inertia

inertia @ 2007-08-09T11:26:00

2007-08-09T03:29:47Z

I'm sad. I grieve for him, for the things he isn't. So I suppose I grieve for myself, for the death of an idea I had kept in cotton wool, held close to my chest as I slept, nurtured with my own strange incubating thoughts; none of this has anything to do with him. But I am sad anyway, & I wait patiently for this grey cloud to pass over.

sunday morning like a lead balloon

2007-08-05T04:04:43Z

With one clean sweep the day can become new. But I stay in bed and turn down the invitation. There are more interesting things inside my own head than exist out there today, and anyway I have to be at work at 3 and when will I get my time back, if i give it to the beautiful day outside, out of compulsion?

Old habits die hard, but I am clinging desperately to the new habits trying to make them old so they stick. Last night's mediocre outting and its stunning display of moorish, outspoken neophytes burned into my memory glowing like a radioactive chemical leaking away into the past but not quite fast enough. I have images of myself squawking and flailing like a puppet that render the whole world meaningless, but it may not have happened that way. Still, I feel down and that remains the only plausible explanation. Other than him, of course. There's always a him, or I expect I invent one to deflect matters with historically-acceptable explanations. A Him. Who is to be my unlikely Adam today..

inertia @ 2007-07-31T16:36:00

2007-07-31T08:37:36Z

You know what I think?

I think you’re terrified that someone’s seen you. Really seen you. And you’re backpedaling as fast as you can trying to get back to Before , because that was more comfortable. It’s too late, you can’t, but you try anyway. You’re a stubborn one. You won’t be pushed around, even if it’s good for you. So there you sit night after night amusing yourself with this or that, but not with the real stuff, what could change your life.

And when you said “you can trust me, you know”, it turned out I couldn’t. You’re not strong enough for my trust. It’s heavy and it weighs you down, it’s broken you in two.

That’s what I think.

inertia @ 2007-07-27T13:00:00

2007-07-27T05:02:53Z

Careless as it sounds, shifted from all this is that crud in your head you
watered daily, it has grown into this colossal monster, snarling
snapping at your heels & now you’ve gone over your mind’s edge with
grief, running like a fugitive through pouring rain to escape –
escape what? Only the bunch of soaked letters in your pocket
attest to where you’ve been and the fuzzy neon lights your
splattered way like a drag-net. Halfway up a hill you
lose your will to live & stop mid-step wondering: what can possibly,
possibly be done about this? Traffic pelts air clinging whip-shod frozen,
wraps you in its static, strives to blind, your lungs will explode, your heart
somewhere down there with your shoes, lose this, you think & a howl
starts up in your chest; it’s going to be there a long time. That night
you fell beneath me like a pedestrian & me riding on oblivious to the
falling, the crumbling, the arrest in arbitrary space, the unsaid
the unfurling ends, the insinuated light of some kind. Why did I let you go
Out alone with trembling knees alone
when all the exhales we kept inside would have saved us?

inertia @ 2007-05-08T19:29:00

2007-05-22T11:42:09Z

I have tried reasoning with myself but it simply will not be; tomorrow I am going home. She has packed the bags. She has decided on everything but an exit strategy. She does not care if they think she is weak, irresponsible maybe, she toys with the idea of getting work done first, so as not to look bad. But she hardly cares. She just wants to go. Go & leave a blazing trail of failure behind her, let it burn right into the sunset -- she hardly cares. 2 years would have been nice. But 2 years is November and it simply isn't possible. She will blow a fuse. She will smash the heavens, cleave open the sky, watch the stars fall out bursting like a battlefield, this exhaustion will spill itself like black ink over everything.

It is not even worth dwelling on how many decisions were wrong & wrong & wrong & wrong, a trail of wrongs into eternity, oh so many more, so many more just waiting at my fingertips to be brought into being. It is not the medication. I don't even want it. I feel self-destructive & it's been gaining on me all day, gaining & gaining until I start to shove down chocolate bars and cycle up hills in the dark with a potential lover jeering from a window. I hate this life. I hate it. I hate what I have become. A sellout. Pcking my little bags of trinkets and incense and rye bread to steel against the awfulness, only they are never enough -- everything melts down, everything collapses, my colossal efforts come to dust.

