Two weeks ago, I told Paul:
(10:18:48 AM) Helen: I just need to meet one person who is right, and I'm good. Just one. That's not that many at all.
(10:21:01 AM) Helen: same goes for you
(10:22:34 AM) Paul: i agree with that
Simplification is so deeply liberating. I felt the sun on my face for the rest of the day.
(10:28:32 AM) Helen: I know how to love someone. I'm even pretty good at it. And when someone comes along who will not act like a retard in the face of my ability to love them, then I will get what I deserve. Which is someone who will never let me fall.
One of the most thrilling experiences I’ve ever had was watching two friends of mine fall in love. My girlfriend said it felt like two raindrops running together on a windowpane.
One cannot sit at a party, watch it happen, and stand up the same.
I spend so much of my time raging inside myself. Sometimes it shields me. Mostly it entombs me. But tombs are pregnable, and I minored in Archaeology. I am more than capable of feeling the sun on my face when it shines on me.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Newport Folk Music Festival
I’ve been listening to NPR’s live coverage of the Newport Folk Festival this weekend, and I think I’ve finally figured out why I spend my time listening to public radio and not to music. Ditto for going to concerts: I almost never do. Because… I can’t do it without bawling. Showtunes tend to be the exception, but I can lose my shit over those too.
I have a very thin skin, under which roils a constant inferno of embattled emotions. (I had been quietly hoping that they would calm as I aged, but it seems that growing older is only making it easier to clamp them down and argue through them. They aren’t going anywhere.) Pierce it, and I cry. Not from sadness, necessarily. Usually not from sadness. Mostly it’s just the action of release that does it. The exultant loss of control and, in way, of self. That’s not something I want to happen at work, or on the bus, or even alone in my apartment most of the time. I’d rather listen to Wire Tap.
All this came up because, as I said, I’ve been listening to NPR’s coverage of the Newport Folk Fest, losing my shit. In my cubicle. (It’s a Sunday, so it’s cool.) And what I realized was, this isn’t so bad. Not many people I know experience music this way, so deep inside themselves. It isn’t pleasant by any means, but that doesn’t make it wrong.
I have a very thin skin, under which roils a constant inferno of embattled emotions. (I had been quietly hoping that they would calm as I aged, but it seems that growing older is only making it easier to clamp them down and argue through them. They aren’t going anywhere.) Pierce it, and I cry. Not from sadness, necessarily. Usually not from sadness. Mostly it’s just the action of release that does it. The exultant loss of control and, in way, of self. That’s not something I want to happen at work, or on the bus, or even alone in my apartment most of the time. I’d rather listen to Wire Tap.
All this came up because, as I said, I’ve been listening to NPR’s coverage of the Newport Folk Fest, losing my shit. In my cubicle. (It’s a Sunday, so it’s cool.) And what I realized was, this isn’t so bad. Not many people I know experience music this way, so deep inside themselves. It isn’t pleasant by any means, but that doesn’t make it wrong.
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