The computer hums, it's not a comforting hum, it's an angry, machine hum, and I wonder if machines are ever going to be able to take over us, my hands looks quite beautiful as I'm typing, it's like a dance, that has been practised many many times. In fact, I'm sure the ability to type kind of trumps my ability to dance because I do it so often, and it's almost second nature. My little finger on the left hand is the laziest. It stands up tall, but does nothing. Then, again neither does the finger on my right, but at least it has the decency to stay down. I think, I'm probably most like the little finger on my right.
I don't agree with what's happening but occassionally I join it, don't I, because that's a little bit easier than sticking out like a sore thumb. Well, not a sore thumb, a haughty little finger.
Now I've stopped. Did you know I have burns on my wrists, from the places where my hands have rested against a hot computer. Reall, they're burns, they looks like shiny plastic things. I wonder if one day my whole body will burn. Well, I know it will one day, but I won't be able to experience it. Is it strange to look at death as though it's some kind of adventure. I know, it's from Harry Potter and all, but I don't think I was every afraid of dying. There was a time when I was paralysed with fear and pain at the thought of a) my mother dying and b) my parents not being together. Now I'm not afriad of either, just sad that one day, inevitably they will die. I don't think I will be alone, though. I've stopped feeling quite so alone. Not because there's an influx of people (though, sometimes it feels like I'm surroun...)
I was just interrupted by my dad, he asked me what I need. I gave him a list of things 'fruits, bread, toilet paper, moisturiser, tissues' but of course I don't really really need those things. Nobody ever asks you what you NEED. Everybody seems to need something from other people, I'm realising. It's easier once you know, to respond and mould yourself into whatever that may be.
Yesterday I took a personality test. No surprises, I'm ENFJ (Extraverted, iNuitive, Feeling, Judging)- An idealist teacher. I was sad I didn't get mastermind, but I know I don't fit the criteria. Apparently teachers are characterised by their ability to communicate with others and help them achieve a sense of fulfilment, fulfillmnet, flfillment, fulfillment. Funny I can't type it. And they're greatest weakness is their fear of conflict. Sounds to me like the doormat archetype. Stupid Jung. Well, no, stupid me, really. Oh, they blame themselves. And they are committed in love.
I was saying something before about dying, wasn't I? Oh yes. Feeling surrounded by people. I do sometimes. I'd like to run away for a few days. Somewhere warm, you see. Somewhere alone. Like I said, I don't mind being alone. I think I used to kind of fear it, well, not fear it, but not enjoy it, but that's probably because we reach our darkest thoughts and emotions alone. We allow ourselves to realise the things about ourselves, and others that we hate. We allow ourselves to feel hurt, disappointed, weak. Or at least what's the word, we admit to our weaknesses. And realise our desires aren't our true desires. And a whole host of other things. It's the feeling archetype, that disappointed me. But who am I kidding, I'm more likely to feel something than think something, though I'm pretty certain you can't do one without the other. It just means I'm never going to be a genius in the purely intellectual sense of the word.
I have these white lace curtains in my room, that act like a barrier between me and the outside. I can see through them, but people can't see me. I can stare out of them, as vulnerable and naked as can be, and nobody can see me. It's like the antithesis to voyeurism. Anyone who enjoys reading is the slightest bit voyeuristic, and somewhat preoccupied with finding themself, or making an effort to understand the world around them. My friend bought me a book the other day. Very randomly. 'Clown Doctors.' I think it's one of the nicest gifts I've ever received. Gift-giving is a kind of stupid custom, because it doesn't mean much now, though there's a shoebox full of the nicest things I've ever been given, and they are curious things. I won't say what they are, or who they are from, but I do love them, and I'm certain they're the only possessions I have that I value.
I dreamt of a kiss last night. I didn't remember it until hours after I woke up, but now it's on my mind and I can't get it out. Not because it made me aroused (I hate the word horny)or lonely or anything, it was just very strange and very gentle, and the person I was kissing was very fragile and very beautiful, though I've never seen them before. Apparently it signifies self acceptance, realisation of a part of yourself, the realisation of anima or animus depending on which sex you are. That could be a very positive thing, I don't think I have accepted the things about me that have changed, because I see them as backward steps, when really, it's not that I've changed, it's just that I've stopped pretending.
I came across the most exquisite phrases in the paper yesterday. You'll find beauty in the most unexpected places. And blank blank. What would I do without words.
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