RUEFUL RUMINATIONS
posted in Home Jabber on August 06, 2003
The zine symposium is over. Top Shelf is done. All loose ends tied at Jacobsens. Shrike #3 is out. Suddenly I find myself with a spare moment. And *crash* I get so depressed.
The same thing happened last year. A very obvious case of overstimulation followed by stillness.
But I wonder exactly how far back this sensation has stretched. I dug up some *really* old writing, thinking I would use some excerpts from old journals to show how far I've come in my Shrike3 essay about attending my 10-yr highschool reunion. Instead, I found this from 8 years ago, written on the bus returning from Mexico:
"Have no love nor hope nor want of it. Have no direction. Not sure if I want any but I seem to be wasting away now...Stop wasting money. Stop gorging on comfort and drugs. Wake up."
Jesus. I could have easily written those words in my current journal. Of course it was surrounded by my silly, 20-yr-old ramblings about escaping society and spirituality and patterns/detaching/nothingness. (Concepts not necessarily silly, but humorous in the half-realized, all-too-confident vernacular of a youngun.) I was probably reading Castaneda with Nine Inch Nails on my headphones. There's definitely some embarrassing material in the journal, which does serve the purpose of assurring me I've grown intellectually, but it frightens me that I could feel such similar hopeless emotions that long ago.
I remember an oft-experienced sensation when dating Samantha that moments were slipping through my hands, that I was missing something vital in my existence. This caused a perpetual anxiety which built upon itself. I don't necessarily feel that now, but I just can't seem to get into anything. I feel like I'm in alien surroundings, like I've mistakenly entered the wrong universe. I'm not even all that depressed.. just .. not excited.
A good time to do mindless things.. to make food, draw dumb monsters, drink lots of coffee, watch movies, and read other people's comics & zines.
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