1:37 AM

I am out back for a guilty cigarette. My backyard is divided into a large cement area and a grassy lower terrace; the grass is long and the crowd of bamboo waves lazily from the northwest corner (they are  quiet and polite). The night is mostly still, and if you stay still you can hear the whispering crackle of the highways (over yonder hills! and the Diamond S Ranch, where a smelly pygmy horse grazes). I lurk quietly, diagonally making my way across the cement (as if I were) a Ninja of the Night.

I make my way behind the large, white van parked facing the house; large logs placed on their sides made a private bench overlooking the grassy, lower terrace  (there is where I take my Vice; secrets trapped in  wormholes in the wood). I lay down and watch the cotton like clouds float up above; the black of the night glowed a deepest, darkest blue, and the mild wind whispered late night sighs into my ear… as I lay on the log, I suddenly thought of the danger of a raccoon jumping out from the bushes to throttle me or worse! slay my jugular. My body tensed up, but I talked myself into calming down. Because I’m a Ninja of the Night. (At this point I would like to confess my obsession with being a double agent for the C.I.A. I would frequently berate myself for the inability to compartmentalize emotions and become a master amongst gullible fools. Instead, I am A Gullible Fool).

1:40 AM

I realize that I’ve grown to be an extrovert, or am exhibiting extrovert tendencies. This gives me bittersweet feelings and slight crisis of self identity because I feel as if angst is much cooler when obsessed about… rather than being busy with Reality Life. I wonder if that’s why it’s been excruciating to write (or reread anything I write/wrote). Am I being needy for attention and social love? Is it the spring air?

(Nimby Nation is in heat; she was writhing and meowing wantonly in prone positions. I can’t say I don’t empathize with her frustration)

1:45 AM

I worry about the raccoon again, and think about makeshift shields for my jugular. I think this idea is brilliant, until I realize that soldiers probably  have neck guards. Do all animals go for the jugular? Do crows?

1:47AM

I debate a small quote I read in Middlesex when the main character discusses how scientists tested him for gender normative behaviors– writing by men, it was mentioned, tended to follow linear ideas rather than circular abstractions… which is supposedly characteristically feminine. I recognize this, as many of my ‘angst’ posts are angsty because my reasoning draws flawless circles… without answers. Flawlessly useless. But I do believe in the Power of the Circle: or at least, cyclical-ality … the cyclical nature of time– the seasons, the weather,life and death. Or perhaps not life and death, I’m afraid that’s me placing my culturally Buddhist bias on the table. Or I could be emphasizing the passing of generations instead of reincarnation. Questions demand answers; answers demand questions (may I remind you that being deep is appropriate at this hour). We constantly use history and experience to facilitate our decision making. We mimic behaviors of our past and bring them into the future. There is no end of the world, or beginning… just refresh. Perhaps global warming will destroy humanity; but who is to say that isn’t natural? Perhaps a smarter miracle will take the stage. Our history will be done; but we are but humans. Let us have an existential attitude of “Hey, it was like one giant party!”.

1:55 AM

I decide to re-enter the household. Not only do I gracefully slow dance towards the back entrance, but I patiently grind the sliding door open with the methodological science of an extremely smart person. Venturing back inside the safe domains of my picture-laden walls (I have a picture of this stranger woman on my wall that my mom absolutely hates. I like it because it’s some really awkward random older woman from the 70′s in an extravagant setting, but she doesn’t get it) is like playing Super Mario Bros basement level. Or Bowser level, depending on how daring and tense I get (maybe no fireballs, but definitely more jumps, and a sleeping Bowser).

1:59AM

I floss, then enjoy brushing my teeth. Barney once said it was like a gum massage, and I’ve liked it ever since.

Simon and Garfunkel are the best really loud.

My roommates may not agree. Instead, they might suggest a volume change or a Neil Young song. And I am ok with that.

Wait, I’m spacing out to this beautiful stanza about rain.So entranced. right NOW.\

Sometimes I feel like everyone’s pretending to be something, to be an idea of happiness or professionalism or productivity– what someone in their position should do rather than their gut feeling, or  rather than just being themselves. But then, I realize that I do that a lot too. Or at least, I sound a lot cheesier than I think of myself (at the time, and in general). I have episodes of these strange fits of thought.

And isn’t it strange when you catch yourself with a veiled lie you’re telling yourself? What a strange metaphorical layer of self-control and reprimand it is. Self-co-rection.This makes me sound like a neurotic freak, but this is not the case (Yet who knows. This could be one of these veiled lies I was talking about. Oh, I could go back and forth– see what I mean?). Maybe I’m the only one who does this, and you have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe I’m the only one that says “Grace, scarfing down this entire burger at once will feel great” and somehow isn’t surprised when the discomfort of the experience settles almost immediately– and there are many more that are infinitely worse, and sadder; trust me. Like when words come out of my mouth, and then I figure out what it means. This is not normal. This is not how language works. I’m like a backwards fax machine, as if a fax machine by itself wasn’t painful enough to interact with.

I’m not bitching about the holidays, but I totally notice that couples tend to swarm in throngs during cold and blustery days. It’s practical; after all, it’s freezing– what’s a better portable heater than a walking talking body? Fantastic. But there’s always this pause in my brain in glancing at couples– dunno, maybe another neurotic trait I have– where you capture their chemistry in a couple of seconds. Or if you can’t really, you wonder about it. It’s usually evident through their comfort levels, the way they’re holding each other (or how they aren’t), how they talk to each other, and… well, them. What they’re wearing individually, how they might identify as a member of society… ahahaha, I’m not saying I’m right, but isn’t it fun to think you have the story straight? And if you don’t, how will you ever find out anyway so we might as well follow the story we’ve inadvertantly created? The point is, some/ a lot of the times, I feel like people are totally faking it, and they’re either overdoing it or they look miserable together.

This is a lie. There are couples that look happy together, I just never see fit to mention it.

The whole point was really about couples that try really hard to be cute. Not couples that are cute; which do exist– I’m not couples-bashing–. Anyway, over-worked-cute couples make me beyond uncomfortable.It’s like everything in your room (and this is probably possible, I promise you) turned into a Hello Kitty product. And Hello Kitty has an endless load of products. Barfacious.

I have no idea where that topic came from, but it now makes me twinge. The bigger topic was: people striving to embody an intangible idea or dream built on fiction and ideals. Is this pessimistic of me to say? I’m not saying that they shouldn’t strive for the ideals; just that they need to do so intelligently.Instead of that attitude “Well, it’s about time I guess” they should ask something like “Why is this expected of me?”

because

Ignorance IS bliss. But bliss is not Life.

Gracious

lissening to gr8 moosik

gotta go,

Graceee