Holy gahd...
I've been feeling sort of fuzzy and unfocused for a few days now, but I SWORE I'd finish up my Seattle journal this week... So I sat down and forced myself to start working on it, and I've been sitting here in this trance-like state for over SIX hours now...
Damn.
I'm SO drained right now... Feels like I've been lifting 50-pound boxes and carrying them from one end of town to the other, for six hours...
So much I've said that I didn't know I had to say...
So much pain, and so much ecstasy in forcing myself to relive things like that, in full, completely, without inhibition...
It's like... at the time, when things are happening, sometimes you have to keep your mouth shut, you can't really explain to people what's going on in your head... It's not really socially appropriate... Strong emotions rarely ARE socially appropriate... But as I'm sitting here, it can all come out again, and it's this huge, huge relief... Like when you get a bug in your nose, and you sneeze, and it just feels SO damned good...
I almost wish somebody would videotape me when I'm writing. I'd love to rewind the past six hours and watch what the hell I do... I caught myself laughing hystericall a couple of times, and I caught myself getting up and pacing a couple of time. Once, I found myself pacing and slamming shit around, tossing notebooks around the room and slamming desk drawers... At one point, I made some chickenscratch-scrawl on a couple of index cards, stapled them together, and threw them quite violently into the middle of the floor. Let's go fetch them and see what they say...
Okay, the first one reads "Lowercase: ALT + 162" which is evidently the code for some ascii character. The second one reads "Foccacia, Foccocia, Focaccia, Fococcia, Pine + 5," which is... Yeah... Not worth explaining. Anyway... And the third one reads "09 -- 2.20 -- Timber -- end bold."
Yeah.
In a way, the weird evidence of my activities over the past six hours is incredibly comforting. I haven't been at ALL in touch with reality for awhile now, but it hasn't been an unpleasant experience at all...
See, one of my biggest fears IS losing touch with reality. Of somehow ending up as one of the schizos who replies "Brown!" if you ask them what time it is. In a way, I have to respect people like that, but in another way, I'm terrified of that happening to ME. Or maybe I WANT it to happen to me. Maybe I WANT to be so absorbed in the creative thoughts in my head that I WANT to be able to tune out the world completely. I'm never sure if I relish the idea of being nuts, or if it scares me, and that in itself is probably a pretty nutty sentiment...
Yet, for the past six hours, I've BEEN one of those odd persons who cannot bring herself to comprehend the immediate happenings in her surroundings. It's amazing that Norman hasn't come over here a few times to ask me what the hell's wrong with me, over here by myself, giggling and weeping and sadistically attacking my stapler... Then again, I think Norman has the capacity not only to respect that sort of behavior, but to adore it. After all, he makes some pretty damned weird faces when he's playing his guitar; that's his art, that's his release, and what comes out is usually beautiful... I only hope that when I look back on what's come out of my keyboard tonight, it's got the same power it had when I was writing it... I hope that when it's ALL complete, and I show it to other people, they'll cry too... And laugh... And think I'm a total freaking weirdo... And throw their fists up in the air and yell, "rock the hell on!" Maybe that won't happen. Probably it won't happen. But I can hope anyway...
I honestly cannot believe some of the emotion that's come out of me tonight... This FEAR, this irrational, terrible, incomprehensible FEAR... This complete jealousy... This passionate love... And, finishing up what I'd promised myself I'd finish, I found it really, really hard to break OUT of my weird little self-hypnotized state... Still freaking out a little bit, I begged Chris to come over... Of course, once he'd gotten here, I would have felt really stupid, so it's a good thing he was busy... So I've been checking messageboards for awhile, trying to "snap out of it."
And now, I'm going to bed... No, first I shower, then I'm off to bed... It's probably seventy degrees in here, but I've been sweating like... I don't know -- something sweaty... So. Shower. And bed.
Oh... Norman just walked in... "Um... Norman? Have I been doing anything weird?"
"Well... no, not really... You've been typing kind of funny..." -- He demonstrates, pounding furiously and with grand flourishes... "...but nothing really weird..."
"I guess you must have been at the bar when I attacked the stapler and threw a wad of stapled index cards at the middle of the floor." I hold up my stapled index cards, but he's half-turned-away.
"Oh, that's normal."
Oh dear... *grin* Oh DEAR... Normal? To viciously attack some innocent office supplies in a fury of passionate weirdness? Is normal? I guess asking NORMAN if I've been doing anything weird is a little pointless...
*insert smile of fond affection*
Shower. Bed. In that order.
And OFF this fucking computer, before I break it...
~H.T.*