I’m out of sorts. Unsettled. A little tipsy, too, which probably makes it worse. I should just go to bed rather than try to get to the bottom of it but it’s hard for me to just let shit go.
Lately, there have been some moments when I’ve been happier than I’ve been in a long, long time, some good moments that have just felt like there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing than being there in them.
It kind of makes me sick to my stomach. Not at the moment, but afterwards.
I should pray to be open and present and brave, but that seems like a prayer that would be impossible for me to make. I guess that’s why I should do it.
I watched Ghost Dog. Again. I suspect there’s something important in that movie that I’m just not getting. The dog, for starters. And yet, it seems like the kind of movie that should reward thoughtful thinking about it. It doesn’t though, really, I don’t think.
I’m no good at things that don’t reward thoughtful thinking about it.
I have this feeling like I’m fucking things up but I can’t see what, if anything, I’m fucking up.
The Professor was trying to tell me tonight, I think, that I’m too hung up on being good, too worried that my actions might betray me as being a bad person.
This may be true. See, it’s a line of thought that rewards thinking about it.
I should just go to bed.