I don't feel the need to explain my art to you
20 November 2003 at 2:00 pm

Tonight, I watched the news all the way through for the first time. It was completely by accident; I�ve just moved and have misplaced the remote controls. I try to avoid knowing what�s going on around the world because I have enough trouble keeping track of what�s going on in my life. This is where my mother�s fatal mistake lies: she is a news addict (or a news victim) and has neglected to keep track of her children, both of whom became manic potheads during their stay in her homestead. She was hardly negligent, but she thought she could protect her children by knowing the problems of the world instead of knowing what their individual problems were. I�m hardly bitter; I enjoyed my time on a more euphoric level when I lived at a place I hesitate before calling home.

In any event, watching the local news tonight reminded me of a conversation I had with my first college roommate. She became enraged with my apathetic and egocentric nature, and when I told her that I struggled with accepting someone�s biased version of What�s Going On, she said I should seek my information from �alternate� news sources. I�m sure those sources manage to give their own spin on what�s Actually going on, but I let her enjoy her soapbox and went along my ignorant way.

I still allow myself to be dragged into political and theological debates, even if those conversations are completely inadvertent. I base my opinions on the �facts� that are provided to me. Generally, I play the devil�s advocate, just to be a pain in the ass. Two nights ago, I discussed the Jewish religion versus the Jewish race with a man named Ben and how one can justify calling himself Jewish when he neglects to practice anything remotely Judaic. Ben also insisted he would make an excellent dictator. We got onto the topic of his father, who apparently is a giant dick. I felt very clever when I suggested that perhaps his father was a dick-tator. He did not share my enjoyment with the pun. The night after, a girl named Rachel insisted that Chicano lesbianism is the most interesting thing since the misfortune of the Jews. She never really made any points, save for the previous statement, but I pretended to be interested. I think she appreciated it, except when I followed her outside to bum a cigarette, she impolitely excused herself to drunk dial someone. I didn�t really have anything to say to her anyway, so I met up with the non-Jew Jew, with whom I�m apparently running the same social circles, and made small talk until my boyfriend was ready to go home.

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Today, I made myself a salad. I am not accustomed to making my own meals; my boyfriend is a chef, and what he lacks in relationship know-how he makes up for in alfredo. I threw some spinach, goat cheese, rosemary olive oil, and balsamic vinegar into a bowl and tossed it for a few minutes before adding walnuts. It was too bitter, but I ate it anyway. It was the first thing I�d eaten all day, so I followed it with a few bites of the caramel-y brownies I�d made the night before.

I spent the entire day reading a smutty book about how some girl moved into the big city and became an infamous columnist. I contemplated following her semi-fictional footsteps, but I�m already embarrassed enough about sex. I interrupted the smut session to let my dog expel his energy, among other things, at the dog park, but left when he started harassing some bitch. I almost started crying while I walked back to my apartment, but held it in to avoid some much-needed pity. By the time I�d reached my junior one-bedroom, the tears had completely dissipated, and I was just pissed off again.

I�ve considered going back to therapy, but my last therapist could only validate what I was feeling because I already knew what my problems were. I don�t need validation anymore; I just need a quick fix. I�ve tried drugs, but they�re too quick of a fix. The standard distractions help some: television, reading, writing mindless prose, but when I�m trying to fall asleep at night and my back is turned to the man I just fucked, I can�t help but go over the fuck-uppance that has come to me: I am unemployed and have neglected to do anything even close to looking for a job. I am in debt a few thousand dollars, to both my credit card and my mother. I am in an imperfectly perfect relationship; it�s not that anything�s wrong, it�s just that nothing�s right. I smoke too much, I don�t exercise, I�m just to the right of cute and a little above homely� these are all very standard complaints, and things could be worse, but they could be a hell of a lot better. My woes are also very fixable, but misery loves company, and I consider misery to be an entity in and of itself. I don�t have the hear to abandon such a pathetic being.

The vinegar from the salad of hours past is making my tum ache. I could vomit, but spinach is pretty gross on its way down and even worse on its way up and besides, I could use the vitamins. I could also take a bath � it�s been a few days � but bathing requires more energy than just sitting here and besides, our only towel needs a once-through in the antique washing machines downstairs. I could unpack; my mother and her husband are visiting this weekend and I�m sure they�d be thrilled at a spotless apartment that they helped me pay for. Unfortunately, the apartment has plenty of charm but a severe lack of storage space. Besides, I�m bitter that I�m doing all the cleaning while the boyfriend wins his bread the literal way.

There are several crows gossiping outside my seventh-floor window and I�m almost positive that they are mocking my inability to do anything but mope.

I would feel better about everything if I could do anything remotely close to productive. But I�m not just a slob; I�m a slob with an obsessive need to give a why to every how. The reason I never clean is because that�s always on my to-do list, and when that�s gone, will there be anything else to do? I know there�s always something that needs to be done, but I�m just lazy enough to avoid finding out what that is.

The crows have left to scoff at some other poor fool. The clouds, illuminated by the setting sun that was blinding me twenty minutes ago, are looking awfully lonely. I think I�ll go join them for a cigarette.

one year ago today: nothin

two years ago today: "how did i become the girl that i hate?", "took a marvelous nap today to continue the 'advil is bad and it should be out of my body' project.", "Ooh baby, line em up!", and "hi andy!!"

three years ago today: nothin.

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About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.