random thoughts

I don't really know how to describe how I feel at the moment. Somewhere between shit and hot soup: relieved, but shitty; whetted and pleasured and floating in hot soup. Everything cuts both ways. It is a strange feeling.


What one does in shit and hot soup, is think random thoughts, that swing between those of pleasure and those of gloom.


One random thought I have, is that I think I write rather shabbily lately and perhaps might have declined in skill. I am thinking seriously of writing more outside of blogging, since women have fifteen thousand words to expend at least, in a day. It is romantic to have scraps of paper with feverish poetry scribbled on it in the dim night lights, when you know you cannot get through to him save by writing, when you know that if you don't write you will explode with a myriad of unspoken thoughts, tapestries undone.


Lately I spoke aloud a random thought to Calvin; literally ran to him in the bathroom to tell him that I think I am suited to be a tai-tai. I said, 'I think I might be allergic to work, plus I like taking care of the house, doing leisurely things like read and lie around.' C just said, 'Well, I think you have to wait until I earn enough money first.' Not after a pregnant pause of course. I said we could take turns, and that I was only (half) joking anyway.


Recent nights, I volley between wanting to sleep all the time, and wanting to stay awake to chase the morrow away. Social affairs tire me, going out and friends and all that. Work, albeit in smaller, global-bite-size, is tiring - even the thought of it. I wish I didn't have a mobile phone which gave me messages to answer, and contactability to be accountable for. Lunch is something that tastes better when taken at home, yet I have no longer any interest in cooking. I postpone everything, and my house is now like a hostel, or a large messy room. I wish tomorrow never comes.


I feel really sad about things, like what I wrote in last post. And yet, I feel like I shouldn't have to be sad, because sad is a state of being that should not be, it is rejected, never validated by men, always shunned, and makes for terrible reading pleasure. No one dares ask you why, it makes you weak and appear weak, and you indeed appear whiney as shit. Plus, tears wreck your complexion.


So, I stand relieved, for some things I cannot say in completion. Shush now, and just hear the music play, sheets against your skin, night light and reading pleasure. I will go to sleep regardless, and tomorrow will be a cinch. I am not depressed.