vaneigem's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- FROM SUMMER AT THE SUMMERHOUSE I am outside now underneath the canopy on my porch. In front of me is the wooden railing of my porch, our backyard, a grassed meadow, a forest/pond and hills. I can hear the slightest sound of laughing children from the house nearest to us. It�s lightly raining and the birds / cicadas are chirping. The lilacs are in full bloom. I learned today that a heavy snow fall will lead to more flowers in the spring from the moisture. Obvious, but I didn�t realize. It sounds like a cheesy metaphor or something. Yesterday I learned that this property cost my parents $13, 784.00 in 1978 and it was shared with a woman named Evelyn Mae. The air is a little thick and humid but cool and fresh. Geese are flying over the pond and sound like flying donkeys. I miss these sounds, even the sound of a car passing. The sound of a car slowing down as if they are preparing to drive in a house nearby, I hate that sound. I�m drinking Bailey�s with coffee. What a luxury. Supposed to see friends tonight, but I�m out in the country without a car so I won�t be able to get a ride. Jesse will probably want to drink so I shouldn�t get out there. I don�t want to sleep over at Kelly and NIck�s.. Simba hates this song - he just had a sneezing fit and now he�s loooking at me like when will this be over. I�m pretty sure he likes to sleep in the same swirls on the carpet. Yesterday I tanned a lot and if I had anymore I would have been a literal lobster. The Literal Lobster featuring the Clingy Claws. I want to make a strawberry tart. There are so many things I want to do but can�t by myself. I may make a coffee instead. I need to read Proust before I fall over and die today. Maybe coming here so often has been my way of gradually trying to reappropriate and redefine my past - jesus. I like to keep things simple. I�m not going to ignore the fact that i was abused and lived a childhood in mostly fear. For the majority of it, utnIL I was able to break out periodicall, but I�m also not going to let it fuck me up. Psychology, therapy, and mental illness is an industry. Break out of it or else you�ll e your own brain numbing, boring In Touch Magazine. Even though I do peak atit in the supermarket. Simba is sitting next to me licking his paw. I�m listened to Bearded Ladies compilation, shich includes the cute song Peachtree Street by Lispector. I�m starving eventhough I just had a sandwich. I wish I had pot and could get really high. I might steal a bottle of wine. I hink in some aspects I�m kind of like an old man - I hate being bothered when I�m reading or doing things for myself. It is essential I have my private time. I�m tired and set in my ways. I don�t like having other people in control of my time which is full of a fact of lifea nd I ned to get more used to. I feel like I should be sad being in this house sometimes but it�s like I�m trying to attach some sort of meaning to it that it doesn�t have. Because I actually feel nothing anymore. Everything feels different. Thankfully I only really associate the good things. I look back at the bad shit and think of it as an external part of my past and myself. Sometone else was being abused or abusing themselves. That wasn�t me. I�m just bored of it. It�s like being in a fight with your boyfriend that you�re totally exhausted about and yu�re both like �whatever� because you don�t care anymore or want to care. I feel dwelling on it is a form of self-abuse in some ways and kind of just Freudian and boring. I�m not defined by sad shit that has happened to me. I think if we broke out of that fucking illusion the world would be a chiller place. 12:04 am - 11.03.08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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