I have no motivation, so I'm here to maybe trigger something. It's 2 in the morning and I haven't finished the book I need to write two pages on by noon tomorrow, haven't written any of the two poems I need to turn in by noon tomorrow. I haven't written much of anything in the past week. I haven't thought much of anything in the past week. I should go home this weekend to find necessary computer software and meet up with old friends, but honestly I just want to stay here and smoke and drink and wander from party to party hoping I'll find someone patient enough that I can just take aside and talk to stupidly and honestly for a while and maybe sleep with quick. I've forgotten what it's like to touch people I care about, to hold hands, to kiss. Whenever I see people holding hands, my heart pounds because I want that contact madly.
I'm so inexplicably restless and it's driving me up the wall.
At dance rehearsal tonight, we were all sitting on the floor, listening, and a boy leaned back, nearly touching my shoulder, and I watched the back of his neck, which triggered a memory of when I was little and in church, blowing on the backs of boys' necks to make them turn around then acting as if nothing had happened. This memory seemed suddenly important because it wasn't something my mind has chewed over incessantly and in fact hasn't been thought of at all for years. And it still seems important because I'm writing it here. This is not important.
Like the story our music teacher told us in 3rd grade, about the family driving to a Christmas celebration and getting hit by a train, gift wrap on the tracks, how her and her brother wandered down to watch from their house and saw the charred bodies, how she relayed this to us, barely old enough to register death in the first place, how I still think of it every time I'm right next to the earth-shattering noise of that whistle, standing by the side of the tracks and feeling the air brush past me.
I'm actually falling asleep now which is why this has moved into a more abstract realm.
unhg.
i very much enjoyed this. it was honest and relatable. Its impressive how the strangest stuff can trigger a lost and forgotten memory.
ReplyDeletegood luck with your mountain of work, hang in there!
Loves the title, understands lack of motivation and absence of thought, empathizes with longing and want of drink and unhg.Hang time, friend-o.
ReplyDeletePlease, Emily. I miss our late-night ramblings. Who am I going to do this with next year!
ReplyDelete