i go through various sleeping-position phases, each one usually lasting a month or two. for awhile i’ll fall asleep on my right side, for awhile on my left side, and sometimes on my back. currently, i’ve taken to falling asleep on my stomach, with my feet together and my arms crossed and tucked underneath me, like a corpse turned over.
so, though i fall asleep in that position every night, i know i can’t possibly stay that way for very long. true, i don’t move around much in general, but if i stayed like a corpse turned over for seven hours, my arms would most likely fall off from lack of circulation.
what i’ve always been trying to do, though, is remember what position i’m in when i wake up, and i’ve never been able to tell. it sounds easier than it is, because i don’t have the presence of mind when i first wake up to pause and figure out where i am before jumping out of bed. so this particular knowledge has eluded me for as long as i can remember, which is strange since it seems so simple.
reading now about sex, sex, and massive car wrecks.
… while i watched the water roll down
i’ve had several false starts writing this just now, and i’m frustrated to no end that it’s not working. i think perhaps i’m doing it wrong somehow, but i don’t know what about it is wrong or how to it. i was trying to tell you how truly nice my evening has been and where i went and what i did and who with, but it’s not going according to plan. maybe it’s that there is no plan.
see, i can only do so much unbridled gushing about just how really great everything is, before it becomes either ludicrous or just lame. and i’d prefer not to inadvertently my existence for you or, worse, shift it from reality to the artful posturing thereof. and frankly, though it works fantastically for my own personal benefit, i’m tired of being so fucking cryptic all the time. so, i’m stuck.
it’s fairly easy, when you’re miserable, to poignantly and accurately describe the tiny little things that stab away at the back of your brain while you’re trying to function with the front of it. what’s harder is when it all gets good, and those tiny little things become grains of sand rather than shards of glass.
you know, i am made entirely too giddy by the smallest of things. my most favoritest of the coldplay songs, and my most favoritest of emails. there’s a scratch on my arm that i don’t remember getting, and that i didn’t notice until now.
i spent a lovely evening with billy, who looks different every time i see him, though it’s only been twice. we went to dinner and had much much beers, and discussed preferences and priorities, possibilities and potentialities.
comfort in commonalities.
good night. shiny side up.
so, the children’s museum is now the motherfucking children’s museum, but the damn floating opera paper is no longer damned. my professor graded it this morning when i turned it in, and handed it back to me after class with a big, beautiful 97 scrawled on the last page. the words “my goodness! bravo!” were there as well, i believe. to say that i am pleased is an understatement. hmm. the fact that i’ve received two A’s in two days could mean that i am smart, but it could also mean that UH is a really stupid university.
please don’t think that i’m going to spend a whole lot of time bragging about my good grades as of late (which i’m still convinced are flukes, somehow). it’s just that i never really or was all that good at it, until now. so i’m totally loving it at this point, especially as compared to the stultifying monotony of my former web design job. so forgive me for my boasting as of late, for as ryan says, i am coming into my own coolness. if coolness is professorly, anyways…
it has taken me from 11:42 until now to write just the conclusion to my (damn) floating opera paper. i don’t suppose i am going to get any more work done tonight, either.
at the risk of ruining my already dubious indie rock credibility, i briefly loaned thomas my coldplay cd to play at the coffeehouse tonight. i call it a risk because my already-dubious indie rock credibility is for some dumb reason important to me, and i am at the moment clinging desperately to its last vestiges. as such, loaning my new and beautiful coldplay cd to thomas, the surgeon general of indie rock, made me quite nervous. i would have, stupidly, taken it personally if he hated it, mostly because i love it so much, but partially because of my inferior indie rock status. i am a lame-o. it was, truly, a nerve-wracking experience, but a successful one as it turns out, for he said it was good. we had a punk rock-out, without the punk rock. so it was just out. rock.
(addendum: okay, okay, ryan is way more indie rock than thomas is. but i’ve known ryan longer, which makes his indie rock cred less significant, in this case. also, it was his cd.)
“do i listen to pop music because i’m miserable? or am I miserable because i listen to pop music?”
