I think I’m really over this blog. It annoys me immensely. It seems to be some sort of bloated caricature of the nitwit in me, which is the only part of me that seems to end up here. The flippant, unendingly whiny monster on these pages is not me. The cathartic thing to do, to allow simple words to simply say what I want to, would be to delete the whole thing and move on. Moving on seems to have become a lot harder than it was earlier. Life is easier when you’re in constant motion, never really staying in one place too long, not letting anything touch you completely. In the latter half of my teens my main concern was the inability to stay put and be in one place wholly. Now in hindsight it seems like some sort of inherent wisdom, now that I seem to be completely stagnant, very firmly lodged in the quicksand of a job that doesn’t interest me anymore but throws money at me every time I even begin to think about it, a number of important relationships undergoing awful changes and causing infinite stress and heartache, a city that I love but can’t seem to leave for anything.
It was Joni Mitchell’s 67th birthday yesterday and I spent time going through old photos and music, all backed up safely on ancient hard drives. I spoke to an old friend, very far away, who seems to not have changed in any manner. She continues to live from experience to experience and doesn’t feel the need to have any sort of long term continuity. She has a job ‘till December’ and wants to find another one in Geneva, only because she likes the city. I’ve forgotten what it is to live like that; with your heart constantly so full that it might burst any minute. I haven’t heard my music in years, though I did last night. It made me feel so afraid to realize that nothing’s changed, that I can feel like the same person just as easily, that I can disappear overnight.
This blog annoys me, because there is nothing being said. I seem to be surrounded by nothing being said, by deeply personal and important relationships which pay emphasis on social niceties and zero balls. It’s disappointing internet. My choices disappoint me, I don’t understand why I would choose to live like this where everything is a weak replica of what it could and should be. I don’t understand the need to engage from a distance but never fully participate. I don’t understand most of it and nothing enrages me as much as not understanding something. Nothing infuriates me as much as the condescending manner in which people attempt ‘managing’ me and the way in which I don’t say anything and roll my eyes and ignore it. The fact that I allow it only reminds me that I probably don’t care enough to correct the situation, I’m not too concerned with outcomes, only engaging never participating. This blog (poor thing) has become some sort of symbol for all of this. Mildly entertaining bullshit, periodic meaningless angst, very little real insight, infinite smokescreens. What would you do, internet, if you were in my place?