intimacy

A couple days ago, I become strangely aware of being alive. Not in the mental sense- I realize I must be an emotional (vs. scientific) person because I've always been fascinated at what being alive means in thoughts and interactions. In personality and love and fear and vulnerability and joy. In the sense of being aware of what it means to be human, on an intellectual or emotional level. I forgot about the scientific one. I forgot about what it means to be physically and chemically alive. I found my pulse in my brittle wrist and held my thumb to it for many minutes. The slight pulsing push of life beneath my translucent skin. The throb of blue blood through those spindly veins just under the surface. Constant and contiuous and in sync. Undeniably alive. It felt so foreign to me; a new kind of being personal. I saw my peers around me, their stomachs heaving breathes and rising and falling, in-out-in-out-in, and became aware of the incredible intimacy there was to witness this. The unconscious blinking. The tiny ticks or nervous reactions, from bodies I'd previously assumed were still. Static. But there is life in our infintesimal and constant movement.

I cried when my dad told me I could maybe get an SLR in the next few days. The possibility of being able to take an art class next year, and having an excuse to read lots and lots of books. Lunch today, kicking you under the table, and nice surprises. But wishing I could articulate more of my teeming mind, in such short time. Imparting my feeling of awe to you. How to do that when my voice just comes out so high and pitchy.. eye contact? Joey's fresh january CD that i played really loudly when my mom got out of the car. That incredible moment before recognizing someone that gives way to comfort and thankfullness at their familiarity. Crazed looks in passing. Mr. Keddy's pure excitement in art, his encouragement (its nice to be believed in) and description of running from ghosts. The worst part of my day feels like eternity, my mind goes numb and its horrific, and cold. The worst part of my day is usually is walking up my driveway from the bus. And I'm still grateful for the fact that its cold, giving me the chance to feel how lucky it is to be warm, and wrapped in copious amount of bedsheets. Crying with you in the car this morning, for my luck and for your strength and this fragile, inconsistent aspect to life. Taking things for granted is such disillisionment, such arrogant sense of entitlement. I'm so happy these weeks I might drift away

And if you ever wonder

how we keep from going under

It’s because we find another reason not to give in