04 September 2002 ~ Ambition, under the weather...

I never do anything of any importance when I'm feeling ambitious.

There's this certain point in my bizarre emotional spectrum -- I think it's somewhere between depression and ecstasy, but it could also be beyond either one of those... That point is where I just don't give a damn about much of anything. I go a little numb, and all I want to do is smoke cigarettes and stare, and watch Twin Peaks. I have no ambition to do anything, but I'm terribly bored. I've got two library books to read and they're boring the shit out of me. I wake up late and I go to bed early. I work, and work, and work, and it seems like it never does anybody any good, most especially me, or my savings account.

As fucked up as it is, in this state of numbness, I get so much done...

I emailed a bunch of people today (including Professor Foster, from an earlier entry) regarding a career (academic and professional) in psycho-linguistics or forensic linguistics. As in, what do I do NOW? Of course, probably nobody will write back to me, and I'll spend my time analyzing the letters of penpals (which I'm sure they'd all LOVE to hear -- Greg, I don't analyze yours...). But at least I wrote to them. Half of me doesn't care whether anybody will respond; that half just doesn't believe anything good will ever happen, ever again. And so, of course, doesn't care.

I don't know; I guess it's just one of those days.

The other half of me is watching my email account with German techno grinding around in my head; eyes open and heart pounding.

It's been "one of those days" since Sunday. I can't really identify WHY. Maybe the weather, which has been cold and cloudy and generally crappy for the first time since, like, last May. Maybe the long-distance dramatics between Norman and me (or worse, the silences). Maybe my job. Maybe it's latent homesickness. Or hormones. Who knows?

Sunday, I sat on my roof most of the day, wearing a sweatshirt AND a jacket, scrawling out angry, lonely, hungover paragraphs about... oh gahd knows what. I didn't re-read any of it.

Maybe I'm still hung-over.

This week, I'm meeting this new friend of mine someplace. Don't know what we're going to do. Don't know if I'd even classify him as a friend. We met at the Spar on Saturday when I took the notion to seduce all three of the boys at his table, including him. Seducing people is so easy, it's like breathing, once you're in the right mindset. How I seduced them was this: I picked up a pen, which the bartender had given me to sign my slip. I touched it to my lips, as though I was pondering. I stared into space, sort of wistfully. I pretended not to see the boys looking at me. Within twenty minutes, all three of them were flocked around me. And yes, I'm quite serious.

So, one of them didn't have much of anything to say at all, one of them groped my hand instead of shaking it, and one of them was nice. I'm hanging out with the nice one sometime this week.

Why?

Because I just really don't give a damn about much of anything. Why did I even get it into my head that I wanted to seduce them? I didn't REALLY want to seduce them; none of the three really appealed to me in any way; they all kinda reminded me of frat boys. Because, Saturday night, I felt like seducing three guys, and then, at the appropriate moment, walking away and leaving all three of them feeling completely ditched. It didn't quite work that way, and the nice one DID email me. I'm not interested in hooking up with him, I'm not interested in dating him... but what the hell; I don't really give a damn about anything right now. Might as well hang out a time or two.

I have this persistant dream, which won't leave me alone lately. It's quite out of character with my generalized apathy about everything: it's a dream that's full of joy and wonder and hope. I have this dream in the day, as déjà vu, and while I'm sleeping too. The dream is a field at night. It's a large, open field, full of tall grasses and wheats and things. In places, the grasses are short. There's a bonfire. And the sky is this thick, swirling blue. Imagine a very dark sky on a very humid night -- the color of bluejeans. That's the whole dream. But I think it's supposed to represent something. I'm not sure what exactly, but it's something that has to do with family, and home, and belonging -- not in a boring nine-to-five way, but in a really exciting way. I don't have the faintest idea why I keep having this dream -- I first had it five years ago, in technicolor detail, and then on and off, in variations, until now. But never before have I dreamed it over, and over, and over.

Got a letter yesterday from a man I believe to be a nutcase. As most of you know, I have a bunch of penpals, some of whom I like more than others, some of whom are interesting and some of whom never have much of anything to say. This particular gentleman happens to be quite clearly out of his mind. However, he also appears to be quite functional. I think most anybody else would stop writing him back. I, however, am so fascinated by this dude... I knew from the first that he was pretty weird, but now... hoo-boy, he's weird! And I love it! I'm not going to stop replying. I want to hear more; I can't WAIT to hear more.

So the dream and the probably-insane man are keeping me from the abyss of just not giving a shit about ANYTHING. Well, that and the promise of school at the end of this month. I went to the bookstore yesterday to check out what books I'll be reading. I've only read one of them, and I didn't like it, but I guess I'll give it another shot. The rest of the reading list looks pretty decent.

Whatever.

I'm tired. I have to go now.

~Helena*