Sometimes I find myself crying over stupid things, and (half-hoping) wonder if I might be pregnant. I never am. Maybe i'm just imbalanced. It's one of those days again. Nothng particularly earthshaking today, and yet here I am again in the pit where hope never shines, where things will never get better and nothing is ever gonna change and if I weren't so afraid of pain or making a mistake, if all I had to do was agree and get it over with, then I would simply say "Yes".

It's not all that bad, I know. But at times like these i KNOW: it's never gonna get much better.

I wonder why living is so difficult for me. Maybe I'm not meant to. Maybe because as a writer, like it or not, whether or not I do any actual writing, I end up living it all twice or thrice or multiples thereof. Maybe I need religion. Or someone who actually needs me, instead of the adults in my life for whom I might be useful or helpful or amusing but never a life-maker or -saver. Maybe a job that makes a difference. I don't know.

I liked Steve Martin's description of Mirabelle in his novella "Shopgirl", though I cannot remember his exact words...something about selling things no one buys anymore. It reminds me that I'd like a fairytale wedding with opera-length gloves and a Cinderella ballroom gown. And then I begin to think about how Patrick wants a sunset wedding, barefoot at the beach, and I begin to wonder how well we really know each other, if we're suited at all.

I got slapped with "Farah, you need to do some crunches or situps or something." at work today. Not as part of casual banter or even bored conversation. Just a slap-and-run, no hi-hello-how-are-you.

The Body Electric

I was born of the energies that swim this universe, deciding one day that a whirl as a glob of cells, fluids and hormones might provide insight. I arrived at this place a screaming, squirming organism, and promptly forgot my mission.

I am relearning and reconciling myself with what I was. I am a watcher, and observer, I know. Yet I forget I no longer possess infinity -- not right now, anyway. Time has essence, in this place. It is no easy balancing act, living and observing, with this biological clock ticking away at this hot mess of glands and organs, neurochemicals and enzymes, social interactions and emotional responses.

I pass this way but once. I must. not. forget. I am not merely serving time here; reunion will be at the end of a fruitful, meaningful life. I am meant to live. I must not forget.