rechord the melodies

i think, once im well, i need to march around the house being trigger-happy with the dettol spray.

i would love to take yenn’s advice, but i don’t think im strong enough. perhaps if i hated him to the core it’d be easier, but a love-hate relationship is tricky.

on tuesday night he said he camped at my place. i was out, and he said he’ll wait. a half hour later he said he wouldn’t force me to meet him if im not prepared to. what a loser! tell me if it doesn’t look like he just got bored of waiting. i told him as much, and he said i always think the worse of him. what am i supposed to think?

granted, of cos, even if he tried explaining why he had to leave i don’t think they’d be valid enough for me anyway, because clearly the other reason compelled him more than me. he had a chance of reconciliation that night, but he blew it without me having done anything.

scorn, however, does not make a break-up any less lonely nor unhappy.

a wasted day. i finally got out of the house late at 9 and went to town. the only place still open was borders, and i went in and bought three books, books i doubt i’d have the patience to read if i continue to be this down and out. catcher in the rye, a hundred years of solitude, lolita. classics, all, canon too. i don’t know what im trying to prove, or even whom im proving to, my status as a lit student. as if by reading all the classics my life would be made better! as beckett has always tried to present, the poverty of the human condition is too rampant.

came across the memory palace by christie dickason while rearranging my book cabinet, and i paused to read again the most memorable, and poignant scene in the work. philip wentworth, an aging sojourner, married a pregnant zeal to save her from condemnation. zeal was still very much in love with the exiled man, the father of the unborn child, but philip took her in. the love between them grew as they began to know each other more. the night that zeal could tell philip that she loved him, and say it truthfully, was the night that philip died.

the story itself was not impressive, but that particular scene is tender and touching. i think particularly of amos. our age difference is not as vast as the fictional philip and zeal, but amos is a fair bit older, with white hair, with a lot of medical conditions i wish he didn’t have. i live in the morbid fear that i will have to outlive him, and consequently i have rather hoped that we could perhaps die together in a freak accident of some sort, else i’d be selfish and hope to leave him behind. or perhaps if he leaves me then i will waste away and die of grief within the week. (thinking about it i think the dr might put the cause of death as overeating).

will need to stop being morbid.

i think i have got an infected eye. it is red, itchy and irritating, and i keep tearing. i’ve been tearing since sunday. it is not pleasant at all, i think i shall have to go to a doctor. gah!