it's almost midnight and i'm tired. i was going to try to stay up and finish my 10 page paper, but i can't do it. i'm petrified that this is the way i'm going to be this semester, and i can't allow it. what a waste. i've been sitting here for a long time in hopes of actually doing something but all i can think of is how much i would like a cigarette but how guilty i feel smoking alone. no, i can't be like this this semester. i have too much to do, too much work, too much school, 50000000 pages to write, stories to submit. my head aches.
there's this line in My Fair Lady that i love, said once Henry Higgins and Eliza are exhausted, and she's complaining, and he says, "I know, Eliza, I know your head aches." I quote that alot because i like this idea that i have about it--- he's saying he knows her head must be aching, but to me it sounds like he's saying he knows her headaches, her heartaches, her pain specifically, as though they were acquainted. of course that's very out of character for higgins but still. i love that idea. there are a few people i know whom i would say that about. i know your headaches.
oh, i'm so anxious now. so anxious about money and work, and being able to juggle it all for the next few months. i have an internship two days of the week and a job with zero hours, which means i have to find a second one. i'm already having a hard time sticking with schoolwork and even caring, because, hey, what about the big picture? this is going to be over and i won't be able to find a fucking job anyway. on the other hand, my problem is that i care too much. this is it, guys, this is the last go-round. i have to get all-A's, i have to do well at my internship, i have to lose weight so i can feel alright about myself at graduation, i have to make alot of money. i have to write some really brilliant stuff, too. i have to write an amazing thesis. although, just between you and me, cyberblog, all i feel like having right now is someone's shoulder to fall asleep on. just right now. then i could worry about all of this later, as though it actually mattered.
i've been listening to joni mitchell alot today. i went into ventura for a stint and had tea this morning at maureen's. i chose joni to accompany us, and she hasn't left me since.
my old friend is getting married this weekend, which makes me think of my mortality. more than a funeral would, actually. someone who i've seen grow up next to me, who i've spoken to ABOUT marriage, who has pondered with me about what kind of people we would end up with (i was generally pictured single, haha, though if pressed i was told i'd marry a crazy artist who did paint splatter or something), who has really gone through alot of pain, this person is taking the next step as a human being. i wonder about that. i suppose it depends on the marriage, but if it's sincere, if it's true, i wonder if that level of a commitment really is an elevation. i feel as though it is. i don't know how that justifies the perfectly mature people who remain single or the immature that stay wedded, but it seems as though understanding that bond and sealing it is the key; you are giving your life to someone else, the most significant sign that you are ready to give to humanity, really. for some of us we'll never get there, we'll still always be stuck at the "self" mark because we cannot see beyond what we feel.
i read this really entertaining, odd book today that, thanks to wikipedia, is revealed to be a cult classic of sorts. it's called griffin and sabine, and it seems to be about the loneliness of an artist. after reading all of the immense praise for it i think it's a tad overrated, but it's still very charming. there are letters that you can TAKE OUT OF THE ENVELOPES and read, which is pretty wonderful.
i'm also listening to Slaughterhouse Five on audiobook. which is different from what i remember, but so it goes.
i'm also about halfway through The Unbearable Lightness of Being, which i never thought i would read, and i'm actually glad that i am. "pick me up" is the message of a person who keeps falling.
Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love.
"For there is nothing heavier than compassion. Not even one's own pain weighs as heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes."
"A person who longs to leave the place where he lives is an unhappy person."
i connect with it strangely more than i expected to, though at times it is too flowery, and honestly i'm not that into his exploration of sexuality, but nevertheless. yes.
otherwise i'm reading this very interesting book called "Melmoth the Wanderer"... a gothic Irish book about the devil, written by Oscar Wilde's uncle (trivia for you). It's for my class, but i do find it interesting and i hope i can finish the whole thing properly.
i will be glad to see my mom this weekend. i want a great hug.
i want this anxiety to cease.
.... post-script: something nice to look at.