2004-06-30 - 7:54 p.m.

well then, suddenly i've fallen into a murakami, captain crunch cave.

i had the *best* intentions to clean my entire space and start fresh, yet after calls and bills i just eased into "the zone." it's this family disease where we check out on catastrophic levels which usually includes heavy carbohydrates, saturated fats and some vehicle to numb the mind.

i must be the most undisciplined human being to cross into the normal regals of human-hood. i'm reading this book and the girl is currently in a sanitarium and i can't help but be filled with seething jealously. for life to be that simple so your only responsibility is to sit back and enjoy it.

i don't know how i'll ever make the cross into "normal." through just starting to clean my apartment i suspect, but i can't seem to begin, or sustain for that fuckin matter.

here is what is unbearably amusing. the creative project is testing my greatest human glitch: patience. as i'm sure i've mentioned before, in my alcoholic emblazed family things were "promised" and yet if they were delivered in the next sentance, they never came at all. they only spun fantasies to make a kid die from hoping and be crushed even further from bitter disappointment. so i developed this urgency, this insistency. where many would submit, i got assertive and started doing everyhting for myself. i got sick of the promises, so i saved my money and made my babysitter take me to buy a sterio at the age of 13. not terribly tradgic, but still, it developed this do it myselfism, trust no one type of independence. and this project is challenging this precept to the greatest that the world possibly could. everytime i think we are on the cusp of a finish, there are five more hoops to jump through, then finally we deliver, ready for a quick answer, maybe in a day, to be told the decision maker is out of town till next week. another week. after weeks and weeks of waiting. and i could of ended this a month ago accepting a first offer, but i knew that that wouldn't be taking a risk, it would of been recinding into my fault of impatience, rather, mistrusting the falability of the world.

that delicate, goregous falability.

that's where art spins and settles and blazes. in the surprises and the imperfections, and the "i never thought it'd turn out like this."

so i'm game. go ahead fucker, challenge me. make me wait, deftly impaled by suspense. breath abated for several more, long days where the potential stills lives for it to go either way. there is this hanging breaze above me that reminds of that there still exhists a possibility for yes and for no. so i get to wile away in the ego bragging already about the yes and shoving it in the face of those cruel college bitches and then i wonder how i'll accept the inevitable no, and how my rep.s voice will sound when the bad news is delivered. i've imagined me taking a few days to beat myself up. and if it's a yes, i imagine driving up to big sur without telling anyone, and going to the eselen spa and falling into a thick of perfect isolation, then going to san fran.

i feel guilty for crashing out, "zoning" out this afternoon and not cleaning or catching up on work that desperately nags for me. that's a familial habit. to spin then crash. high low. a million to nothing.

i operate from caos and i want out of that way. i'll do anything.

but start to clean!! haha. imagining how much i'll change, certainly is easier than starting. i think i need some coca to energize me. or i need to go hijack a few fresh ones from the half way house, cut a few lines and get them to work all night. i'm so down for that.

yes.

it is sick. i never promised pearls and periwinkle.

periwinkle, shit that's the color of the first formal dress i bought in highschool with jenna and the senior who took us in a limo and i watched them eat dozen's of shrimp on ice. i was indifferent. my personality so pale. never a rebel, never a neysayer. just a scared kitten trying to be invisible enough to get by unscathed. then i went to college and something woke up around the keg. then i graduated college and that legargic booze haze wore off and this crazy me errupted with the pure intention of pushing the very edge, surging with adreniline, just to know what it feels like. just to get drunk in the experience of it. most of it has ended up here. i became an addict of the extreme after living in this silence where the only lively thing was my imagination that carried me far away from my parents who spent a majority of time fucking, fighting or being just plain gone.

i've been craving to create. craving for the time. and yet here i had the afternoon and could do nothing but read, sweat in my jeans and eat the crunch. i want someone to tell me it's okay. i always want permission. damn.

is it strange the impulse to get something done within a day, what's wrong with the next? if we aren't so linear, there is no difference from one to the next, it's all just one continuous stream. and if you follow the tralfamadorian code, then it all exhists simultaneously, so who gives?

now i'm just searching to excuse my unwillingness to have this very unattainable, unattractive, conformist thing called "discipline."