September 16, 2005
Dissatisfaction with yesterday’s weeping makes it hard to write today
I had what was to all appearances
a nice spoiling girly evening
Gave myself a facial
watched You’ve Got Mail
ate ice cream
Thought I was having
a pretty good time
until Bill came home and I found myself suddenly dissolve in a torrent of tears
The kind that are supposed to feel cathartic
but really just leave you feeling sort of ill
So how can I chat about the strange new green clay mask
that makes your face all stiff and cold
and your skin oh-so-very soft afterwards
when there is this sturm-und-drang hanging over?
But how can I opine about being a big soggy mess
when I’ve set myself the task of recording tangible things in the outside world
and not the endless rotations
of the hamster wheel inside my mind?
The tears are real enough I suppose
And the vagaries of life that lead to them
also pretty concrete in their way
Even the pull of the moon
or more accurately the pull
of the twenty-one little white pills and the seven fake pink ones
is a material reality
Just not the one I’ve been looking for
image source is here.
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