6pm. I’ve been trying to interpret my own dreams for the past months. I write them down as soon as I wake up, which could explain my consistent tardiness for 8am classes. Jung and Freud perceive dreams to be “transfers of random short-term memory traces into the categories of long-term memory” and some lightly call them exaggerations of insights from our waking state. Yes, I had dreamt of the deliberate bastard once. Everytime I read my dream journal I have a new elucidation to revel in. Lately I’ve come to perceive it as the significance of our interlude’s duration. I cannot say that my longest relationship is the “love of my life” simply because of its extent. I can speak of transitory affairs that have been replete with fervor and intensity amidst its fleeting reality. Quote cliché of quality versus quantity…my dream of the bastard reminds me that everything will end ultimately but I just hope I made some kind of dent in his life or I contributed to some of the intensification he has been seeking for. I dream…rather I hope that I will not be a forgotten like the flicker of a light.
“I draw it in, then exhale
The orange flickers tickle vision
Engulf a cancer through my lips
Like your sweetness, my absorption.”
- taken from the poem I wrote for the reading session last Nov.24 |
posted by maldita @ 6:56 AM
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