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The bomber next door

Posted 02-01-2010 at 12:54 PM by sweetiepie

Went to the library. Came home with 4 "for dummies" books: Joomla, SQL, Access, VBA. All of them are too light, partly because I'm not a dummy, and partly because nobody needs a book to learn that stuff. But I might have an interview coming up in a couple days, and it would be good to know all the basics. And I'm going crazy again, and if I don't do something then I don't know what I'm going to do.

I reached out to my friends. About being depressed. Just the other day. I don't normally think of that as something you do. It's supposed to be something that sneaks up on you. You're supposed to get really upset one day when you're trying to do the dishes and someone says "hey why are you so upset?" Or else you're supposed to be driving one day, and mention, accidentally, nonchalantly, that you feel like driving into something.

I don't feel like driving into anything. That's why I don't really know if I'm depressed. What do I feel? I feel like having a duel. Or sleeping on the roof. I don't feel like dancing. I wish I could write. That's why I think I might depressed, even though I don't feel like crashing into anything: because I can't write.

My writing voice is the closest approximation of my living soul. It's like visible breath on a cold day. When I have spoken, I am full. When I need to speak, I am hungry. When I can't speak, well then plans like self deprecation and suicide become redundant.

Why do we assume the soul is rock? That it can holds us up, or keep us down? Is it not obvious that this stuff is thin, thin as plasma and as light as the luminiferous aether? That it comes and goes like green to the grass? Is it wishful thinking that makes people believe it is heavy, or does the belief itself carry some weight.

My voice is three parts. One part Earth, one part Hell, one part that great bridge built by Sin and Death. The part that is Earth is mostly working. I'm having trouble picking up novels, but I still have logic in my heart. Hell is definitely lacking in color right now, but that's not too unusual either, to be honest, I've never had many exciting Jungian dreams. It's the bridge I think that has sustained the most damage. My earthly machinations have no fire. My demon thoughts have no instantiation in the physics engine of my consciousness.

How to mend. How to mend?
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