1:59pm 8/13/05

Last night was a perfect ending to this week... hot, loud, happy... just perfect.

When you're sitting stagnant in a fog your brain begins to forget what it's like to be anywhere else. Poring over the pictures in your heard, you recognize them as your own memories but you can't for the life of you remember what possessed you to do such things. You're baffled at the idea that you were at one time filled with an emotion or conviction so strong as to drive you out of your tides-polished shell and sing and dance or scream or cry or laugh until your whole body hurts... and that it was worth it.

You can't fathom expending so much energy for such ephemeral concepts as happiness or depression. Nothing is worth it and you simply don't care enough about things to bother considering further.
It's a dully unnerving paradigm: the knowledge that you used to feel so strongly for so many things and that this flatlining of your emotions happened so suddenly and without warning or forseeable cause. And, as you are nothing past an artist, there is no room in the world for your distant, vaguely pessimistic outlook on the world; your overwhelming disinterest in life.

But still, knowing all this you drive to work in a daze live day to day, ultimately tiring of even the feeblest attempts at squinting through the thickening haze that has settled in around you. You give into it. And you continue on in that way, unexcited and unperturbed, until something new comes along. A change in scenery, a gentle nudge into wakefulness, a fresh alpine breeze come down from the mountains to clear your head, open your eyes, silken your arteries pumping thick with apathy, unclogging your heart so slowed with disdain for living.

In this case, it is a rough salty scrub washing over your soul, pulling at the dead parts, loosening them from the fresh, tender parts underneath. It begins in relief. A vague relaxing of the muscles, a slight untwisting of the lungs, making way for a distant sense of excitement. You're doing it again. Remember?

You're going again.

Before we went on this trip, I could not for the life of me remember the last time I laughed so hard I hurt, even though it had only been a few weeks. It's funny how you forget. And I don't know if it was being in the South again, or being surrounded by people I love (though one important character was missing) or just being on the road again. Either way, I feel normal now. That is, normal for me. Nice and illogical. And smiley. A+.

The moral of this story is, funks suck a lot. And laughter truly is the greatest medicine.

~~~~

P.S. This is what I wrote on the 15th. Also what was proved true once more last night. Damn rich "famous" guys and their attitudes... This rant is rated M for Mature, due to explicit language and some sexual imagery. Or P for PISSED.

ink :: graphite