if you write it down, it must have happened

this week... i guess you try to think about things that you can set down concretely, build into your memory with the strength of sense experience. i will remember that i woke up tired every morning this week, and had trouble running and focusing and remembering details. i blamed it on barometric pressure. i blamed it on eating out again.

i knew that i needed to do some writing, but i didn't. i knew that i needed to call my grandmother and talk to her about the family reunion. i knew that i needed to call the other girl who works for carrie, see if she wants to take any of the nites when i'll be gone in may. i didn't do that either. the nites this week were filled with meetings, only one trip to the gym, and an inability to wrap my mind around anything that was happening around me. i filled up another notebook, but i don't know what i said. i'm getting worried about my brain.

so i hang on to what i can remember... on wednesday nite, katie and i danced wildly with fatu and nyenna in the backyard, and they made me laugh so hard that i fell over. on wednesday nite, i hid under the wine counter in the lorenzen's kitchen with my friends. monday i wrote and sent a letter. monday i made myself dinner and watched "say anything" before i packed for carrie's, and i started a scarf that i immediately hated. last nite i made myself dinner and sat on the sofa reading "watchmen" with very loud music in the background. and i thought about how it's beautiful, and sad, but reading always used to teach me something, and lately it feels like it's just falling through my head, grazing my brain on its way by. i don't like these slumps. they always make me feel like i'll forget how to write something that's not a blog. they make me feel like time is running out, and there's nothing i can do about it.

i've been thinking more about decluttering my life. the cell phone's gone, and that's good. i don't have internet at my house, or cable. (which is really a financial choice, not a moral choice. but it's seemed to work out for the best.) i've been wishing for a good place to go to be alone with my work. whenever my roommate's out of the house, i either feel like cleaning or like... well, reading comic books, apparently. and as neat as that is, it just... ugh. sometimes i think of how much i'd like to live in a place without options. i mean, not the town, so much... more like my house. like if i didn't have a TV at all, or if i didn't have stuff that needed to be cleaned or organized or given away... what if i just chucked like half of my possessions? would that make my life more sustainable? would i feel more free to write, if i had less to maintain in my household? i have a tendency to hang onto small things, scraps of paper, things that remind me of the people i've loved or things that i think i could cut up and make into something pretty someday. it's sort of an extreme form of recycling that goes hand-in-hand with packratish tendencies. i remember when i was in high school, i used to save all the empty toilet paper rolls and keep them under my bathroom sink, sure that someday i would turn them into some rad art project. my mom couldn't stand it, and one day she threw them away. good for her. maybe i need her to come back to my house and do that again.

i don't know how i feel about a life without deadlines. it should be magical, but sometimes it just makes me crazy. i think this is one of the crazy times. i want to put my hand to something and move forward, but it feels like there's nothing there to grab hold of.

sometimes, i just want out. i want to go live in a cabin in the woods and get weird and write incomprehensible things, just so that i can feel like something's happening, that something inside of me is changing, and that i will write it down, because i don't have anything else to do. because i don't have anything else.

there is too much, right now. it's good things, it's even good humans. but it's too much. there is no space left.