So much to do today. Always.
My back hurts, but despite it I woke up feeling psychologically good.
I listened to my horoscope last night, apparently a planet is moving into my house of ownership or something and that’s probably supposed to be good. I feel bad that I don’t really understand astrology, despite believing in it somewhat.
I had dreams last night. One featured my grandmother, but all I can remember (every single time I say all that I can remember, there’s more), is staring into a big glass cup of rice pudding. I should make some.
I can’t remember where we were, but it was a shiny, beige room. My grandmother was bent over a stove, bent the way she always was when I met her, bent the way I’ve been for the last few days with my hip dislocated again. There was a silver pot steaming on the stove.
I sat at a table – was it a round table like mine? Was my father there? Dressed and in the doorway as he always was, picking me up to leave because he himself had no desire or reason to talk to his mother, ever again?
She offered me a cup of rice pudding. I believe some went to my Father as well, unappreciated.
All I remember is staring into my cup, seeing the swollen white rice float amidst a soaking amount of milky white liquid, with dark raisins bubbling in it, still collecting liquid.The way the rice pudding looked – it was not the way my Grandmother would have made rice pudding. I wish I could call her what I used to call her, but is that too identifying? Does it matter? My grandmother’s rice pudding was dark with allspice and cinnamon and dense with rice, almost baked, not milky and white with sugar. I can’t even remember if she used raisins, maybe she did sometimes. The fact that it was still hot, and still liquidy, would indicate that she was rushed, probably hoping that my father would stay while she finished, but unfortunately he never would.
I’m not sure if this is where I want to go today, I had other dreams and the boy was in them. He was nice in my dreams, nicer than he usually is when I’m actually with him. My horoscope also said something about cleaning out emotional attachments that aren’t helping me, and maybe that’s one.
But I’m probably still going to text him in a little bit.
Something in me wants to put in a song tag cloud right now, why the fuck not.
Always like this – Bombay Bicycle Club Black Swan – Thom Yorke Bloodbuzz Ohio – The National Coccoon – Catfish and the Bottlemen Coco Blood – Celeste Common People Pulp Crazy – Accoustic Version – Seal Dashboard – Modest Mouse Dearly Departed – Shakey Graves Distractions – Zero 7 Dont Look Back In Anger Oasis Dont Wanna See You Braxton Cook Every You Every Me – Placebo Feel the Pain – Dinosaur Jr Frank Sinatra – Cake Futures – Jimmy Eat World Hands on the Bible – Local H How Soon is Now – The Smiths It could be Sweet – Portishead Lazy Eye – Silversun Pickups Love Spreads – The Stone Roses Map of the Problematique – Muse Maps – Yeah Yeah Yeahs Muscle Museum – Muse No Light No Light Florence + The Machine On hold – The xx Paranoid Android – Radiohead Pork and Beans – Weezer Pretty Pimpin – Kurt Vile Pure Morning Placebo Shake It Out – Manchester Orchestra Since I Left You – The Avalanches Sleepyhead – Passion Pit Smack My Bitch Up – Prodigy The Diary of Jane – Breaking Benjamin The Killing Moon – Echo & The Bunnymen The View From The Afternoon Arctic Mokeys This Mess Were In – PJ Harvey & Thom Yorke This Modern Love – Bloc Party What Kind of Man – Florence + The Machine Where is My Mind – The Pixies White Knuckles – OK Go Whole Wide World – Cage the Elephant Wolf Like Me – TV on the Radio Yellow – Coldplay
Well, that was informative. Not all of this music is good. I fought and won the urge to scroll back to see what I was talking about before. I got lost in my own stream of consciousness.
I talked to one of my favorite cousins, I guess my favorite cousin, right now and probably forever, yesterday. It was informative, and it makes send that I would dream about my grandmother. It’s a shame that we didn’t know more about her. Even if I had kids, no one would ever know much about me either. That kind of hurts, but I’m slowly getting to be ok with that. At least the pressure is off, to be a good person.
I keep looking at my music to save me from getting anywhere today, and see now that I am overusing the I pronoun in order to feign… I paused… personal reflection.
There is an email waiting in my inbox, behind so many others, from a person who advocates first-person journalism, aka just one rando spouting off their opinion unencumbered by fact or even other perspectives. Idk (left the acronym it’s ironically appropriate idc) if that counts as journalism. Seems to me like it could swing like a pendulum between overly autobiographical wannabe lifetime screenplay premises, or unibomber manifestos, with nothing in between but transient movement.
How wonderful it must be to be able to live unencumbered by the burden of intelligenceMy Father, remarking that someone is an idiot, obviously.
Kind of like this blog. Woah, I’m a journalist. Reporting about nothing that matters to anyone but me. It occurs to me that I should check my ad revenue at some point to see if I’m getting paid.
I’m pausing a lot, but mainly because my shoulder hurts. Trying to relax. Erasing a lot, seeing my coffee diminish and cool and wondering what I’ll even have time to say. Seeing the clock move, wondering what I’ll even have time to do. And so I do even less.
I’m confused about this boy. I don’t care though. I’m at the point in the relationship where I’m over it. I guess this happens to me all the time, My boyfriend, we hit this time, and he upped the ante. He’s an excellent man, but we’re nearing another bump, 5 years. And 2020 has kind of rendered his usual tricks, of expensive vacations to remote destinations for long enough durations that love almost looks like Stockholm Syndrome, useless.
It occurs to me that that’s actually a really good trick to use. I guess when I’m old like he is and need to make sure I don’t waste my last last chance, I’ll pull out that one.
Yesterday, my Father told me that he didn’t even feel sad, feel anything, when his Mother died.
I have never been so scared for myself in my life. Am I really a product of monsters? Is my brother really a monster like they say he is, am I really the monster that I’ve been thinking that I’m pretending not/to be?
I’m glad he told me, I wonder what it was that made him feel that he should. I have never wanted a cup of coffee to be finished so badly in my life.
I remember when I used to force myself to get up and have coffee with my ex, our only interaction. I hated it.
I’m abandoning this, Idc.