Monday, November 24, 2003
"Talking to you, girl, is like long division...." -Old 97's Singular Girl.
When I was a kid I had the worst fever dreams imaginable...just nightmarish Stephen King type shit. One of the more memorable ones involved me being trapped between the rails, completely paralyzed, as trains ran over me. Another bizarre one had me trapped in a mailbox. That's all it was. The theme was always just being trapped, being out of control. I'm not sure if the usual dream theory bullshit would apply to a 10 year old kid whose biggest concerns were watching scrambled cable and a short yet brilliant shoplifting career. But even then, I seem to have that fear of not being able to let go.
Lately, I've been letting the reins slip a bit. And you know, it's liberating. Not as liberating as, say, having the 2:10 Amtrak roll over your head, but I've been breathing a little easier...letting things happen...perhaps not pushing whatever it is away...just letting.
It's scary as hell.
Still, I am suddenly in a place where there's nothing wrong with having a terribly quiet moment. I'm not spending those quiet moments thinking about my petty little problems anymore. I am spending it thinking, though. About Wednesday night. About December 6th. About London. About Sweden. About cleaning the bathroom. About clocks and the 99 cent store and pliets and what the hell exactly is a milkshake.
I have no fucking problems. And talking to her is nothing like long division.
When I was a kid I had the worst fever dreams imaginable...just nightmarish Stephen King type shit. One of the more memorable ones involved me being trapped between the rails, completely paralyzed, as trains ran over me. Another bizarre one had me trapped in a mailbox. That's all it was. The theme was always just being trapped, being out of control. I'm not sure if the usual dream theory bullshit would apply to a 10 year old kid whose biggest concerns were watching scrambled cable and a short yet brilliant shoplifting career. But even then, I seem to have that fear of not being able to let go.
Lately, I've been letting the reins slip a bit. And you know, it's liberating. Not as liberating as, say, having the 2:10 Amtrak roll over your head, but I've been breathing a little easier...letting things happen...perhaps not pushing whatever it is away...just letting.
It's scary as hell.
Still, I am suddenly in a place where there's nothing wrong with having a terribly quiet moment. I'm not spending those quiet moments thinking about my petty little problems anymore. I am spending it thinking, though. About Wednesday night. About December 6th. About London. About Sweden. About cleaning the bathroom. About clocks and the 99 cent store and pliets and what the hell exactly is a milkshake.
I have no fucking problems. And talking to her is nothing like long division.
