I'm not really sure what to write, tonight.
I have a few "ideas" jotted down, but I'm not feeling particularly inspired to expound on any of them.
Ruth gave me some critical feedback on some of the stuff I've been writing the past few weeks. That was really sort of overwhelmingly enriching, hearing some critique. It felt like she was helping turn a screw, and helping me to tighten extremely loose writing.
Mostly, though, the past few days have been spent thinking about Katie Katy Kathryn.
She's still never far from my mind. It's part longing, part conditioning.
It's kind of weird. Like, I want to write her another letter, right? Not like, an email.... just one of my self-contained, strictly-journal'ed entries, y'know?
But I'm not really sure I'd know what to say.
Like, I have plenty of things to say, but.... I'm not sure how I would even structure it.
I suspect it would just be a long, rambling series of paragraphs-- as they often are-- where I re-tread old ground.
The fact of the matter is...
.... well, no. I shouldn't do that.
I should not presume to know anything. Not about her, or her motives or mindset, or modus operandi.
And so, I won't.
I don't know.
I know I'm due for some mental self-dissection, soon, too. Like, I am looooong overdue. In fact, my list of shit I need to sort through is getting a little unwieldy.
But.
I keep telling myself that I want to wait until July.
If I can just wait and make the years worth of writing, I'll at least have lived up to the expectations I had of myself, and I can call it good. Y'know?
And so, until then, I feel I just have to keep making notes about the issues of me (within me?) that might need some hard introspection and resolution, until the Independence Day.
What a sad and fateful day.
Hm.
I feel as though I'm kind of at a bit of a mental Gordian Knot. Like, the writings I've been putting down in here the past few weeks were like trying to unravel a mess of cord. And for a while, I could just sort of spinning-wheel the thread through my fingers? You know? Pull one end and flatten the knots out as it slipped through my fingertips?
But that never works. All it has done is tightened the knot further down the line. And, in keeping metaphor, it would be so much easier to just *snip* the disagreeable lump of twine. Right? And stick with the shortened-- but neater-- length I have left.
But that's lazy. And doesn't address the mess of tangles I put there, myself.
So, I really just have to sit down, and write Katie. And outline a series of topics that I need to peel out of my own head. (It would probably help if I finished my fucking subconscious theory book, in the meantime. Ten points.)
And then, maybe after that, I can grant myself a long reprieve. Alone with my regret, in a quiet place. Where I can write without the sensation of obligation. And effort put forth without acknowledgement or validation or appreciation.
That's probably the hardest part about this last stretch; knowing that she just doesn't give a shit any more.
And I'm still trying-- very, very hard-- to not see the entire situation like a fox. Staring at souring grapes.
10:42 p.m. - 2014-06-09
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