08.Jan.2002

still tired

--

diary of a mad(wo)man

Exhaustion. Boredom. Displeasure with the physical realm. It's always temporary. Something has happened to me in the last year that there's always a hint of forlornity in each diary entry I compose, however I'd argue the despondency of last year held the strongest title.

I've often thought about erasing my past. It's the greatest thing about having records of it in the cyber world: I can delete it. The year I spent away weakened me, and I have never been happier thinking Minnesota isn't here. And this isn't Minnesota.

Last night, a friend came back into town directly after I decided to take leave from the Commune of Insanity, and I spent a good portion on the telephone with her before she shocked the hell out of me and came over with barely a warning.

It's unlike her to partake of spontaneity. There's something different in her eyes I can't necessarily place; she has melted her own ice and stepped into the realm of affection. It makes me think something has happened to her, or is about to happen to her.

We talked of change, and she eventually kidnapped me and is now holding me hostage in her house. I described the Commune of Insanity. I described every minute detail involving my life now and how, even though it's technically not much better, it's not Minnesota.

I have too much animosity for that place; eventually I will relinquish it.

Surreality still abounds, I am shaking sleep from me, I am counting the hours before I inevitably return. I need to stop running from my past.

No, I need to stop running to my past.

--

time & machine