1:10 p.m. - 07/13/02
it's true I do imbue my blue--
Let's see; she feels a bit like an experiment in psychotropics. She feels a bit like a seesaw caught in a tornado, up and down, around and around and around. Sometimes she's afraid to quit spinning for fear she'll crash. And she can't find anything good to read and that never improves matters; that never makes things easier.
She woke up around six and talked to herself and her imaginary counselor, and she went downstairs and checked out what there was to see in her personal Internet haunts, and then around 8 she fell back asleep instead of going on a bike ride, mostly because she was curious if her daily rides were more compulsive than enjoyable, and she thinks she had dreams, but looking back it's hard to tell. She woke up with a song in her head; she can't remember now which one.
And she did go on that bike ride, and the breeze through which she sped felt wonderful, and she wished she could maintain the breeze and still be slow enough to think. Really, that's her dilemma; nothing feels as calm as chaos and chaos doesn't allow her to muse...
She wants to be able to breathe, but the air disappears whenever she slows down.
It makes me crazy how desperate I am to not be crazy. I just want a moment to myself, a moment away from all the events I feel contribute to my instability, as well as the instability itself. I want a vacation from my parents and my problems and my personal set of symptoms. In seven days, I'm boarding a plane to NY, and I'm the opposite of excited; I keep thinking, "I want a real vacation to prepare me for that one."
Yesterday, the tape Sarah made of a rehearsal came in the mail, and as beautiful a job as they're doing, it only seemed to affirm how little she knows me. I guess I forgot that, being the director, Sarah was likely to show up in the piece as well. It's very dance-y, very performance-ish, and I kept wanting to say, "No, quit dancing! This isn't a fairy tale; these are the stories that come from her own skin." But you can't tell that to a girl two weeks before performances (can you?) and you can't tell your sister she doesn't know who you are before you spend two weeks with her. (I can't.)
I'm sure there's a reason that I have to see This Play at This Point with This Girl. I'm sure there's a reason time is spinning in just the right direction to secure my (her) insanity, but it comes back to the fact that I don't know the reason, and little good knowledge does when it belongs to someone else.
There's nothing to say. The parents are gone and will be back too soon. I want to move in with Superdoc and create a little Rogers of my own...and Sara and Silje and all-you-all can come, and everything will be better. All over again. This time I want it to be forever.
Daydreams strain the muscles of her mind, but when she opens her eyes, the landscape has not changed...
chord
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