february

Was there ever a more pointless month than February? I don't think I've ever liked a February.

Though I shouldn't be harsh. This one was not awful. Unbearably freezing, confusing. Personally productive, in a way. Introspective? Not sure. Tonight feels bad. I can't explain that--just does.

You know those nights when you've managed to put yourself through such an array of feelings somehow that you end up, 2AM, phone in your hand, feeling shaky, about to dial a very familiar number? And then stare at the phone, thinking about all of the potential things the person you want to be on the other end could be doing. Like flirting with someone in a dark coffee house, or buying bread, or looking at the ocean. But somehow you know that the one thing that person isn't doing is staring into the phone, thinking of you. So you don't call. You make a fist, and slip it up under your shirt, cover your heart, feel it beating, and fall asleep.

About those nights: sometimes, it's best just to call. Because that's life, pulling you forward, setting up your actions, and every time you don't follow through it stalls something eventual. And sometimes people will surprise you, will be gentler than you'd expect.

So yes. One part of my life is definitely stable. Stable-r. Sometimes you just need to be released from your own melodrama. Apparently I'm still melodramatic tonally, though.

It's just right now. February is each new year's version of November. It got warm and then cold again. Bipolar weather and moods. But not manic-depressive, rather excited-bored. I keep having banal-nightmare dreams, the kind you don't remember anything about except the pervasive discomforting boredom, the feeling of gray. I'm irritable, emotional, blah. But, like I said, it's right now. Hormone central. In ten minutes I'll feel better.

And it's almost March. I always love March.

velvet pony

aaaaaaaaghhh.

I guess I wanted academic flagellation. I guess I wanted that.

Everyone's getting sick, and crazy. I want the weekend all the time. I have no focus. I have a future somewhere, bearing down on me and telling me to finish creating a resume. Surely there's a job I can find somewhere. What's happening this summer? I want free time, but I'm only this interested when I'm under pressure to do other things. When I go outside the inside of my nose freezes and thaws every second.

But somewhere inside I prefer it this way. Chaos makes functioning more fulfilling.

winter. chicago.

there's a (quick, incoherent) update.