Okay, so that's not exactly true. I could wash the couple of dirty dishes that have accumulated. I could vacuum. Organize my books to be sold back. Take posters off the walls so that when I actually DO get to move into my summer room, it might not take me 4 weeks to pack and tote everything across campus. I could dust! Put away the clothes I rejected in my first attempt at becoming presentable this morning. Organize my shelves and throw out all the useless stuff (about 87% of their contents, right now).

Or I could sit here on my hindparts and sip my hazelnut coffee, enjoying the (finally!) spring breeze coming through the window, and read books.

Man, I love me some hazelnut coffee. And the breeze isn't bad, either. :)

"there are ghosts from my past who own more of my soul
than I thought I had given away
and they linger in closets and under my bed
and in pictures less proudly displayed"

I really feel like I identify with that lyric.

But then, when I think about it, I really don't identify with it at all. It just sounds poetic, and I get . . . sucked into the delusion of poetry, or something like that.

I think I just have this weird addiction to poignancy. Like, some deep part of me wants to be bittersweet and dramatically desperate. It's really strange, as if my life has been too good and I just can't take it, I have to try and make it more tragic somehow. I used to wish I hadn't been a good little church girl who'd become a Christian at an early age and never done anything really wrong. I wanted to have a history, some huge heartwrenching woeful tale about being stuck in drugs and alcohol, of committing murder or something, and then being brought to God by some powerful, mystical means. Like, the fact that I had no story like that somehow made my faith less . . . faith. As if mine wasn't a good story unless it was worthy of a bestselling novel.

I don't really know what my deal is. I just have some nearly-unhealthy attraction to drama and depth, and so I feel like I can identify with profound things, no matter what they are.

Which is good, I suppose, unless it means that I find myself in the deep revelations of a Buddhist priest at the same time that I identify with every U2 song ever written and find a deep meaningfulness in the simplicity of a 4-year-old's words.

Or maybe THAT is really what's good, to feel touched by so many diverse and distinct things. I dunno.

I'm such a weirdo.

fore :: aft