'i think I understand why watches don't work around you, Grace'

OK, I was told to edit this post so I am... For those of you who haven't yet read it I'm not changing the message, only most of the offensive language. I'm leaving some of it, to make a point. Don't like it? Sorry? Nay, I'm not sorry. Feel what I'm writing and stop worrying about my choice of words. God never told me I couldn't curse, only not to use his name in vain.

Take that, stick it in your hippy peace pipe, and smoke it.

I wish I could draw again, really.

But it's not the haunting clarity right now, because I have been thinking a bit clearer, having exculpated my self-destruction for awhile at least, so now I can think about it in that good old fashioned worrisome disconnected fashion. I suppose that's why the objectivists still read me despite our intense differences; I have a clarity of self-awareness they admire. Of course, unlike them, I chose to do nothing about it, but, meh, fatalism blah blah...you've been here before, I assume.

Back, back and forth and forth.

Introspection is built on this endless spiral for me. It's not a circle -- I never re-arrive at conclusions, though I'd be the first to admit I get stuck in a nice rut and lose my point a lot but for now, I've got that lovely curtain of calm existential dread and I mean to use it to articulate the hell out of this bitch.

Self-destruction! Oh, it's fun, both the real life version and the True Hollywood stories version, except Hollywood likes to leave out the desperate loneliness in favor of the melodramatic narcissism. I like to combine both, because it makes me feel interesting and theatrical.

Hurray for sarcasm. I'm extraordinary.

But, I'm dying. It's that simple. I mean, we're all dead or dying, you morons, but this is different. Or not, but the only people I could ask are either dead or too far beyond the point in their lives when they went through this to be of any real help. Maybe it's just losing my grip and something else is pushing that along. Momentum. Too easy to fall into that momentum.

It's easy to define it as me just self destructive and write me off because I lack the sense of self-gratified accomplishment, which is true, for all my ego and pompous sardonicism, I never feel like I've actually done anything. Probably because if you take a nice look back, I don't do anything and I never have. I lied and I talked and I wrote and I bitched a lot, and if you catch me when my creative equilibrium is perfect I'll unwrap a soliloquy driven by miserable solitude, and the endless baleful spirit of creativity. I can talk a lot of crap before I die; I never run out of ideas, I just run out of ways to express them that sound different. Not that we don't all fall into that little lull. I just make sweeping gestures with mine. And I'm a total hypocrite, but it was that or be sanctimonious, and I really do try to avoid that. I can't avoid being pretentious, so I've made an art form of that.

Losing track of the point again, because my head hurts like all unholy *stuff* and it's probably the only reason I'm thinking straight instead of frightening my colleagues (for I really lack for friends) and people with that empty look in my eyes, though it's interesting to see people's reaction. I wonder what they're reacting too -- the look in my eye that's me having tossed myself into a pit of self-pity that I endlessly reiterate to those who ask? Or just the perpetually haggardness of a girl who's finding the edge and running along it as fast as she can? Intimidation through the obvious look of the inevitable?

When I think of this, I smile. It's the most terrifying thing I can do.

I realize how out of tune with the rest of the world I am now. I don't establish much rapport (RAPPORT, this weeks vocab word, take that, Bach) anymore and what I do have is weakened constantly by either inattentiveness or moments of startling apathy. Not that I don't long for any sort of real tangible physical comfort, but just that presence, but I'm acutely aware that it's my own actions that have led to this distance.

Doesn't make it any less lonely, of course.

I have also noted I am irritated by these people who say the same things over to the same people, to tell the same ones that they love them that they hate them that they miss them and that they know them, and I loathe reading of that more than they would ever know. Why on earth would that irritate me?

Jealousy?

No shit.

I still don't know what to do, but I know what I'm not doing, and by *goodness*, that is a start. Now to see if when the dust settles if I'm face-down in the dirt with the or if I've walked away from it all.

In conclusion;

No, you don't get a good night kiss.

Grace