I’ve taken to writing down notes for daily necessities in a little teal notebook I keep with me at all times.
I also write down thoughts.
The first three pages of this I wrote when I was particularly frustrated. A younger friend of mine has been coming to me way too much recently to talk about her boy problems. She currently has her first boyfriend, who she met twice before he went back to Mississippi because he is stationed there. It’s been two months and they already say they love each other and all that shit. It’s crazy, and she’s obsessed with another guy here in Athens.
Anyway. I was getting tired of hearing her talk about that, and then had to read the most ridiculous Chinese love play for class- called Peony Pavilion. Basically a 15 year old girl has a sex dream, falls in love with the man in her dream so much that she pines away for him until she dies. Before she dies she paints a self-portrait and places it in the garden where they had sex in her dream (the real garden of course). Two years later he comes across it, her spirit visits him, he digs up her grave (and she’s preserved by “love”) and comes back to life and they live happily ever after.
BULLSHIT.
But that’s the play I’m talking about.
The fourth page is even more badly written. I wrote it today after listening to too much Fiona Apple. I think I’ve become love-disabled.
