The Philosophy of Going Too Far
Thursday, 15 September 2005 04:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carose59You Can Just Open Your Hands and Let Go.*
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I was lying in bed last night thinking that maybe my cough is actually cancer, and I could go to the hospital in New Jersey and at least see Wilson in the hall while I wasted a day or two or—how long did Cindy Lou Who have to sit there while Cameron diddled around? "I'm dying and you make me spend one of the last days of my life in a hospital exam room?! Quit hugging me, bitch, if I wanted somebody hugging me, I'd go after one of the cute doctors you've got here—OK, your hair looks better this season, but still!"
Anyway. That wasn't where I was going.
I was lying there thinking of what I would do if I was dying. Included on my list are: going to New York, getting laid by a cute guy, going to talk to His family, finishing this stupid story series and then burning it. Buy some fireworks next May when they start opening the stores again and send it up like a Roman candle. Maybe I'll do it anyway. My nihilism needs some fireworks. When I go, I'm going like Sonny.
See, I'm into burning now. I'm in the process of burning a bridge not behind me, but while I'm standing in the middle of it, I've lit both ends and I'm just waiting for the fall and I just don't care that it's going to be loud and probably unpleasant, my adrenaline's high enough, I could fly if I need to.
It's a stupid way to live, fantasizing about maybe being terminal because of course I am terminal because of course we're all terminal. My mother's making plans on who to give family pictures to (not me) because I have no one to pass them on to and I've seen them and seen them and seen them, and what am I going to do with them, sit around and look at my great-aunts? It's a stupid way to live.
I'm going to the movies with a guy I've known for a long time and who Pat said had a crush on me. Maybe he'll be the first guy I sleep with. Maybe we'll just have dinner. Maybe I'll tell him I write slash, or maybe I'll try to explain to him the weird thing that happens to me when I try to give blood, or about the voices in my head. Maybe I'll just randomly start telling people what's going on in my head—Him talking to me, sometimes getting messages from God, sometimes from plants or the sunset. I can make a list, of who I've told and what I've told them, and chart the results.
Mood is falling. That was a fast apex. I have to redefine myself, by the friends I don't have anymore.
*Sarah D. Bunting
-:- -:- -:- -:-
I was lying in bed last night thinking that maybe my cough is actually cancer, and I could go to the hospital in New Jersey and at least see Wilson in the hall while I wasted a day or two or—how long did Cindy Lou Who have to sit there while Cameron diddled around? "I'm dying and you make me spend one of the last days of my life in a hospital exam room?! Quit hugging me, bitch, if I wanted somebody hugging me, I'd go after one of the cute doctors you've got here—OK, your hair looks better this season, but still!"
Anyway. That wasn't where I was going.
I was lying there thinking of what I would do if I was dying. Included on my list are: going to New York, getting laid by a cute guy, going to talk to His family, finishing this stupid story series and then burning it. Buy some fireworks next May when they start opening the stores again and send it up like a Roman candle. Maybe I'll do it anyway. My nihilism needs some fireworks. When I go, I'm going like Sonny.
See, I'm into burning now. I'm in the process of burning a bridge not behind me, but while I'm standing in the middle of it, I've lit both ends and I'm just waiting for the fall and I just don't care that it's going to be loud and probably unpleasant, my adrenaline's high enough, I could fly if I need to.
It's a stupid way to live, fantasizing about maybe being terminal because of course I am terminal because of course we're all terminal. My mother's making plans on who to give family pictures to (not me) because I have no one to pass them on to and I've seen them and seen them and seen them, and what am I going to do with them, sit around and look at my great-aunts? It's a stupid way to live.
I'm going to the movies with a guy I've known for a long time and who Pat said had a crush on me. Maybe he'll be the first guy I sleep with. Maybe we'll just have dinner. Maybe I'll tell him I write slash, or maybe I'll try to explain to him the weird thing that happens to me when I try to give blood, or about the voices in my head. Maybe I'll just randomly start telling people what's going on in my head—Him talking to me, sometimes getting messages from God, sometimes from plants or the sunset. I can make a list, of who I've told and what I've told them, and chart the results.
Mood is falling. That was a fast apex. I have to redefine myself, by the friends I don't have anymore.
*Sarah D. Bunting