"Millions and millions of years ago we lived in the ocean. When we emerged we had to move in two dimensions, instead of three. That was painful at first. No up, nor any down. We learned to drag ourselves along without legs then with them, going faster and faster, and faster again, by any means. The lack of a third dimension is one explanation for our need to head out over the horizon. Another explanation is that we were raised up from chemosynthetic life in the deep ocean to become photosynthetic life at the top. Having ascended from the eternal night we cannot stop ourselves from heading toward the light. We are moths in the thrall of the sun and stars, shedding off darkness."
-J.M. Ledgard, Submergence, 105-106
I read quite a bit from this novel today that I had put down for a while due to school eating up all of my free time that otherwise would have gone toward reading. It was really nice as I stumbled across passages like the above one to experience that thing that occurs when you read good writing, some tingling in the core of what makes you human, some thoughts about what it is life means, and then also tied in with that some aspirational thoughts about writing something great as well.
I went to the gym. I worked out for a long time and stared at various men, this one in particular for most of my time at the gym. I assume this guy is straight from how we dresses and occasionally hearing him talk to other people. He has a perfect body that I want. He is beautiful and I probably am not as discreet as I should be when stealing glances at him. I am really glad that for whatever reason he is one the same gym schedule as me, always there usually around three or four in the afternoon. I am trying to think of what his job might be, or whether he even has one. I don't think he does.
For a while, I didn't have Scruff on my phone and I was proud of this. Proud of how much time I would no longer waste on this thing. Loneliness has gotten the better of me now however. I downloaded it a couple days ago and as I write this here I am continually checking my phone, hoping that this really cute guy continues our conversation, this boy that is some physical combination of various past romantic interests of mine. I might be projecting a lot on to him, but that's okay because it seems that he has lost interest.
Was it my longer and longer responses talking about how this autumn chill in the air is producing various effects on me, mainly a heightened sentimentality and a desire for affection? Probably.
I drank a bit of red wine this evening, having stopped at Trader Joe's where I stocked up on the Charles Shaw. I watched Tabloid, which is yet another great documentary from Errol Morris, this one chronicling the life of Joyce McKinney, a former beauty queen who tracked a Mormon she was in love with down to London, kidnapped him very likely, and chained him down for a couple of days in which she very likely forced him to have sex with her. The movie really gets at what love is and what obsession is, and where, if anywhere at all, the line is between those two things. She is an amazing person that I, unsurprisingly I am sure to many of you, identified with a great deal.
"I did what any American girl would do if her husband vanished into thin air. I looked for him."
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