the wind is in from madagascar.

by dorarandom

i was trying to hypnotize myself into being another person yesterday. or in that last entry. i have no prospects of anything grand and i am not sanguine about anything. i am too wretched about myself to even try to make friends or let myself write more on this wordpress thing! i don’t see myself living all triumphantly by wits and pen. at least i’m kind of trying to do Something. but i guess the more important thing is that i’m feeling the pain of wanting to do Something.

but then i’m feeling more than usual lately. being with The Gift Horse, who is basically a Normal Person, has caused me to use and to see things on facebook more than i have in many years, and i see all these people i used to know whose lives look pretty amazing. and i think, ‘where did i go so wrong?’ and ‘i want my life to be happy and easy and non-difficult’ and ‘oh my God, my life has really been pretty painful, hasn’t it?’ and ‘shut up, you are beyond fucking tedious. your latest morass: funk dat.’

yeah, i need friends, big-time. The Gift Horse’s friends are all solid prosperous upper-middle-lower-upper professionals. mostly. mostly in their 40s, mostly pleased with themselves, mostly people who were born here and lived here their whole lives and never thought about living anyplace else. i mean, i want / need friends that aren’t his anyway, but spending time in the Horse’s scene makes me feel like Alien Girl. (Space Girl?) got me used to that clean white linen and that fancy french cologne. et cetera or something. it’s weird meeting so many people whose desires and topics of conversation are so limited. got me used to resenting that clean white linen and that fancy french cologne.

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