Well, I did it. I cleaned my whole place except the bedroom... My books are lined up against the wall, my garbage is at the curb, the floors are swept, my Lynchposters are hung up in the computer room, everything is neat and organized and relatively immaculate.
It's a little creepy... I'm not used to having so much empty space.
My whole life feels a little empty right now. I don't think it's just the apartment, with its neat little piles of videos, its neat greeting cards lined up on the dresser... It's just empty... Everything's a little empty...
Haven't really had anybody to talk to in the past few days since Norman's been gone. Saw a movie with Chad; talked to him for a grand total of ten minutes. Nathan and Alex came over the other night; talked to them for a grand total of a few hours. But it's not the same... I miss Norman. It's so much quieter without him, and I don't really like that. Seems like the CD-player has morphed into a tiny little parody of a bear-trap, trying unsuccessfully to destroy the enormous buzzing beast stealthily wandering around the room... The music seems like a joke. The silence is unbearable. And cold. And my ceilings, and my enormously beautiful windows are just a little too high.
I'm playing Low's first album. Not, I suppose, the best way to make a place homey and relaxed. Not a good silence-filler. Seems to make the place bigger and kind of gloomier...
I imagine Seattle is pretty big... Pretty gloomy, maybe... If it isn't, don't tell me otherwise; I like envisioning it as a large, spacious, high-ceilinged place... I imagine also that it's got a lot of people to talk to in case the emptiness gets to be too much. Don't get me wrong; I'm not opposed to large-and-lonely... Sometimes it just gets to be too much...
Went to CVS Drugstore today to buy wall-mounting tape, and tried to strike up a conversation with the girl behind the counter. She wasn't interested. I prolonged my stay in the store by glacing over all of the cosmetics. There was a cheap brand on sale, so I chose two lipsticks -- a brown one for summer and a blue one for winter -- and a blue nail polish. And a box of red-purple hair-dye. I felt like being Egyptian Plum tonight.
...And I didn't want to go home. If I went home, I'd have nobody to talk to except the cat, and she's not all that much of a conversationalist. Dogs are better for that sort of thing. I went to Lost Dog Café.
The bar was full. I had to get a table. The waiter wasn't interested in talking. I ordered a sandwich and tea. Then couldn't think of anything to do while eating. I don't believe in eating without doing something else: talking, reading, writing, something... So I tried to write, but no words would come. Certainly, another sign of emptiness. Realized, not for the first time, that the ceilings at Lost Dog are awfully high.
So I just thought. Was asked today, "now, what do you do for a living? Are you going to do this [Wet Cleanup] for a living?" Didn't quite know what to say. Can't imagine myself gettng paid to write my online journal. I think it would turn to crap if I was under pressure to write stuff I knew people would like. But then, what AM I going to do for a living? What AM I going to be when I grow up? Probably a truck driver or something -- completely removed from the world, yet constantly in motion through the world I have nothing to do with. Empty. I said, "Maybe I'll find some way of incorporating my writing into my job when I finally get one that's an actual career. But for now, I work in a coffeehouse."
For now, I'm sitting in my computer room, (aka The Lynchroom), listening to soft empty music and trying to think of what I'll say the next time I get to have a conversation with someone.
This happened one time before. I was in Santa Fe; it was Easter. Mike went home to be with his family. Brian and Damian and Jane had left. I spent two days speaking not a word. Nobody to talk to. Nobody around. Got invited to a party and couldn't bring myself to go because I wasn't sure I'd be able to talk again: didn't think there was anything left inside me to say. On the third day, I went to Denny's and kept ordering coffee for hours, just so I could say, "and can I get some more cream?" to the waitress every now and again. "So how was it all by yourself?" people asked when they got back. I couldn't answer. It hadn't been like anything. It had just been quiet and lonely. And on the third day, it was quiet and lonely and moving very fast, thanks to a Denny's-coffee overdose.
I painted my nails grey. They were supposed to be blue, like the girl in "Requiem for a Dream," but alas... Anyway, I guess grey sort of suits me right now.
("...a touch of grey kinda suits you anyway..." --Grateful Dead)
Think I'll go to bed and snuggle with a stuffed animal and read something depressing.
Love,
~Helena*
"The sea is a long, long way from me... I'd go there if I had the time... But lying here'll do just fine..." --Low