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epistle log 8ight
good morning, captain
as i stand awake in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth and admiring the beautifully chaotic curls in my hair that grew as i slept, i watch the roadmap lines that my sheets left across my chest arms face slowly fade away. i ought shave but won't, and i think i'll leave my hair like this today. there are bigger things to do today, there are more important mushrooms to grill. sleep seems to be an easier companion to find, but my dreams will not stay with me. nor do i find sleep as restful as i used to, as i'd like to. but it gets me by. it's not that i dislike faulkner so much, but i find him hard to deal with. no contempt, but he makes me feel . . . inadequate? not because i am incompetent, but because i cannot, at this moment, take the time to really read him. to get into his groove, to lay down in it and wallow, would be an extraordinary thing. but to read it in 70 page intervals is not only wrong but exceedingly difficult. this explodes as a metaphor for my life right now: there is so much i could do, so much that needs be done, glorious things, and yet i stumble through, missing them. i'm practicing my spanish more, and would be reading "the captains verses" (by neruda, por supuesto) if i had the time. IF i had the time. or iff (if and only if) i had the time. but, as a wise man once told me, "oh well, oh hell" . . . no, wait . . . it was chuck. never mind. so i sit here in the not quite balmy spring morning, ida cd still on repeat from last night, thinking i should go get dressed and eat and go to class. all of which will get done. i love school, but i don't know how much more of it i can stomach. but it's not so much school as it is everything else that happens while i am AT school. what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, i suppose. sometimes it's hard to wake up when you look at your roommate, contentedly asleep, knowing he will wake up 17 minutes before class and still manage to see his girlfriend before he starts his day. he'll see her at lunch too, and then for the rest of the evening. it's hard to try to be happy when so many people around you are so happy. that makes absolutely no sense, and yet i think some of you know it to be true as well. the lines in my skin have faded, the sun has risen a little more, and i'm still unshaven, undressed, ungroomed and unfed. and so for now i leave
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