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Sunday, Feb. 15, 2004 / 10:17 p.m. ~On Conflict, Me, My Voice, Wringing~ Sometimes I look down at my hands to see I'm wringing them. I'm wrestling my fingers, I'm holding my breath, I'm tensing my chest and stomach. I don't know why. The spasms in my eyelid seem to be gone, and it's only been a day or two. I feel like I shouldn't even note it, but it's noteworthy, it lasted so long, or so it seemed, all throughout my cold and just beyond. Maybe sleep cured it. And that unfortunate groin pull seems to be gone too. My body is good, fine, I want to work it now. I want it to be warm, Springtime, I want to stretch, lift weights, shave my legs, work out, work on me, on the physical me. I think I'm just tired of Winter, and stasis, and bare branches. I also always feel like I'm clinging to anything that feels normal, or trying to get back to how it used to be, but that's gone, my life before is only before, I can't go back. Things have changed and I know I can't go back. Amidst the clenching, the breath holding, the tensing, the hand wringing, the finger wrestling, I feel excitement, potential, and I'm not even sure how or why or what. It's non specific. There is no focus to it, no one thing, it's not related to a person, anyone I know, it's just a general sensation related to past events and knowing that there may well be a future for me. That I won't just melt or disappear, that I am to continue living, and I have control of my life and what happens. And that the seasons do change, and Winter does turn to Spring, and cold wet rain will turn to yellow pollen and windows open and warmth and sunlight and leaves opening new and green on trees. It's not that bad, really. I still want, and it's the wanting that I want to go away, I want no desire, I desire a life of no desire, I desire to live only in the moment, each moment, and only think of how best to live in that moment. But desiring defeats the purpose of not desiring. And this is non specific as well. I don't refer to any one thing, not anymore. I'm learning still, as life is learning, but I am learning about me, and the way I respond to stimuli, and I know that I overreact, and grasp too heavy handedly, and that can change. All is mellow now, I've retreated, and this is sad, this, just writing this, causes a reaction, because I don't want to retreat, that's not who I am, but I have, it was necessary, and I shall be more cautious, I won't give of myself what I might have given. That's gone. I need more time, more introspection, I interact with people and feel as if I'm behind a wall. I can look out, but they can't see me, I'm no longer reachable, they don't know who I am at all. Part of me is gone. But there is the hand wringing excitement, as if part of me feels more, like there may be more, and I don't even know which direction to turn in to see it, I don't know where it's coming from at all, but I'm ready to see it, to feel it, I want to be receptive. I'm quite conflicted. Did I mention that movie last night, "Intimacy"? It was intense. This lonely man meets this lonely woman and they have sex, wordless sex, once a week, on Wednesdays. Then he goes to his job, as bar manager, and she goes to the small theatre where she acts in Tennessee Williams plays, and her husband and child, and he can't deal with the distance, he looks to her for answers, he wants to know how she can come to him, for sex only, how they can be animals, have their sex, and then they're apart, gone. Really interesting exploration of the dynamics of human sexual intimacy. And the desires of men and women, most particularly men, and people caught up in emotion undesired. I recorded about 9 Audblog posts today. I should link to some soon. I have them all saved to my hard drive, and earlier I sat and listened to them on my Winamp player, me, talking, me, playing records, me, me, me, it was weird to sit here and listen to me like that. Now I'm listening to Moby, "Signs of Love". I'll finish watching "GL"s on tape, and go to bed, I assume. Bed, bed which I skipped last night in favor of the sofa. Which Gladys doesn't understand and she yowled at me all night, sort of translated to, "What the hell are you doing? Get in bed! That's just so fucked up, you on the sofa, what do you think this is? Anyway?" Cost of the War in Iraq
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