pottering

i am reading the guardian, as i always do, in love with most of the articles. i adore that newspaper. whenever i feel low about the world, or the internet especially, i turn to the guardian to have some faith restored.

i am, Uncommonly, bored right now. unusually bored. infuriatingly bored.  sinking skin crawlingly bored. this is a symptom. i know this.  i know you well.

semester crawls on. one essay left, on the Dewey Decimal System. what sort of librarian cliche is that?  chew of my LEG for god's sake. i just want to TEAR things into shreds, it is like there are bugs crawling under my skin right now, that growling prowling scratching feeling of a cat left inside all day.

saw an amazing show monday night. laurie anderson. lou reed. meltbanana. boris. bardo pond. i could go on. the sound growled through my body and i felt alive and calm and taken down and under until i was re-written. it made me deplorably pleased.
only now, i want more of that sort of pleasure.  and it is so dry here, so dry and sandpaper-y and rough.  there's something to be said for 'making the best' but i just cannot keep making things up anymore. i am not a magician, and i am not out of this world. i want to be drunk on the earth, and clamber up church towers and i want to fall off things until i bleed it out, this desire, red into earth. not violently, just engulfing until i cannot breathe.