6/12/2007 Randomness

6/12/2007 Randomness

There's singing coming from my window but I'm not sure if it's coming from outside or bouncing off from inside. I want to continue my treatise on love but I have been writing so much today that I am sick of my own voice. The problem is, of course that when you write something, you then have to read it.

I am so sick and tired of my own voice that I may never want to write again. So polite. You know, I once tried to commit suicide. I wrote a suicide note, but then I threw it out, not wanting to leave anyone with any kind of explanation. Later, when my attempt failed, I fished it out of the trash. I read it again years later when I was in therapy. It disgusted me. What crap. So polite, you would think I was sending a get-well letter to a friend. Fuck. I let everyone off the hook, told my family I loved them when really I hated them.

Now there is screaming coming from my window and while it sounds like a little girl I am becoming convinced it is me. The singing wasn't me because it sounded good.

Anyway, I hate my voice. I've gotten like this before. Once when I got so critical of what I was writing that everything I wrote seemed like pure swill (and I'm not saying that isn't accurate.) Anyway, I left the computer and picked up a book I had that has since been stolen that contained English Romantic Poetry. I was horrified to find that even that sounded like pure swill! Then I picked up Seamus Heaney and he sounded like pure swill. I was in tears at this point, certain my soul was dead. I then picked up a book by Molly Peacock called, “How To Read A Poem And Start A Poetry Circle” and finally her explanations did the trick. Maybe I need to read that now.

But it just goes to show how the inner critic can eclipse taste. Anyway, I was so exhausted today at work that I had to come home. One day, if I ever have a blog that people want to read, it might be because I keep my promises. But I have to put off writing the next part of my treatise on love another day. Once I get into rape, then things should get interesting. I have racked up only one response of righteous anger and that's not nearly enough. I expect to start getting hits off search engines. I'm getting them now, but for random searches and four hits off one search item that I may have to address in the future.

Anyway, I feel pressure to write something interesting and for that I blame everyone reading and I resent this. So I'm going to bed. I really need my sleep tonight. I will be leaving work early on Friday for what I call tumor confirmation day and I need to put in extra hours tomorrow as a result. As for whether or not I feel bitter again tomorrow, one can only hope. Just now I masturbated over a teller at my bank. The ringing in my ear is worse today than it's been in a while. Things are getting random. I refuse to proof-read this article so if it's got errors, live with them. Is that the ocean I hear? Sometimes I type something and I think it would be funny if those are my last words...