vaneigem's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - Probably one of my most favourite things about Christmas is (brace yourself): EGG NOG. FLashback to my neighbours' overweight mother offering me some at a Christmas party when i was 13, as my mother smiled and stared me down , making no outright oral objection, but hoping her glare would encourage the Enlightenment, that is, the sensation in ymself to spontaneously develop a sense of responsibility to decline politely on my own. I took advantage of the social setting by defying my mother, smiling. And I drank that mothafuckin egg nog. Alrighhhht Bubba! I get a mothafuckin twinkle in my eye when I see egg nog come out in grocery stores, parading the fridge features. I don't have insomnia so much as I have ADD and a hatred for the process of going to bed. I feel so defeated everytime I wind myself down. I was reading Kingwell's Pursuit of Happiness, more of it, and I could hardly put it down for some reason. As soon as I turned off my light, and dozed off halfedly, I heard a big bang in my house. No one was home, and I thought "it's just Geoff getting to my head," since he had been playfully freaking me out about someone being on the porch earlier that night. We joke but I actually have a psychotic fear about this. It takes me a month or two to get over a scary movie and I started thinkinga bout 1408! I was really scared. I slowly opened my door in the dark (i was alone inthe house) and tip toed to get a knife out of the drawer. Smart, right! But then I thought maybe its best to not have a knife, if someone is actually in teh house it might instigate a bloody confrontation,and i dont want to go to court and get arrested because some dickface wants my cds. If I didnt have a knife tehy might just be like "WHERES DA DVD PLAYER AT :)" and id just be "all wellll you know like we dont reall yhave one you know, like we dont really even have cable i dont know what to give you guys, and then I thought about my comptuer being my only major possession and how i'd be fairly cool with losing that, or losing anything else, yeah yeah, sure thats fine, "just dont take my dignity," as i hold my knife, my serrated knife that can cut a chicken bone, yes that's right. you know? thats actually what i was sadly thinking. so i walked down stairs and made sure i had locked the doors and no sign of breakentriez. none of those good ole BEs. i looked behind the shower curtain. i even did that thing where you slowly tip toe up to the shower and thenBAM!!!! I think I was secretly hoping to find someone looking back on all the measures I took. I mean, I guess that was the point. But I quickly got annoyed and just wanted to go to bed and figured "whatever, kill me. i'm tired." i left the kitchen light on for the murderers and went to bed. it was 5am. anyway for most of the day i read PofH. im not sure really why i am reading this, it is borderline selfhelp, but it was laying on my shelf. the book is actually moderately interesting. he researches/explores the pursuit of happiness in the modern world, from " plato to prozac." he goes to this week-intensive cult "happy camp" headed by Bears Kaufmann, and decides to experiment with prozac later. Which is very bougey though. I kind of conceputalize the author, an old professor of mine (though young and wore converse to class) as a big celebrity in the academic world, and it's kind of reassuring(?) i guess to realize that he also suffered/suffers even now and got/gets seriously bummed out by rejection letters.. and even that he gets rejection letters in general. that he questions his marraige, etc. Reading the book i got thinking about a lot of things. About how "cool" pathologizes happiness. Some of it is boring and obvious, like you can't buy happiness, DUH. But it also gave me some interesting insights into marriage. I think the reason why a lot of long term relaitonships or whatever dont work out is that theres this expectation that you arent supposed to be attracted to anyone else and thats pretty impossible. And when men or women feel the attraction between someone else, they begin to question their relationship and its realness. People without adequate , satisfyin imaginations have to make everything active and tangible. Imagining is important just like exercise to be healthy. In other words, cheaters are boring , pathetic, and lack the imagination, will, and respect to be satisfied with a wonder here and there. Thats of course a little tappity tap on the iceberg, but whatever. SOmetimes I wonder if marriage is for me, or anyone, and I thought abou tit, and yeah. I want to do it. I love hte idea of spending my whole life iwth one person. I want to have kids and a family and nice shitlike that. Later, but you know. I found the interesting aspects of the book being the personal touches, the look into his own life. I walked for hours today to find boots= none. Queen street really annoyed me. Downtown Toronto is like the United States of America. Kensington was sufficiently awkward. I just talked to Bee for an hour. There is something about Marc that makes me uneasy this past year or two or whatever. He has this really weird way of being politely rude. rudely polite? I dont know. It seems his extreme politeness translates into being extremely impersonal. He wrote me a really weird message last night as if I'm some business partner or something. 10:45 pm - 12.06.07 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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