Of late I've felt a whole lot less amazed at how ridiculously good everything is. No, no, things are still good things are great but once in a bit I'm reminded it's not that easy, everything is fairly complicated and I don't much want to get out of bed or associate with people. I don't know when it got like this and how it did all that, okay I'm lying, I know exactly when and how this came about but I don't suppose it matters either way because nothing's solved or worked out (if it can be worked out at all) and I just feel so tired. It's exhausting thinking about it, and it's so discouraging but there's really no way around it. I feel a bit like by spending my days out and about alone (because I like it; I like the independence and lack of agenda, and I like the solitude, so I shall) until the boy gets back (and really that's all I need, in spite of things) I could be as good as somewhere else, which is becoming increasingly where I need to be.



Let's pretend we don't exist
Let's pretend we're in Antarctica

What is strange about all this is that I'm not quite in a position to dispense advice at all - I've been in a serious relationship for a little over two months which I figure is scarily dysfunctional to everyone else by virtue of its functionality, so it really doesn't mean anything coming from me when I say "it will get better, give it time" because what the fuck do I know about anything? I don't know, I feel so far removed from everything, which is kind of incongruous with the unease of indirect involvement and it feels pretty terrible? But god, you know, it feels so horribly ineffectual, because I'm not used to other people being subdued at me and I'm not capable of making it better for when it comes to it there's just the one person who can change anything, and sitting there realising that shit, this is fucked, but honestly it'll be alright because there's nothing you can't make work, but there's no way you can make anyone believe it as much as you do because you can't even begin to know how they relate really, coupled with how you know jackshit really, god, I've never felt so deflated about love and the like and everything I've ever known.

There's nothing like the beauty of weddings to reaffirm my general disgust at how they are merely tools by which patriarchal oppression is furthered. When the universe thought "Corr blimey! It would be wicked awesome to destine Janice to do fem lit! That would be the best way to restore the order of things and ensure the progress of society!" it was a clear indication that the world was ending and it's a change for the better. But really, an entire afternoon on promises of submission and hopes for good leadership? Christ, what century is this? And well-wishes for home-making responsibilities - organised religion makes me sick. Which wasn't really helped by my mom sitting next to me and telling me how I should go back to church; how does one say "I don't believe your God is all he's made out to be, sorry" without being the centre of relatives' prayer groups for the rest of one's life? But the Raffles hotel was really pretty, yes, and such good, good food. And I'll admit it, parts of it was kind of really sweet, like the unashamedly corny self-composed love songs, and you know, it's all hopeful with sentimental video presentations and -

It's strange - as much as I am dissmissive of marriage as the best way to fuck up a good relationship, there's still this fascination with dry ice and the music and for all of a minute it's inexplicably perfection.

I think this would be termed as internalising patriarchy, or perhaps a funny manifestation of loneliness. Either way that's pretty fucked up, and clearly I have massive issues I'll have to square with some time.

A half-hour ago I decided to turn off my music and the air-conditioner, and to open the windows to listen to the rain. It took me all of five minutes to decide I couldn't stay inside on such a morning as this, so I took a book and a pen and a cushion (because the bench outside was wet) and spent the next half-hour outside, at four in the morning.

And it's perfect outside, you know? Despite how it's sort of smoggy and you can smell it but that's alright because it's cool and it's wet and it's perfect? Like a bit out of someone else's life, living somewhere beautiful on occasion and that's your occasion? It's like when you're on holiday somewhere beautifully far away and you can be just anyone. How there's this familiarity about it all and yet this fascination, like a childhood memory of a schoolday where you were told that when you were younger you didn't need erasers because you didn't make mistakes and now you do, and this doesn't feel like your life at all but it is infinitely more yours than anything you could think of, and you couple that with foreign intoxication and at the end of it all there's this balance and it's like you're being completely objective and neutral about sentimentality.

And all I can think about is how I would give anything in the world to share this moment with someone, this in-between - this is the sort of confessional morning where all I want to do is say yes.

This morning all I want to be is in love.

I would not go to the extent of saying
It has been made timeless -
Sacrosanct, the way memory and change
could not blemish the
perfection of such an
exquisite moment
(or a collection of such)

but already it enjoys the lazy glaze
of fourteen-year-old summer love and its
frenzy like desire alone was enough to propel you into one
that would last forever if you only believed
(and so you did)

due in part to an exhaustion-induced high
or a people fix
or perhaps this is one of those you will
remember all your life and you're only
wallowing in the knowledge, is all

Strange-

how it has been barely a fraction of what we were
and already -

how everything is defined by time and a second is
as much a fraction as much as two days as much as a lifetime


how all that's left is first-person.

One of those perfectly insubstantial afternoons meant to mean more than they do, with the video-ed glaze of This, The Meaning of Life, This, only it's as stilted as the next half-hour special, the main difference being how the point is how you're missing it.

Today was a strange, strange day. Very strange.

ETA: Incidentally, if there is a God, he is not just or fair. Bloody brilliant sense of humour, though, you've got to give him that.