No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction at anytime.
There is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction,
a blessed unrest keeps us marching and makes us more alive than others.
-- Martha Graham to Agnes De Mille
Was || Will Be || Past Moments || Now || Notes

2002-08-12 - 2:00 a.m.

not so much with the blessed as with the unrest

it's 1:46 in the am and i'm not feeling too perky just now.

i hid today. i hid from the world. i tried to get up this morning and go for a bike ride with my sisters but i couldn't do it. i've become more and more nocturnal during the last couple of weeks. i didn't go outside at all today. i didn't shower. i didn't answer my phone (and RockGirl will be pissed about that, i guarantee).

i'm wondering tonight if i'm hiding too much. pretending too much. denying way too much. i've been depressed this past week.

i've been thinking more seriously about getting a job and i don't want to because it feels like defeat. i wanted to live as an actor, but i'm making so very little progress there. i mean, i'm acting, i'm active, i'm trying. but i can't find anyone who wants to pay me for it. it feels like an exclusive club, and you can't even find out where they meet, much less the secret password, without the say so of a member. i feel shut out, left out, also ran before the race even starts.

RockGirl and i is a constant ache. i don't want to dance anymore, but there's no way to bow out without her being hurt. and what makes it worse is that i'll just be fulfilling her self-fulfilling prophecy for her. "all men hurt me eventually" she says to herself. i don't want to be another statistic for her. but i will. i know, i will. because i can't do this forever, or even for much longer. we keep having our conversations in different languages, speaking without communicating. i don't know that she'll ever hear what i mean to say.

i'm bored and frustrated and sick of being in my own skin. but i can't seem to do anything. i'm all about potential and no kinetic.

i'm sick of air conditioned air, but i can't tolerate the heat.

i owe people emails and phone calls and my mother will read me the riot act when i finally call her. i don't know when i last sent an email to HymenopteraGirl, and not too much more than a year ago, i was convinced that i was in love with her.

tonight i'm disgusted with myself.

growing up is the process of realizing that things are never as simple or as easy as i imagine they'll be. experience doesn't teach me how to deal with life, it only reminds me how much of life is painful.

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