No. Tomorrow, afternoon maybe, I am going home. Morning, morning, she hisses. Morning. I cannot keep going without this thought. I collapse in despair without it, I cannot move.

There are other options. My own car. Yet more things to draw attention to myself, oh yeah. Fury unfurls at the very thought. I am livid, trempling with rage. I snarl & spit. I scoff at those suggestions, I do things differently all my life trying to be the 'same', enough now. I have reached it, the threshold of intolerance. I am through. I will not try anymore. I will stop trying to shove myself into moulds. I am through. There is not enough time for B, he will slip away and I will wonder why might have been

Oh why won't she hush. Why won't she settle. She's had a fright and a shock and will not calm down. She cannot decide what to do with the alarm. She refuses to set it. She refuses and claims she will not sleep with it ticking away. She's irrational and will not listen. She longs for the other hotel where she felt so comfortable. Nothing they do is good enough, she just doesn't care anymore. It is a drop of water in the ocean. She's been humiliated in front of her lover, on top of everything else. SHe knows those guys will never call her. She knows in her soul because the timing is all wrong, she neds to flee not start on new chains. She already escaped, Houdini-like, from one set when she never thought she could. It is for other things that she left, not for more of the same.

How to hold one's head high after another collapse. It seems heavy beyond belief. It lolls, it will not stay upright. They may say 'I spoke to her and she was fine', but I know it was only the front they saw, and I know the painstaking effort of those masks, how they suck out my soul. I can barely breathe in them.

So tomorrow, the suitcase comes with me. She insists.

Lost again..

2005-09-17T10:28:57Z

The darkening sky and the recent drops of rain just barely hanging on to the bare tree branch outside my window. The darkening sky. Darkening darkening. I want to be out there, not in here. But lethargy of the soul cripples me.

I have come a long way, but not quite far enough. Not quite far enough.

White lilies to make me feel better, but nothing from him. Just a letter, in handwriting I could not understand.

What now? A new beginning? Can there be?

I had made peace with the idea that I could go on alone. But these people who disrupt my sureness, fill me with doubt again and the falling through space comes back. Remember the falling through space? I never thought it would arrive again, not with him. Not now. our anniversary.

Still, my tears are for me, and for the blow that my ideas about the future have been dealt. Dreams? I wouldn't call them that. I had none. Nothing from my heart. Nothing from my soul. Just a vague idea, that it was the right thing to do, and within that I would find my strain of happiness. Not necessarily the conventional one.

But now I am alone. I gaze at pregnant women with adjacent men and wonder how, how did they do it. How did they arrive at that point. How did the script stay on track.

And so perhaps it is these ideas that I weep for, rather than anything else.

I was sure.

What happened.

Darkness. Just darkness, fast approaching.

I tell myself whatever I feel is fine, whatever I feel I should let out, ride it. But I'm holding back. I'm not feeling. Its kept inside, cryogenised. I am afraid for the day it suddenly becomes real, and the truth comes out. I am afraid of what it might be.

In the meantime?

A week of reprieve.

I want to put it off. I want to push it away. So thats easy. That's what I do.

Fear of making the wrong decision. Later, that will come.

inertia @ 2004-08-15T15:10:00

2004-08-15T06:58:13Z

I am most afraid that I will not live out my emotions fully. That what I feel, I will not have the tenacity to construct, to act out, to express. This seems to me the greatest crime.

When I slammed my car into a lightpole, quite accidentally, on that fateful day, this was the reason I did not want to die. Because I had not given expression a chance. I've been hiding my head in the sand. It is not like me to give up. But on that day fate tempted me and the temptation scared me like nothing on earth.

So now, after that, and after him, I feel something loosen and take flight that runs rampant with my life, frees me, and yet weighs me down with a new burden. It is the fine balance between flight and fatal plunge, maintaining this balance, that consumes most of my time.

Choices come before me and I do not make them on the usual grounds. I see no reason to. Their possibilities buoy me up. Their consequences weigh me down.

Today it is sunny, and I spent the night misbehaving but thoroughly enjoying myself, despite the doubt that niggles at me this morning.

