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Sunday, Mar. 17, 2002 / 2:15 a.m. ~Not a Good Time To Write, and Writing Anyway~ Well, thanks to Trouble for the info about the article on Moby in today's New York Times Magazine (you will have to register to read it online, but it's free). It was good, and long, and most enlightening. I really learned a lot more about him, more than I thought I knew, or would know, or maybe should have known, but I guess it's good. I realize I can appreciate him from afar, as I've been doing, which was all I thought I'd ever do, but I think there's always that little glimmer of hope, you know, What if I meet him one day? What if we can meet and fall in love? Silly, I know. But now I know we'd never be right for each other. He lives such a totally different life from my own. He's so focused, I'm scattered. He lives simply, cleanly, sparsely, I have such complications, my apartment is filled with "things", inherited, given, purchased, found, it's all around me, stuff, stuff I love, but stuff I never really wanted, a lot of it. I have nothing to prove to anyone, and he seems set to prove to those who dismissed him, or those who never liked him, or those he perceived as never liking him, that he is special and he will shine and be popular. And he already is. He still amazes me, what he does, how he does it, the way he composes. It's a great article, I am glad I read it, I am, but I don't know, maybe it was too much to know. I read the sentence about the woman who moved to New York and became his lover and I got this horrible twinge of jealousy! What kind of sick person am I? Some kind of stalker or something? Jesus. I get these crushes on men I won't ever meet, because it's safe or something, the real men, the ones who exist in my life, are too difficult. It's easy to want someone I can never have. Which makes me think of "having", and what it means to be in a "relationship" and the level of "commitment" and how marriage is all about ownership, "MY husband", even having a boyfriend, "he's MY boyfriend, he's mine", "be mine", "will you be MINE?". Possession. It's wrong, it's something I hated when anyone tried it on me. Get your hand off me, you don't own me. But at the same time, where were you? Who was there? What were you really doing? Ack! I can't stand all of that. It's that I am extremely possessive, but I can't stand anyone attempting to possess me. I must remain free, while at the same time I must know what you are about, you must never lie to me, and if you cheat we can get past it, I can, but I'll never forget and I'll use it against you later. I'll hold all the little things inside, in some compartment, pull them out at all the wrong moments, to hurt you. This is why I am alone. And this is why I can subsist on crushes on unattainable, un-possessable, unavailable men. It's safest to fantasize. It's late. It's been an odd day, it's felt odd, all day. I've not done much of anything, and I didn't want to do much of anything, so it was okay. I never wanted to go anywhere, I only wanted to lie about, listen to music, look out at the trees swaying in the breeze, eat a bit, watch the ABC Bond Picture Show, and a movie on Sundance, nothing really. But it feels weird. I've been too introspective, I'd guess. I saw that someone had read several old pages of my diary, like really old, someone explored me, and I went back and read a few of the pages that person read - I think it made me feel weird, to read that stuff, everything feels so different now, like it all keeps changing day to day, and it does, this I know, but, I feel different, even though so much of it is exactly the same. That makes no sense at all, I know. I know. Maybe it's not a good time right now for me to write. It won't come out right, anything I try to say, to put into words. Cost of the War in Iraq
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