two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl

mood: better, i think
music: ben lee -- float on (cover)
CPCetc: so life goes on. right?

It's been a helluva week. And it's only Monday.

Chelsea was home this weekend so I was all by me onesies most of the time. This got to be a bit of a problem and I had a couple of freakouts (go figure). And while the impending sense of dread continues to fester and flourish, it's slightly below the surface and that's something i can deal with, I think. We'll see how I'm feeling by three.

I finally wrote my paper, finishing it just over half an hour ago. This is what academic scholarship students are really like. Sorry to disillusion all of you. I ended up reading The Skin of Our Teeth instead of Joe Orton. I passed out for an hour trying to read Entertaining Mr Sloane on Saturday and decided that G-d was trying to tell me something and I should really listen to that. I never finished reading Trenholm and I never got to Apollo but I'm not too terribly worried about the latter. I might try to finish Trenholm--or at least take a gander at it--before eleven, but I'm not sure yet. It's one of those mornings where everything will either go brilliantly or wretchedly. There's nothing to do but hang on for the ride at this point.

I talked to Matt Saturday night. Really talked. It seemed like the first time in ages, though I suppose it's only been a couple of weeks. I wish the subject could have been something different, anything different, but it had to be discussed and now it has been and we can work through it, right? Right. I'll be giving him a ring first thing Saturday morning, much to his chagrin, I'm sure. He's got Homecoming to go to Saturday night but I know for a fact it took him less than an hour to get ready for Prom. Thus, his time is ripe for the pickin'. Lucky him?

There's so much to get done, to worry about, to work through. It bothers me. Chelsea and I are both in an interesting place in that we've both had two really bad things happen recently and now it's a matter of sitting around and waiting for the third thing. I've got this feeling that trouble actually comes in fours but by the time the fourth thing rolls around, you're so completely exhausted by the other three things that you can't bring yourself to care as much. There's only so much we can handle in the terms of grief. Sooner or later, we have to give out. If we didn't, we'd go mad.

I wonder what three is going to be. I can see a variety of possibilities, in all honesty. Except, I didn't see the first thing coming until it was too late and I sure as hell didn't know number two was possible. Something tells me the possible predictions of this third grievance, however far-fetched they may be, are far tamer and more reasonable than what's actually going to happen. And in addition to the obvious reaction this would provoke, I can't even begin to guess what that would do to me or everyone else. And that's the same for what's going on in Chelsea's life. I think part of the reason why we get along how we do is because of the fact that we're being forced to share our grief. And there's no way you can't get close when you're discussing some of the things we discuss after only knowing each other a month.

What I wouldn't give for simplicity again. What I wouldn't give for some sort of return to normalcy, just a brief vacation from all of these nonsensical woes. What I wouldn't give for ten minutes where I don't find myself thinking, 'What am I going to do about this'. It's sad that all we ever do is put on a face of blind optimism, especially when we find ourselves believing in that optimism because it's better than actually understanding that things aren't really as easy to repair as you're saying, if they can be repaired at all. I've always believed it was better to be happy about things and face the storm than to dread every new day because you knew that one day you would die. I like being happy. I like thinking that people are truly good and that we can get through anything, just like we have been for years and years. I know it's harder than just accepting that life is shit and then you die. But I've always appreciated the effort and pushed myself to embrace it. It's just hard to embrace something that won't stop hurting you.

Someday, I'll write about something happy. I promise. Right now, though, I just feel really sick.