I will walk to the library. The rows of books will console me.

inertia @ 2004-07-28T10:29:00

2004-07-28T02:30:13Z

Silence. Of course.

...

inertia @ 2004-07-27T11:07:00

2004-07-27T03:07:54Z

<whisper>
Time flies on this stuff.
Inhibitions go out the window.
I'm watching what I do as though I'm outside.
It seems surreal.
But it's actually happening

I think everything might just work out now...
</whisper>

Letter #2

2004-07-20T08:24:50Z

Hi

Not sure if you got my message on Monday, I couldn't quite remember your number. I heard the Pixies' concert on the radio and thought of you, so I just thought I'd drop you a line and see if you wanted to catch up for a drink sometime?

I'm a bit over what happened with us, and I don't see why we have to be 'not speaking' after all his time. It would be good to see you again, and maybe we won't end up best friends but something in between would be better than this.

Hope work is going well, and everything else too. I've had a bad fortnight, sprained by knee last week and ended up on crutches, yesterday I totally smashed up my car driving to work. So I'm kindof limping around, looking like someone's punched me in the face... always a good look.

Give me a call sometime...

Letter #1

2004-07-20T08:17:53Z

I've wanted to get in touch with you for quite some time now, and I realise at this point you may be wondering why I would bother. I've realised, after all this time, that there are things I need to say, and since it seems inappropriate now to just call you up, here it is -- a letter you can keep and laugh at when you need cheering up, show your mates ("look, my ex is a complete emotional headcase") and new gfs, etc. etc.

I regret the way it ended between us. I honestly think it would have ended anyway, but I really regret the way it did end, and the way I handled it afterwards. There were a lot of things I should have said to you and I didn't say them. Why not? At the time I simply couldn't believe what I was hearing. That you would want to end the relationship at that point, came as a complete shock to me. We'd just gone away together for the weekend, I'd met your parents (twice) and all your friends, we'd had a great time, and suddenly you wanted to end the whole thing. It was incongruous. The issue I brought up the night before after St John's was hardly something I thought warranted that sort of solution. So I guess I was in shock and my first reaction was to tell you to leave. It wasn't the best solution, and it's certainly not what I would do now, but it was all I could think to do at the time.

Following that, I waited for you to call. It was hell, but I waited. And waited. I couldn't cope with being here so I spent exhorbitant amounts of money and flew home for the weekend. And there were lots of things to distract me, but in the back of my mind I was still waiting. Surely, I thought, if he wanted to be friends, and he's insisted he does want to see me, surely he'll call. Surely he knows I'm upset, he'll call. Surely I meant more to him than that, he'll call. Only you never did. Stupid really -- I had things to say, I should have just called you up and said them. Then I wouldn't be harping on about it 3 months later, when it's long overdue.

Anyway, so the hell turned into a sort of dull purgatory after a few weeks and I became able to function again and even met another bloke (who turned out to be a dickhead) and shagged 2 other people (who were both very ordinary) and I got beyond the endless questions about why it ended (what on earth did I do? why did I not see it coming? Was it you, not me? Was it me, not you? and other cliches) and I got beyond the realisation that you will never call, you will never respond even if I sent you a text... and still I find you just won't get out of my head.

I still have this overwhelming curiosity to see you, speak to you. I miss hanging out with you. I wonder what you're up to. People talk about you and it's a relief to hear you're still around. Funnily enough, I feel now as though I could be friends with you -- and I often think that's the way it probably should have been -- only things are now so very very strange and fucked up that it also seems like a bizarre thing to want. Don't get me wrong, you behaved like a cunt. You never bought into that relationship. You kept talking as though we weren't even together, and you actually complained when people implied we were, or were actually happy about it (Brian, etc). I should have bailed you up a lot earlier. I should have told you to stop talking about all the people you'd shagged and start treating me like I wasn't just another name on the list (which, as it turned out, I was).

But you know what? Who cares. It's over, and who cares about the details. Right now, it just seems a terrible shame that two people who actually have things in common, in a town where that is reasonably hard to find, are not even speaking to each other. Frankly, it is ridiculous. I'm finding Kal has turned out to be not so bad after all (despite my negativity), I'm never short of mates and things to do these days and the last 5 months are sure to fly, but I do not want to look back and regret the fact that I fell out with someone I was once very close to and never took the opportunity to get back in touch and tell them I did actually miss them.

