Four Now

Hi,

It's all pretty simple. I arrive on time, like a syncopated boot hitting against the forest floor, walking up hill sometimes, skipping down, a pattern surely hidden under gasps and stumbles. I arrive on time. If I'm not going to make it walking, I ride my bike. If I wake up and my eyes are blearing I rub them and run water over them until they are caught up with my schedule. I arrive on time. Usually.

I had sex with new people this week. I think that age is contagious. I didn't feel young with them, I don't feel old with my classmates, is this heaven? Am I at that perfect graceful age when I can be anyone? I am someone, and that's the trick. Young enough that to be someone is easy, old enough that that someone could be me. It sounds simple when I type it but when I open my mouth the chaos in my head threatens to drain out over my tongue, the sudden change of pressure pulling at the threads.

So, what I mean to say is that somehow it works but I hardly believe it. He invited me back for more, but I'm not sure if I should. The age difference is so huge, and I don't think my daddy issues fit this mold. It's easy to fuck him but hard to kiss him. I've seen a picture of him when he was 24 and he looks younger than me, I think. Who knows, I've never known what my face looks like. I told you, I think, that I always knew a face a few years older than the one that actually existed around my eyes. My special brand of dysmorphia.

I smell roses.

Dear dear dear myself how and who will take care of you.
I do not believe that people can help me consciously, unless they are trained and paid to do so, so I will find a therapist soon. Then again, I say that all of the time.

Mess mess mess people in the kitchen are speaking tangent to my ears. I am speaking tangent to the truth.

Oh I read the most beautiful play. Antigone, par Jean Anouilh. Oh my god. "Antigone is calmed now, from what fever we will never know." I would translate that play. That would be a nice exercise. I think I'll write my midterm paper about it. I made the mistake of reading it in the morning, and by 11 am I was balling on the couch and it was far too early to be crying so hard.

Love,
Me