6:31 p.m. on 2003-07-10

love stinks like dog shit

I had way too many weird dream snippets last nite to remember. Or, more accurately, to want to remember.

I finished An Hour Before Daylight by Jimmy Carter. That was an excellent book. Rural life in the 1930s, his mother was a working nurse, his father was always working in the fields. (I thought it contradicted nicely with whatever Dr. Laura has to say. Jimmy established himself quite nicely though his mother wasn�t always around during his young, formative years. (But I will grant Dr. Laura has some good observations.)) Though I got the sense, he did have many parental figures and it�s not that his parents were not around, but he did have to develop a sense of self sufficency early, I think. Also his discussions about race relations, sharecropping and the tenants lives, and small town life (school, businesses, main street, farming, gossip, helping passersby) were more detailed then I expected, which made it lively to read. Can there be any wonder why I love history with writing like that? Now to find a book that can keep me intrigued as much as that one.

I went for my walk but didn�t see the pretty cat, but I did see proof that a (perhaps small and yippy) dog was there. I also saw so many happy couples I wanted to puke. Between looking at dog poo and happy couples, I�d rather look at the shit. I hate public displays of affection, I hate hearing, listening, and watching anything about sex. As someone wrote in their journal (I can�t remember who or else I�d give them credit); I hate men and I�m not too fond of women either. My sex drive is low, which is a damn good thing because I don�t care about it anyway and haven�t for about 2 months. I�m disgusted with it. I hope it passes eventually. Is this normal? Bah. Every happy, hopeful person in love can take turns biting my shit.

Is it the end of July yet? I�ve been wondering what I would do if I don�t get into that program. And I really don�t have an answer yet. I should know by the end of July whether I�m in or not. If I�m not in, I have a few ideas, but they never pan out, at least they haven�t yet. If I�m in, then I won�t have to worry about what to do, just if I can afford to do it.

I�m not depressed, but I can�t define my feelings right now. I feel repressed, anxious, worried, hungry, alone, bitter, silly, stupid� and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on (and on what you might ask) and on and on and on and so forth.

Heh, whenever anyone asks me if I�ve been doing anything interesting lately, I think back to a Golden Girls episode (don�t we all) to when Rose broke a vase and Blanche was lamenting over it. �It was just a vase, that was a family heirloom that my mother gave me, that her great grandmother gave to her, made from the bullets that came from the gun that killed my great great great grandfather� and Dorothy says, �just grind the pieces into her hand.� Whenever someone asks me to talk about what I did, it�s like grinding something sharp into me and twisting it around to torture me. But really, I just think that�s a funny reference. Because I won�t have anything interesting to talk about until August. Unless something between now and then happens���.

Xxox

around to the front - what's next? huh? where to?

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