ImpeccableManners

These days I still take the antidepressants. But I read journal entries from one year ago, when I had to go off them due to other treatments. I was a different person! I had a big temper, but I was also alive. I didn’t have to wonder how I really felt. I wasn’t complacent. I wasn’t as able to cope (i.e. comply) with unhappy situations, either.

I guess (see, without drugs I’d never qualify a statement) I stay complacent and complicit to direct my energies for now. Pick the fights.

You know how many people have abandonment issues? Assloads, that’s how many. Why keep holding onto that self who couldn’t fight back or speak up or just leave, herself? No good reason. My world is my own. To hell with remaining powerless and blaming other people.

I am pretty sure that my department’s function won’t last more than another year. I used to give it two. Now I give it less. I’m already spreading the net.

I’ve tried lots of times to reframe/update/rework the first full novel I wrote. Two days ago, I decided to give that up and let it be a piece of the past. That night I received a very striking dream image. Yesterday I couldn’t restrain my hand from writing about it.

Writing’s not due to choice, really. When it’s going well, you’re just taking dictation. Oddly, I can only write fiction by longhand. I feel the rhythm and hear the words much more clearly. Longhand transports me into a meditative state in a way that typing into a PC does not. PCs are only useful for the clerical part of the business.

From Paris, my BF wrote “I went to the Orsay museum but didn’t understand much because everything was all in French.”

J’ai repondu en Francais sans traduction.

He said, “Next time, you’re coming along.”

In HS and even college, I could think in French and communicate pretty decently. Then a loooooong period went by, during which I learned smatterings of other languages. Now when I try to say something, it comes out in a mishmash of whatever terms I know best for particular words.

Now my BF’s doing business with some French dudes, but he speaks nothing but “Anglais.” I want to be the ringer who understands what they’re saying about him/us.