The Journey of the Jinn.
I pretty much only listen to Butterfly Boucher when I'm having thoughts of just going. I woke up so irritated this morning, and why? For what. Tired, I guess. I had sent him a long email that finally spelled out everything, the culmination of this past month of pain, because a face to face conversation has become such a futile entity. He sent me back a stream of consciousness limerick about hot dogs.
It's funny, what hope inspires, what the human animal is willing to take. When the word funny is replaced with the word staggering.
I had a dream last night of mom when she was my age, only all of us were still the ages we are today. She was reading some letter she had written to Libby; it was though Libby had died as a young child and this was mom's pouring-my-heart-out-about-what-you-meant letter to her. While she was reading said letter, there was a film reel scrolling, of the three of us, of family trips and band concerts and tennis matches (although the letter supposed that Libby had died at a young age, in the film reel it was as though she was still alive and well.) It was so beautiful and painful and sad, horrible and wonderful, bittersweet, convulsive. Made me realize how lucky I've been.
I keep thinking of the sacrifices I've made to get to where I am right now, and it's hardly even an equilateral trade off. Would serve me well to keep that in mind. I'm applying for that job at evergreen, and I'm going to make daily sacrifices to Ba'al in the name of getting it, and I'll go. Not to start over. To just start. Think about this: I have never uprooted my life in the name of my own goals.
"Alone, or together? All right! Alone then!"
It's funny, what hope inspires, what the human animal is willing to take. When the word funny is replaced with the word staggering.
I had a dream last night of mom when she was my age, only all of us were still the ages we are today. She was reading some letter she had written to Libby; it was though Libby had died as a young child and this was mom's pouring-my-heart-out-about-what-you-meant letter to her. While she was reading said letter, there was a film reel scrolling, of the three of us, of family trips and band concerts and tennis matches (although the letter supposed that Libby had died at a young age, in the film reel it was as though she was still alive and well.) It was so beautiful and painful and sad, horrible and wonderful, bittersweet, convulsive. Made me realize how lucky I've been.
I keep thinking of the sacrifices I've made to get to where I am right now, and it's hardly even an equilateral trade off. Would serve me well to keep that in mind. I'm applying for that job at evergreen, and I'm going to make daily sacrifices to Ba'al in the name of getting it, and I'll go. Not to start over. To just start. Think about this: I have never uprooted my life in the name of my own goals.
"Alone, or together? All right! Alone then!"
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