A Confabulation of Emails

con·fab·u·late (kən-fāb'yə-lāt') Pronunciation Key
intr.v. con·fab·u·lat·ed, con·fab·u·lat·ing, con·fab·u·lates

To talk casually; chat.
Psychology To fill in gaps in one's memory with fabrications that one believes to be facts.

Jan 22 (2 days ago)

Backburner. Theraphy. We tried to ford the river and one of our oxen ate Carol anne. *sigh*

I need to try to remain productive. (and not whiny, which feels in fact the cause of this writing) But words are productive, right? And I get bonus points if i just start making up words, right? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portmanteau

Perhaps I'm very subject to placebic effects. I had about four vials of blood drawn yesterday, though; that could have something to do with it. Probably didn't eat enough. Incubators. I feel sometimes like a scientist in a solitudinous lab stubbornly running experiments incessantly - the same experiement? - but on people. Trying to devise...something. Like some ideal interaction-basis for myself. From whence to start out to make things OK from the get-go. Now ever-mindful of yet another stupid complex that confounds the whole enterprise: that need of approval. And now I see it everywhere. I can't go to a stupid non-specific-sexual-pref meetup.com group meeting for Lost without becoming preoccupied with some guy, confabulated by the mysterious mythology of the show that i get myself too-too-immersed in-two. Some guy, that I wouldnt' dare approach but would sit with the subgroup of three friends and try to look only mildly interesting. My god, these are things that I would go home, day ruined, dwelling on five and eight years ago. When does this change? Do I want it all to change? Perhaps I'm afraid of letting go of the quirky, youthful, good parts I like about myself.

He looked just like a Carlos actually. A thicker, bigger version. I wanted to ask what his heritage was. So clearly part of the selling point for carlos in me has to be that I can make it SEEM like I deal with emotions OK, or at least keep them industriously swept under the rug.

"Do I know you?" he said. (the first line of my movie in which all this un-plottable plot will figure predominately)
If you convince them all you're crazy, then it's okay. There, there.
I have a tingly body-awakening feeling, breathing, digesting, making these words has something to do with it. Paragraphing not yet a strong suit.

there's always something bigger it feels. Like bigger than our joking of my issues. (totally fine and needed) , which is the real issues, and bigger than those, which is my simple not-yet-switchable state of mindness that really is the only thing complicating/creating them perhaps - and then bigger than that - some idealized productive-milk(honey?) land where I'm building (the right ones) bridges and buildings and boats for us to sail out on for just the day (and don't leave anything onboard when you leave!) and then eventually a farm, with chicks and ducks and geese out in the woods. Out west. Is stability really a state of mind?
My sweater is a weird merlot with sky blue and red stripes. I wish someone could ride along with me on these stripes. Could see that this is bad in its place of my productive reality and centeredness but also good and imaginative in its rambling-off the beaten tracks train of (too) consciousness. Ride along for a spell.

There are too many men. Too many that I've grown fond of for unknowing distant wanting reasons. Too many that were i to have the skills I want to (lure? obtain? what?) ...to... have them see me (Selfish desire!) I would be more overwhelmed than now, which is to awful to think . How do I become contendented with leaving the amazing new toy on the shelf and be happy knowing its there. How do I deal with the fact that i regularly compare human beings to consumable goods?

the record skips. this song is too long.
but i appreciate the canvas to ramble a bit.
lost was amazing last night. probably too amazing.
i get wrapped up in it.
sit down with management is today. i'll brush myself up.
three working days left. no promise of a new temp job.
i get down when trying to apply myself like this.
self-emailed craiglist ads sit expiring in my inbox.
i can't even talk to my mom. (this is how it happens)
too too long.
don't you worry yourself with me, but eagerly await our next talk.
and why you'd worry I'd be like someone else.
chat soon.


11:43 AM (9 hours ago)

Sometimes I feel like i play a game that everyone thinks its unfair because i haven't taught anyone the rules. I'm figuring out them as i go along and what fun is it to know all the rules ahead of time?

Sometimes I feel like i bend awkwardly this way or that to put a keyhole to something in myself right in front of someone's line of sight to see if they bite, but...nothing. They don't see the cavernous opening in which a great deal still remains hidden, a loose thread begging to be picked. Someone to open me.

Going skating tomorrrow? More bears to appear than my flimsy affair to be sure.
I'm off tomorrow if u perhaps wanna do lunch before.