So if you want to have a drink sometime, that would be nice. If that's too much for you, that's fine, I won't hold it against you. I'm sorry if me writing this letter has just totally freaked you out -- you had to know I wasn't your average gal when you met me! We did have some great times, and I really am glad I met you, in spite of everything.

Take care and I hope you find whatever it is you want in life

xo

inertia @ 2004-07-20T16:06:00

2004-07-20T08:10:53Z

Of course I have this other side.

What did I think? Just because nobody saw the rest, that half of me had disappeared? Funny how you live in an environment for long enough and you start to believe you're a machine. I'm surrounded by them, after all.

He's gone away. All I have left are letters. My letters, to him. The ones I never sent.

I don't feel so desperate to get in touch anymore. It's started to fade. I realise we have nothing in common but a failed attempt at a love affair. Yet it weakens me, this failure.

The fading of a person from memory is easy sometimes, other times it's like tearing them out of your heart. You feel every absence so acutely.

inertia @ 2004-05-11T13:37:00

2004-05-11T06:03:15Z

Too much red wine last night and all day the kind of dullness that terrifies. Slipping. I seem to exist on various levels. Extroverted me, laughing loudly in the corridor, chatting in the kitchen. Brooding me, hunched at my computer writing emails, writing little notes to myself on the back of last year's calendar (putting them in my pocket to read later, so that when I do my washing I find these things saying "there is no height to fall from" etc etc). Motivated me, making phonecalls, calling meetings, full steam ahead. Peverse me, making dissident comments in the weekly meeting, snorting derisively, cynical remarks aplenty. Pathetic me, mopping up tears in the toilets, head down, red eyes, furrowed brow ("sorry i've just got some bad news), speeding off home in despair. Nice me, smiling little-girl-like at the old drafties in the drawing office, friendly as can be, merry-go-round laughter. Black me, incoherent, embarrassed, skulking from office to kitchen and back again.

Ruth Ostrow wrote an article about it once, I lost it, about how the ancient Greeks believed each person had a myriad of personalities that needed to coexist. How to stop one dominating, that's the problem. How to rescue the one that's gone quiet. How to stop them fighting amongst themselves.

So Tuesday. Another week barely begun and gone horribly wrong, but for different reasons than the last. All this spare time hasn't helped, moving from one department to another has been an onslaught of unstructured time that's nothing for my frame of mind. Feeling useless -- I'm accustomed to it by now. I've figured out other things. How to leave a lover. How to keep my emotions to myself. How to keep afloat when everything is foreign. Or maybe I haven't mastered those things at all.

It seems at distinct moments that everything falls down. Everything. It's the most I can do from falling into that spiral void and being consumed by sheer terror.

for anybody wondering...

2003-04-25T17:00:57Z

I live in Australia
I'm 24
I study politics
I used to have a real job, but I got sick and left
Now I'm broke, broker than broke, 4 grand in credit card debts and a mortgage to pay and bills coming out of my ears and a family who don't understand why I won't just work, like every other normal person. That it was working that nearly killed me.
I'm confused about what I want in life.
I am single, have been for 5 years, and have been obsessed with one of my lecturers for the best part of a year. He's probably 45 or more. I can't seem to shake it. I'm stuck on him.
I dyed my hair black a week ago, but now it seems too black.
My fingernails are bright red.
I lose my temper easily
I resent power
I used to be more creative about expressing it.
Right now I'm feeling ok. I have been ok much more often recently. Once upon a time I used to wake up and burst into tears.
I have a job offer to go and work far away, in a mine, hours and hours from here. I don't know if I'll take it. I can't take much more of this that's for sure.
But I like my life, in all its oddness
Sometimes I feel optimistic.
Sometimes I wouldn't move for days if I didn't have to get up to eat.
Sometimes I get this vibe, like a wave that I can ride
If I can ride the wave I can get out of here...

inertia @ 2003-04-15T21:01:00

2003-04-15T12:12:34Z

I've managed maybe 3 entries all year? And it's not because I have nothing to say, more that I can't justify the exertion of writing it down. But things have shifted a bit, a lot actually. Things seem to have acquired meaning, things have purpose, I have purpose. I start to thinkin terms of years instead of weeks or days. Things begin to flow, but flow in a direction I've chosen, not just a random path, defined in negative terms by what I can't do.

