got it through my thick skull

[fflo]

it's incredibly cold out there. tonight, literally. cold.

there's almost certainly nothing up any of those trees, but nonetheless, if it's the one you're barking up, it's the wrong one. whatever the hell it is you're trying to bark.

the u.s. postal service takes too long.

nothing means anything. life is hollow and meaningless. you might as well just go to bed.

it's freezing cold.

wham. that's 10, baby! (insert trash talk.) (references to dominoes.)

i've thought in the past that it being cold, out, all around, can make it feel as if just staying alive within it is a gut-level goal that will suffice, and even be grand, in its way. now i have apparently outlived that theory.

brrrr. stone cold sober, and stone cold, and sober. fuh. and i was just innocently watching the simpsons with cats, when --what's that? intruder alert? intruder alert?? intruder alert.... INTRUDER ALERT.

it's all inside my thick skull already. that's where it all comes from. but i'll stick with the subject line, cuz i want to remember. i want to remember with all the strength of the insulting tone of needing to get it through my thick skull. already.

and for Lent i'm giving up "anyway."

and for now i'm going to bed.

Comments

[fflo.livejournal.com]

me. i'm in there. it's a bell jar. it's a science thing. and sylvia plath's (i thought) well-worn metaphor.

[shmizla.livejournal.com]

where i think that sylvia's well-worn metaphors and these gloomy days collide is that the days provide physical obstacles to the presence of others, so that rather than being observed by them, you have to provide your own framing devices and put on your own straitjacket.

when it's warm and bodies can collide more readily, the self-observation is less necessary because you get enough echoes from the real others.

but i am undaunted by the cold, although i am loathe to repeat my recitation about readiness to collide lest i should make my presence/offer feel oppressive.