Friday November 01st 2019, 10:49 pm
Filed under: Boozy,depression,solo Tags:


Helen’s dead. Ellis is dead. Nostalgia is complicated, as often gendered. A month, and the boy will be OK. Not sure I am. Not sure what’s next. Not sure.

Oracle, barnacle
Wednesday September 10th 2008, 3:53 pm
Filed under: blah,dead languages,depression,inner-polish-teenage-girl,self-indulgent,sober Tags:

The god of itunes says “I wanna be adored.” Not too far off, really. Hangover fades, and I’ve cancelled fencing for the eve. 2 weeks in and already heading the other direction? Or a momentary hiccup, connected to the larger crisis of the end of summer/coming of fall/coming of a year for which I just don’t care. Hard to get motivated when it looks like a life sentence of teaching Chaucer (whom I’m not even all that fond of, truth be told, but manage to muster great enthusiasm in front of audiences. What’s the first piece of medieval literature that made you cry, he asked, and she blanked, and I panicked, because I never have. Perhaps tears of frustration at some point, but not for the beauty. The beauty that hurt so much I had to chase it elsewhere – other books, music, jazz, even a life fucking lived. And the beauty I now fear, a bit, knowing it’s going to hurt, knowing that capacity isn’t gone, but the rebound from pain ain’t as quick when these bones were young.) Off to sit in traffic. What a town, this.

He’s got the funk….
Tuesday September 09th 2008, 11:18 am
Filed under: blah,depression,friends,myjobfuckingsometimesdoesntrock,tempest in a teapot,tired Tags:

Don’t know which way is up, of late. The ion-channel-rechannelizing medication the doc has had me on for the head stuff has not helped. I was largely asymptomatic when i began the drugs, promptly upon my return from England and my exceptionally unsatisfying “atypical migraine” diagnosis. But now the symptoms are back, joined by extreme bipolarism (irrational rage, ongoing profound paralyzing depression), general ennui, and other sub-par moments of existence. What ever happened to, “my sex and my drugs and my rock and roll / are all my brain and body need?” As part of the “stay quit / get fit” campaign (see what I did there?), and a desperate bid to hold off the smoking, I’ve started fencing again. With my original coach, in a slightly different venue. But really, it’s full fucking circle. I’m back in the place I never wanted to live, doing the only thing that kept me nominally sane, but also that I did to get the fuck out of here, and gave up when the larger possibilities of life were available. Wedding venue finally resolved, after all the drama with yo mama and the city, so that finally moves ahead. If I weren’t so fucking tired, I might be more excited. The exhaustion of despair is, well, exhausting. I’m not convinced I like my job, nor whether trying to get a job in NYC or even the UK is worth it – variations on a theme, I suppose, although now with better geography. An old friend moving to HelLA asked about cars, and I realized i spend perhaps 500 fucking dollars a month on a car between lease, insurance, and gas. give me a 94 dollar a month metrocard or even 180 bucks for a zone one and two monthly Oyster card, and give me my 3/400 dollars back, to drink with as I will….Life unexamined, etc. Not really in the groove, not returning phone calls, not convinced I haven’t alienated all my friends. Wondering why the pendulum seems to swing, so – they only like me when I’m depressed and not a success? Maybe I only like me then. No idea.

Saturday March 08th 2008, 8:35 am
Filed under: commies,depression,Music,myjobfuckingsometimesdoesntrock Tags:

“Now I’m where I want to be and who I want to be and doing what I always said I would and yet I feel I haven’t won at all.”  (Eb – E – E – Eb – E – E).  Or something.  I’ve got a bad case of the “oh shit” blues.

But, in better words than mine, “It is clear that, crushed as it was, my ‘self’ had survived and needed only a short breathing space to come into its own again – it is particularly active in old age when a certain peace of mind has been achieved, but before the pain of past years has died away.  Later, the pain too no doubt goes and gives way to senile complacency, but I have not reached this stage yet.  Then it will be too late to write – pain acts like a leaven for both word and thought, quickening your sense of reality and the true logic of this world.  Without pain you cannot distinguish the creative element that builds and sustains life from its opposite – the forces of death and destruction which are always for some reason very seductive, seeming at first sight to be logically plausible, and perhaps even irresistible.  I feel my pain keenly now, and am going to write about myself alone.” –Nadezhda Mandelstam.