And now this.

I feel like things are beginning to unravel; not just the printer running out of ink and the messiness of having to write these papers, strange sleeping times, washing that needs doing, having to survive without a car..

these things I can handle, or I thought I could handle.
I feel a rising sense of panic. I'm out of my comfort zone. But in a bad way. And suddenly I don't know whether I'm ready to go back in, carve myself up into little bite size chunks again. God help me. It's tomorrow.

I'm furious that it's happening NOW. Of all times. God damn it all I had PLANS for the first time in years. I can't stick to them amidst all this crap. I can't bash out my place in the world with a sledge hammer when my will to move is crippled again. I'm backed into a corner. I'm gasping for air again. I can't believe this is happening, again again again. I want to jump out of my body. I feel frozen and dried up at the same time. My head aches. The clock is moving like it's in fast forward. 20 minutes to go and I've done nothing. I don't want to. How can I help being disappointed? Why is the line between disappointment and what you want utterly, so very fine?

I can't float. I'm weighed down and sinking fast, far too fast.

inertia @ 2003-03-03T11:28:00

2003-03-04T11:29:23Z

I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD I FUCKING HATE THE WORLD

inertia @ 2003-01-16T02:10:00

2003-01-15T15:28:06Z

I've never been terrified of a dream before. I've never had nightmares, not really. Slightly unpleasant dreams maybe, but never anything too awful. Recently there are some that have been bordering. Set in strange places under even stranger circumstances, and with a cast of everybody I've ever met, from primary school to distant one night stands. Being shot at, watching my family knowing they're about to die, depending on people i hardly know to save me, waking up all done up in knots and slightly terrified for the rest of the day...

probably part of withdrawal
Apart from the dizziness, it's been almost exhilirating. Although the dizziness has been fairly bad. Like a constant twitch in my middle ear, if that is possible, throwing me off balance every few seconds.

Now I'm looking for a job, not reall knowing what I'm doing, but not too afraid to try anymore, and actually waking up at 10am and wondering 'hmm, what will I do today?' and even the garden is growing. So I have to wonder how long it will last, being me. Here I am and its 2am and I'm still wondering. Hoping for another good day. Have plans. Will travel...

inertia @ 2002-12-21T20:16:00

2002-12-21T12:16:08Z

Awfulness
awfulness everywhere. Not one word written. And things coming towards me at strange angles. Food I can't digest. Words I can't comprehend.

A beautiful night and I'm here alone and this is where I would rather be. Only it's frustrating not wanting anything else.

I need to shift the goalposts. Get out of my comfort zone. But how do you push yourself over the cliff edge? How do you set yourself on fire? And I say fire, but fire is exciting. It glows. it crackles. More likely there will just be darkness, like a long narrow tunnel with no light in sight.

I remember standing alone trying to forget you...

so. awfulness.

inertia @ 2002-11-06T18:51:00

2002-11-06T07:06:23Z

Christ it's been ages...

half the people I used to know have stopped writing

why do people stop writing?
or do they just move?

Not writing is like not breathing. But then I don't always write in the same place either. Its like breathing in different air...

oh I remember now

2002-11-06T06:29:19Z

the lines on my palms are particularly deep today. I wish I could hide in one of them.

I simply cannot write my essays. I have complete and utter essay-writing block. The dates are agonisingly close but I can't budge. I change topics, I borrow more books, nothing works. The more I do the less I want to write. What on earth is this and why has it happened now. Now. When I need to just hand up these two and leave, get out of there, never go back.

she keeps coming in to see if I'm studying. Yes, i say. And the door closes and I put my head back on the desk. Now I'm modifying a paper from another subject, trying to make it relevant, and it's so simple, in fact it couldn't be more simple, but I'm caged in here. I feel harrassed, by the world, by her, by all this knowledge locked in these books that I don't have the patience to read. Jameson, Derrida, Lacan, Foucalt. I'm exhausted by the sight of them.

