[personal profile] arguchik
I just finished a huge cleaning/rearranging/purging/organizing stint. I cleaned and rearranged my bedroom. I moved all of my critical theory books to the basement where my workspace is. I got rid of many boxes' worth of old clothes, shoes, costumes, etc. I got rid of a box of books, plus there's a big bag of books that I'm going to return to the UW library. I hung a mirror in my room, hung a swath of cloth over the top of my window. Everything is organized, put away, dust-free, and looking good.

I feel like I have scraped a bunch of barnacles off my keel. I should feel like I can steer better now, like the improved aerodynamics (should I say "aquadynamics," or "hydrodynamics" since this is a boat metaphor?) will allow me to cut through the water better.

I do feel better. I feel more streamlined. I feel accomplished and capable. I feel a renewed sense of purpose. All that is good. But yesterday and today I have also been feeling just...drained of energy, yet oddly restless. Like I need a big nap but whenever I try to settle down for one my mind moves around on its own, jumping from this to that and keeping me awake. I can't stay put.

I want something. I'm not sure what yet, whether it's something more or something else that I want, or what. Maybe it's something less. I just feel like something is missing.

Music sharpens the feeling. It doesn't amplify it--to some extent, it attenuates it, reduces some of the noise, keeps my sensors from being overwhelmed by the signal so that I can suss out the subtleties and the contours. It's not just a solid, loud buzzing or roaring. It has a shape, a melody and harmonies. It plays along my skin and my tendons. It is a blanket. It is sips of cool water on my dry throat. It is a silk chemise. It is a bead of sweat running down my neck. It is the glasses on my nose and the book in my hand.
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arguchik

July 2014

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