a day, a day

A blog post on a merry morning. Actually not so merry considering that almost nothing has been put to tomorrow’s page. I shall have to go and start working on the lead. But it’s kinda cool to determinedly make a post although there’s no time- cuz it’s one piece of liberation I shan’t give up. I look at books these days: reading them has become, oh God!, passé. Well, I was reading about ASPD today, in our dear paper’s ‘science’ supplement. It’s anti-social personality disorder, and there was this lady spewing facts about how to identify it, its symptoms etc. you call it a disorder and then have ‘CORRUPT’ as an acronym for its symptoms, and then oh so kind heartedly suggest ways for this hell-begotten creature to still be allowed (our kindness be hailed with hallelujahs) to remain a member of society. Of course, this character remains perfectly passive in the entire transaction.
I dunno really. It’s the old dilemma about whether you leave a person who seems to harm others when left to his own wits. The same about mental patients and criminals. And mental patients are criminals, aren’t they, as my Foucault would say. The crime confirms the potential. Why I am ranting out of the blue to.morn- I am starved for anything to do, to care for. I want to study some. To think, to write. I miss all of that quite so much. And it’s something that the unspeakable feels yet too strongly about to care, and well, as I demand, to nurture. I shall go back and study. And do it with him. Was with R.da yesterday over page. I rather do like him. Love the sense of quiet, the smile, and the no-hassles way of passing on handles, tools. I do understand when k calls him a mentor. I rather rather like him. and today there shall be madness again. At least I shall be bathed. Filthy now, completely. Dirt oozing from every pore of surface.

la!

o and i have another boktobbo to make. i was going through a certain senior's blog again, and i still find it awfully smarmy. Again. je suis mariee je m'appelle wyf. femme. whatever. wonder, though, what it'll be to be married myself. certainly nthng like this. god help not. was walking with the unnameable today, and as we walked (there was a lot of sun), it was unlike anything typical i have seen before. his long slow strides and my bobbing self. felt rather nice, i did. things might just be very fine. for now, i shall go to sleep. been up since seven. six actually. got a bit of cleanig done, though. ironing, some more porcelain washing, and my day will have been perfect, and some books, of course.

hmmm............

Well, it's Republic Day, hallelujah! Nice time I've had too, so far. The unnameable visited for a couple of hours. I really don't know why I am giving a roster here. Suffice to say that winter mornings are nice. A lot of sun to spend together. The afternoons, and then the evening leading onto night get lonely. I would rather have the day after sundown to myself, to sort me out. All of days should be like this, without assignments breathig down your neck. And the fact that today even newspapers get a holiday lends an incredible lightness to things. And he smiled and smiled today. Such a lovely smile, and eyes, and woops, forehead!

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Sunday this time. We are infested by doubts. There are no words, there is only to do, to be, to let happen. Hope for the best. Are we disoriented from lack of sleep? Probably. How can I react in such similar ways? I must have moulded myself to shape his thoughts. It's true that it seems to fast. Too rushing. What other way is there? I dunno. I would be glad to be told. He does not restrain. We were very happy day before. We fashioned a feeling and gave it a name. Actually, I suppose one just was. What comes after this? Why don't I know everything about it? What happens after? Both want very much for things to fall into place. More than things to happen even. And even that seems okay. I am drunk, completely intoxicated. In a massive, it darkens my sky with how overwhelming it is kind of way. My books had gone for a toss, my me, I seem to have been giving it such rude treatment for such a long while. It's notreally the fear of not being able to share, although that does crop up. It's perhaps the uncertainty, to have as much of it as you can while it lasts. I am so insecure, am I not, dear God? And yet I am up to wanting him. It amazes me, worries me, whether I shall not burn it out for the both of us.