Today I did my laundry and read the current issue of The New Yorker cover to cover for perhaps the first time ever. There are normally two pieces in the magazine that I want to read, and the rest I think I should read, that they would be good for me, that I want to be the type of person that reads these articles about global warming and about Richard Meier and his attempts at building in Rome. And today, I felt good because I acted the role of that person successfully, managed to read all the articles in the issue which I bought just to read the new Haruki Murakami story which wasn't even that good.
But now I have guilt. I am convinced I can do nothing without guilt, cannot do anything without thinking that that was a distraction, that I should have been doing something else. I realize that I read this magazine to distract myself from the unfinished reading project that was, that is The Adventures of Augie March, and that, all of my readings, all these books, are distractions from trying to write things. You see, I tell myself, that just this book, that I have to read just this one, finish it and then I will write, that I have to know the dialogue that already exists before I enter it, that this is necessary to write anything good, new, or true. And really those are more excuses, more lies to keep me from feeling guilty and if I could come up with better excuses than I would, but they would become tired too and I would soon feel guilty again.
Today I felt more lonely than I have in a really long time, was stir crazy and the evidence of this is that I did laundry, a task I never do, ever. Dara is on spring break in Florida and I don't even interact with her that much but her absence is the one sure human interaction I had just about every day. Diana moved to Nantucket a few days ago, which is probably good for me in some sense since everyday was turning into a drunken Scrabblefest, but now I feel her absence when I am bored and wish that she was still downstairs to go hang out with. I am really so terribly bored and I look through my phone which has lots of numbers in it, but I don't want to call any of the people in it. I come across the numbers of friends who don't live here, Bonnie, Peter, and those are the numbers I wish I could call, that I could hang out with those people. I need to make some new friends.
I masturbated three times today. That is not healthy. It is just not. Try applying that sex positive stuff to it and you're just a liar. You only jack off this much when you are really depressed, lonely, and bored. I felt like I was in tenth grade again, masturbating because I really didn't have anything else to do and didn't want to know it. It wasn't so much out of horniness, as an attempt to suppress the sense of miserableness that always seemed about to declare itself.
Last night, out of the same sense of boredom and stir craziness, I got stoned off the rest of the pot that old man gave me and I had amazing thoughts and I am new to this whole getting stoned thing and this, most of you are well aware of, but I want so much to have my motor skills functioning at the same level as my thoughts because I lied in bed and thought about my interactions with people, with friends, acquaintances, and crushes and thought about rhythm, how various people have different rhythms, rhythms of thinking, of talking, of acting, and you have to find someone you are in sync with for harmony, for you to feel good, and it is why it feels forced with some people. There is nothing the either of you could do or should do except say you are slower, or you are faster than me and say good bye, that it is stupid otherwise. And I thought many other things that I thought would be so genius if I could remember them or record them somehow, but stoned, I cannot even talk and make sense. Everything has such a beautiful nonverbal logic in my head and it is wishing that I could communicate that into a verbal form, somehow remember that sober, that I long for stoned.
What is it that we have inside us that needs outlet in another human being? Because I did not talk to anyone today in person besides my landlord for a brief moment, I feel somehow burdened, that there is something that needs release. And I masturbated three times today and that did not release it. I am going to go to bed probably with it still there.