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

2002-12-05 - 2:52 p.m.

Three letters to ShyGirl

Just when you thought I might *finally* talk about something else, here's more about ShyGirl and about me being a stupid shit.

Today I got an email from her. Following are three responses I wrote. The last one is the one I sent. (Note, I did not refer to FuckFace as FuckFace in the version I sent.)



How are you?



More bummin than I have any right or expectation to be. It's sometimes what comes of being a moron, which I am far too often. I'm not sleeping well, or sometimes, at all. I watched the sun come up the other morning. Pretty.

I've thought about you a lot in recent days.

I'm sorry. You don't need to hear this. It's just been a hard week. I miss my sister's dog. And Mom, in trying to be helpful or interested, managed to spend a lot of the trip making me feel like a loser for not having a job.

It's funny how sometimes the little things stick in your head.

Si les oiseaux n'arrivent pas, je chanterai pour toi.



You deserve more of an an answer that "I'm okay." But the full answer is not something I wish to burden you with at this moment. I imagine you've got all you can handle trying to pick up the pieces with FuckFace. Ask me again in a little while.

For now, I'm okay. I'm a moron, but I'm okay.



I dunno. I'm okay. I'm in a bat spot of insomnia right now, so that sucks. I'm feeling kind of failure-ish on the job front right now. I wish some things about my life were different, but I'm okay.

How are you doing? How are things going with FuckFace?

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