I can almost invariably tell when it is going to be one of those days. It is easy, since if, at 2:30 on any given morning, I find myself wide awake and am neither drunk nor preoccupied with getting to know someone biblically, the next day will be one of those days. This probably has been, but never felt truer than today.
I'm not going into it, but I feel stabby. A combination of no sleep and really general malaise has clouded what should have been an ordinary Monday. Or wait, that is an ordinary Monday. I keep waiting for those weekdays that I used to have before my life unspooled into the present heap of tangles and knots of things I am obligated to do vs. things that keep me from doing things of real value or worth. In a brief conversation I had yesterday a friend was talking about the art projects he's working on and how everything else at the moment was just filler. It resonated because the last time I can remember my weekdays being of any substance at all was college. That was a long time ago. And since my memory is 80% an utter fabrication, it probably wasn't even then. My visions of everything was so much better before are my psyche's version of a common cold: easily caught, virtually untreatable and always, always annoying.
Lately I've been having discussions with people and I often wonder whether or not I am making any sense. And then the possibility occurs to me that I haven't ever made any sense and that the people I end up talking to know this and are just humoring me.
So instead of talking to people at all and because today is one of those days, I feel like a more productive use of my time would be lounging in front of my fake fireplace and reading Baudelaire. It has been years but I seem to recall he was always looking to extract beauty from ugliness. And he awesomely called it spleen. If I started a band tomorrow, I'd consider calling it Spleen. And just because my thoughts just went full circle, I can now confirm that college was INDEED the last time I spent my weekdays being productive because that is when I first read and understood Baudelaire. I used to read, write about and discuss poetry ALL DAY LONG. And when I wasn't doing that, I was learning music theory and music history. Good Lord when will time travel be possible?
I had a good/strange weekend which I may share the finer details of at some point this week. I've got Book Expo tomorrow and an infinite number of seconds to while away staring at computer screens. What are you doing this week?
I think I'm just going to end this entry partly because I'm once again getting that weird airy feeling that I'm not making any sense but mostly because the abhorrent ergonomics of this library reference desk is making my left arm all tingly and the rest of my muscles feel something that could only accurately be described as "jagged."
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