Reflection from March 2nd, 2008 @ Age 26
RE: THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MAKING LOVE & GETTING FUCKED.
Have I told you lately how I adore my sister-in-law Rachel? I just think she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever know in my entire life. I watch her interact with Bryce and she’s just so patient and so loving and so caring and she knows just what he loves to do, and just what he loves to eat, and just what calms him down and just what makes him laugh, and she just amazes me to no end. I’ve never had a sister before, but I can honestly say that I couldn’t have wished for a better sister-in-law than I’ve found in Rachel. She just overflows with love and patience. She amazes me to an extent I could never even hope to explain adequately through written word.
Alright, let me tell you now, I’ve read that A Million Little Pieces book about addiction, and now I’m reading this Prozac Nation about depression, and I’ve never before been so adamantly convinced that writing my own book will be overwhelmingly worthwhile. I mean, I read these books and they’re alright, but I really think having written in the first person present tense makes all the difference. Writing in this tone, I think, much more clearly expresses the tenacity of suffering that was thrust upon me through my mental illness. Now I have many more memoirs of this sort that I would like to read before I really get a good idea of what I’m working with here, or working against; it’s difficult to tell at times.
Anyways, I have absolutely no idea how I will go about looking for a publisher to publish this work of art. Well no, that’s not wholly true. I’ll start by looking at publishers who have previously published the kind of work I am looking now to publish. Say, those publishers who supported the works I written of above, I will check them out, and any other publishers who seem to be interested in this memoir of mental illness type genre of writing, I will look to them to see if they might be interested. I will finish typing up my old journal entries, and in the meantime I will continue to write new material about my progress as I continue to study for the bar exam, as being an attorney is, at this point in time, my fallback plan. When I am finished typing up all my old journal entries, I will go through and read the entire set of chronicles in one foul swoop, editing only in format (adding timing back in, consistent punctuation, missing words) and in general conveyance of ideas. Once I do that, I will go through the body of work a second time, focusing on editing more of the content, most specifically expanding further on ideas recorded but not yet fully developed. Through this process I will begin to pull sections which I will compile for a sample draft, which I will send out to publishers upon completion in my first attempt to sell my work. And then I’ll go from there and see what the hell happens. It should be interesting, if nothing else.
I did want to mention, though, the idea portrayed in A Million Little Pieces, where the author made the distinction with regard to his lover, that he would never want to fuck her, because when it was all over and done with, he would never want her to feel fucked. Rather, he would only want to make love to her, so that when all was over and done with, she would feel nothing but loved. It’s been a long time since I’ve come across an idea so poignantly beautiful as this. It makes me think of all the times I’ve felt fucked after sleeping with a guy. It more specifically makes me think of Daniel, with whom I at first made love, but soon after was nothing ever but fucked. It’s just so sad when something starts out in love, but ends with only misery and pain. It’s so hard to understand how something grown from love could morph into something so wretched in pain.
It occurs to me that dancing is something very much so connected to feeling. I mean, for some people they dance on queue because it’s their job, and they’re learned in dancing forms and techniques and all that. But for regular people, I think dancing is very much so an expression of joy. Which I am thinking now, is very much so perhaps the reason why I have not felt the desire to dance in a long, long time. I mean, if I think about it, I am getting unbelievably anxious when any situation comes along in which I am supposed to want to dance, or supposed to feel like dancing. You know, like weddings, parties, bars, happy hours. And if you’ll take notice, I very rarely attend any of these kinds of events, and when I do, I always dread the dancing. But I do wonder now, whether I would in fact feel very much so like dancing once I come to a place in my life where I am happy and fulfilled and satisfied and joyful. I think, when I come upon that place, I feel almost certain that I too, will feel like dancing. Which reminds me of my college graduation party at Easton.
Denison held this really fabulous party for all the graduating seniors at some huge bar at Easton in Columbus and everyone was so happy and walking around and talking to everyone else, and dancing; they were all just so damn happy and I was so damn miserable it just made no sense to me. I went, I tried to dance, I tried to be happy; but for some reason, it just wasn’t the same.
I’ve never been the same as everyone else. I’ve always been different. I’ve always been different, and I am still now different, and I suspect I will always be different as well. That’s just me, and that’s just the way things have worked out. And for some reason my innate expectations are far greater than those of normal, everyday people. I just wonder, I really believe, that once I find the way to my land of grace upon this great green earth, if I too, will not feel like dancing.