Sometimes I Let Myself Get Close to My Soul
I'm having a very existential day.
It began with Simone de Beauvoir's memoirs in class this morning, and ended with watching "Love Actually."
I've been in an introspective funk ever since.
I miss dancing so much that I cannot articulate it. Some music makes me want to dance so much that I have to practically restrain myself. This happens often, and it's always been like this. I recall ballroom dancing in my head, and imagine I'm performing ballet on stage, too. I miss it all terribly. I guess I could go dancing next week when I'm home; I just feel like I've outgrown Starlite Ballroom. I don't ever want to dance with another clueless, sweaty beginner, unless it's a friend I'm teaching. I'd rather spend time in San Francisco, but there aren't tons of places for ballroom dancing there.
I've never found anyone with whom to fall headlong in love--into whom to fall headlong in love. Ever. I see characters in movies or on TV every now and then, but they're not real; I've never been deliriously, head-over-heels, lay-down-and-die, intoxicatingly in love with anyone.
"I will have love in my life, not the artful postures of love, but love that overthrows life, like a riot in heart and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture." (Shakespeare in Love, paraphrased)
Still waiting; je suis en attendant.
tick tock, tick tock...
"And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before. I feel that when I'm with you, it's all right." My port in a storm.
tragic love stories written in beautiful language: Cyrano de Bergerac
language is like foreplay to me. i keep hoping that someone will read my blog and fall hopelessly and endlessly in love with me. why do i reject others' love; why is it never enough? i have a fairy tale complex; i don't know what real love looks like.
I have the option of watching the Jon Stewart DVD from netflix but I'd rather blog instead. How unusual of me to choose tuning in over tuning out. Finding myself wanting to feel; don't trust it, don't trust bipolar or the meds.
I am an English major at heart. Another unfulfilled destiny.
Why do I try to put distance between myself and others sometimes? I'm never happy with the results.
I wish Meaghan would stop coughing in the room next to me.
I've had this beautiful song running through my head all evening and I can't dance to it!
I am about performance, too often. I do not know how to be myself and am afraid that if I were, no one would like me. That's odd, though, since people do like me. Makes no sense at all.
This recovery shit ain't for sissies.
I am starved for love; in the center of some endless desert with no rain; parched with thirst but no water; starving, dying, trying to claw my way out of a hole. Is God not listening?
It began with Simone de Beauvoir's memoirs in class this morning, and ended with watching "Love Actually."
I've been in an introspective funk ever since.
I miss dancing so much that I cannot articulate it. Some music makes me want to dance so much that I have to practically restrain myself. This happens often, and it's always been like this. I recall ballroom dancing in my head, and imagine I'm performing ballet on stage, too. I miss it all terribly. I guess I could go dancing next week when I'm home; I just feel like I've outgrown Starlite Ballroom. I don't ever want to dance with another clueless, sweaty beginner, unless it's a friend I'm teaching. I'd rather spend time in San Francisco, but there aren't tons of places for ballroom dancing there.
I've never found anyone with whom to fall headlong in love--into whom to fall headlong in love. Ever. I see characters in movies or on TV every now and then, but they're not real; I've never been deliriously, head-over-heels, lay-down-and-die, intoxicatingly in love with anyone.
"I will have love in my life, not the artful postures of love, but love that overthrows life, like a riot in heart and nothing to be done, come ruin or rapture." (Shakespeare in Love, paraphrased)
Still waiting; je suis en attendant.
tick tock, tick tock...
"And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before. I feel that when I'm with you, it's all right." My port in a storm.
tragic love stories written in beautiful language: Cyrano de Bergerac
language is like foreplay to me. i keep hoping that someone will read my blog and fall hopelessly and endlessly in love with me. why do i reject others' love; why is it never enough? i have a fairy tale complex; i don't know what real love looks like.
I have the option of watching the Jon Stewart DVD from netflix but I'd rather blog instead. How unusual of me to choose tuning in over tuning out. Finding myself wanting to feel; don't trust it, don't trust bipolar or the meds.
I am an English major at heart. Another unfulfilled destiny.
Why do I try to put distance between myself and others sometimes? I'm never happy with the results.
I wish Meaghan would stop coughing in the room next to me.
I've had this beautiful song running through my head all evening and I can't dance to it!
I am about performance, too often. I do not know how to be myself and am afraid that if I were, no one would like me. That's odd, though, since people do like me. Makes no sense at all.
This recovery shit ain't for sissies.
I am starved for love; in the center of some endless desert with no rain; parched with thirst but no water; starving, dying, trying to claw my way out of a hole. Is God not listening?
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