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magicforest
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My dog is calmly licking her bed for no discernable reason and I want to curl up like she does, content and warm, licking my bed, for no reason, except because I am driven by a primitive voice that it telling me that my bed is there, and I am there, and it would be so much better if one were licking the other. But there is too much dog hair and filth although I like a clean bed. Today my mother told me to recycle the cardboard box that had my sister’s computer monitor as it has been rotting there on our living room carpet for awhile now and it makes my mother self-conscious, what will the housecleaner think, so forth. But as I stared down at that box for some reason I imagined getting inside of it and reading there, safe and contained inside the familiar walls that smell that good smell of cardboard boxes that is strictly unique to cardboard boxes. But there’s no point explaining this to my mother, who wants it recycled, so I had to smuggle it into my room and then I covered it with a fallen poster which didn’t disguise it very well because it’s a very big cardboard box. I probably won’t sit it in and read there and then it’ll be too hard to smuggle it out and I’ll be stuck with it forever but there, I just got a pang of guilt, it’s been awhile since I felt guilty about inanimate objects—I used to be really bad, I couldn’t slam a door without softly apologizing to it and giving it a reassuring rubdown, don’t get me started on pillows) and it just occurred to me that I put in a closing bracket when there wasn’t a starting bracket, and that is maybe the story of my life. I think I identify with the box but I can’t explain it without getting metaphorical and only a complete fuck makes a metaphor of herself, because that is pretentious. Which maybe I am. All I know is I feel sad outside and happy inside or maybe vice versa and I’m hungry because I didn’t eat dinner and I think all I’m really looking for is someone to show prolonged concern. Which is really ridiculous because I haven’t needed that in awhile. There are all these things digging at me and so many thing to finish and I feel so sick of this charade and fuck all of it. I got the strangest urge today watching television to slide down to the floor and just pound my head against the coffee table, pound and pound and pound, even on the corner which hurts, just hit it so hard and so fast over and over. I don’t usually have masochistic thoughts but I really just wanted to hit my head against something. I mean really goddamn hard. It is so odd of me. And I spend the afternoon hoping Sohé will call and then when he does I don’t say a word. It’s not even a comfortable silence. It’s like I don’t want him to go, but the second he suggests that maybe he should go, or that he’s hungry or tired or busy, or even that he can only talk for twenty minutes, I want to tell him to hang up and not bother calling back that night. And part of me wants to tell him to never call back again. And then the other part of me wants him to get really angry and caustic and ask what the fuck is wrong with me so that it gives me an excuse to start crying and explain that I don’t know what is going wrong. Maybe I am bipolar or hormonal or whatever, although I’m not on my endo and…after school I was jumping around really fast and screaming and yelling all by myself because of sheer joy, and now I feel less than deflated, I feel imflated, like imploded but with air filling, like I’ve sucked into myself, a black hole. There are five million things on my mind all at once and I sort of want to just get everyone else away from me, hide, so they all ask where I went but I don’t tell them. Because really I’m just curled up in that cardboard box licking my bedsheet that is wrapped around me like a cape, naked and insimane and either masturbating or writing poetry or doing some else equally private and mortifying, and when I come out of my cocoon I won’t be a butterfly but a small moth, drawn towards that light, finding myself again and again in your arms, the arms of whoever I have in the back of mind, wanting them to be enveloping me, but at the same time wanting to be free. God, I’m confused, and I keep trying to bring this to a conclusion. Now I just came back and ate too much and I feel sick, really sick, but also good, really good, maybe normal again. So…endorphins huh.
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040121
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