And this is all I do.

I'm going to somehow get these done, hand them up, just PASS the damn things and go away somewhere and maybe not come back, maybe settle there for a long time. Eventually the silence will drive me mad and I'll be forced to react somehow.

I just want to be remembered, after I die.
Whether I write a book, or blow up a building, I just want people to know my name.

massive sighs. one after the other. I've forgotten how to do this. I've forgotten how to make myself try. I want more than anything for everything to be done. But it's not enough.

inertia @ 2002-09-13T11:05:00

2002-11-06T06:18:32Z

Some things are a long time coming. That's just a fact. There's no guarantee that they'll even arrive, but you have to hope for them anyway, even when you don't know what they are. Sounds strange doesn't it.

The days are getting warmer, and when I skip outside -- because I do skip -- in my bright coloured layers I no longer feel like shrinking, and when I walk I forget how far I've walked and arrive at my destination in surprise that I'm even there. And I don't feel as silly any more, and I wonder whether it takes years and years of indecision to come to this point, the one they tell you about, those people who say "dance like nobody's watching", only you never do unless there really isn't anybody watching.

I bought new pyjamas, purple with bunnies on them, and they nudge aside the edginess that skitters around in my brain sometimes making me prowl about looking for something I can never find. I lounge in my pyjamas for hours, I sometimes put them on at 8 o clock but don't go to bed til 3am. Funny how new things make you feel.

Sigh.
I handed up a paper and now I'm psyching myself for the bad news and the crap mark. I'm bracing myself against the urge to quit and run away. There was a piece I handed in a year and a half ago for an english subject I did that I still haven't picked up. I don't know what makes you turn around and finally look your weaknesses in the eye. Maybe the realisation that you can't get rid of them?

inertia @ 2002-08-28T13:04:00

2002-11-06T06:18:00Z

Where is the end to this? Where is it and what is it? what form will it take? Will it be worth all of this? I'm losing my sense of adventure. People ask what is the primary aim of life. To feel better, I say. Or to feel ok. Or just to feel without being conscious of it. To feel effortlessly.

Bah.
I put myself on the line again. My scars are becoming beautiful.

inertia @ 2002-08-13T01:03:00

2002-08-12T15:11:46Z

I have often wanted to write simple music.

At times it strikes me that simple is the most beautiful, or rather, the type of music whose beauty is most easily relayed to the average person. I don't know why this is even important, but I believe part of the magic of good music is in sharing it, watching somebody elses face light up as the sounds echo off their eardrums.

Songs like Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day'. Or Concrete Blonde's 'Tomorrow Wendy'.

I know people who don't believe in the teaching of creative arts. I try again and again to make these people understand that talent needs to be shaped, there are rails you have to stay on to make sense of the raw energy running in your veins. Without it, you never learn the skills that enable you to create.

I've wondered for years why I don't spend time learning how to do the things I love the most, when I advocate this sort of thing.

inertia @ 2002-07-29T03:31:00

2002-07-27T16:34:33Z

Day of indecision. Week of indecision. Not knowing whether to want to live or drag myself through whatever life is moulded by the circumstanced that form around me. That's where religion comes in handy, someone said tonight, in relation to dying. I have no fear of dying. At least I like to think I don't.

It's hard to explain to people, what I'm doing.

At 6pm the cars were rushing by outside my window, I could hear them and the puddles they splashed up as they drove through the rain and I closed my eyes and felt fine, just fine, snuggled under a blanket. I didn't wake til nearly 9. I felt shockingly lethargic. I was supposed to be going out with a friend. In the end we ate dinner at nearly 10 and it was ok, not such a late night.

Now my eyes feel dry and heavy but my brain forges on, trying to make plans that my body can't accomodate.

Soon I'll do something rash. I'm on the brink. But is rash enough?

I saw an exhibition tonight, just passing by, I ducked in and stared at the canvases. They were beautiful and bold and daring. I'll buy some more paint on monday.

inertia @ 2002-07-23T22:31:00

2002-07-23T13:49:33Z

God Damnit

My last entry was lost when my computer crashed

Damn it all to head. I'm going back to bed.