womp womp. “the imagined gaze” makes it difficult for me to write free of judgments and biases but i shall try. it’s hard for me to write purely for myself though, which turns me to blogs, which makes me feel something of a ridiculous exhibitionist. but exhortation, exhortation. the ignition of my motivations have to cough and sputter like an aging motor vehicle just to even get close to circling around whatever it is I am “driving” at. Because really, this is what I do. Circle without ever quite nailing down what it is I am trying to say. Throw darts at the board of hypothetical possibilities. I am circling, always circling, and my horoscope says that I would do better to think when I feel and feel when I think. So what kind of bullshit is all of that?!
Maybe this is why I, as a Taurus, do not take such stock of my emotions since apparently I’d do better to wise up instead of emotin’ so damn hard. When I start to “feel” I get lost in this romantical world that feels biased and rose-tinted. When I think I become inflexible and harsh. BUT to be fair I tried thinking when I felt today and actually a lot of things made sense. Maybe next time I am thinking (HA) I will take better stock of how I feel. Considering every time I lay out my options realistically the other party usually suggests I check in with my emotions. UGH FML. I wish there were a way to marry these worlds like so many slow doves dipping.
I feel talentless in the realm of choosing a form (that’s a new one!) and susceptible to unsolicited influences. A lot of people have approached me for projects in the past few months and I’ve realized that for the future I must simply be very selective about my options. I will finish this play. That elephant. But “I am not a playwright” and this I agree with. I am a journal-er, apparently. Not even a poet? A poetic journaler. “I have no gifts.” I am bereft of action.
Back in a place where I am over the bodily. Funny how abstaining for a month or two clears your mind of “that nonesense,” those physical urges that would literally mutilate you from the inside were you not to indulge them at least occasionally. Or, let’s be real, self-operational on the daily. But I don’t know, I don’t feel like random sex anymore. I don’t want *one* partner per she but I want an honest relationship with someone who knows I will never lie to them. Because I wouldn’t. I do have crushes ATM. But I am shy and I like to be pursued so I wait for a text message, or a call. Nothing good has ever come of rushing anything in my experience. Especially now that our immovable planets are entering into a retrograde! And when exactly did I fall hook-line-sinker for all this astrology BS again?
I am motivated to return to Proust again this evening. Feeling unusually robust after cooking a REAL dinner with salad on the side. Perhaps the cusp of being 24 at last represents a semblance of a realistic life.
