The descent of my blog...

I think my picking might be a metaphor for my internal condition. I can't leave all my little problems alone, I keep trying to forcibly remove them because I don't know what else to do... That just makes it worse, but I can't stop! I'm so confused... by my own feelings, this inner struggle that doesn't have one side pulling out ahead. I want to express it, discharge it from my soul... I'm trying to separate but part of me keeps holding on...holding on to what? Every unresolved moment in my past that I carry like a wound that won't heal. Fuck.

I think I just did something borderline insane. It's always bothered me when people paid for little books that have been out for a long time and brought them back in thinking they'd get reimbursed and they don't... So this lady just had to pay for a dinky kids book worth five bucks and I told her if she finds it to keep it. One of those decisions that made sense until after it came out of my mouth. Oh, my god, what did I just do? Tell someone to keep library materials. Fuck.

Couple concepts brought up by Milan Kundera- Beauty by mistake- and the descent of music into noise and pure ugliness... He gives us four primary characters all with very different feelings and perceptions and I have this feeling that one represents him more than the others... Mainly because he brings her out with almost no hint of criticism and the others are tainted by it, either through the narrating voice or the other characters. But not Sabina. She is the character those two concepts are introduced through, her feelings about music and beauty. It's strange because the idea is that accidental beauty has an unintentional superiority to it, but that music has become noise and ugliness. The accidental beauty is NYcity, the coming together of all it's peculiar buildings, individually ugly, but as a whole beautiful...a concept that I need some help understanding. What gets me is both come out of the same culture and time... Is there no accidental beauty in music? It's a different subject, I know... But to marvel at one and disdain the other... feels disparate. I don't think that's the right word for what I actually mean, but I can't think of the word that really captures it. At odds, in conflict. Ooh, according to the internet thesaurus that word does work. Yey me.

I think I want to get a haircut again. It's becoming rather consistant- being sick of my hair right now. Sick of the blonde too. Weird how I phase in and out, there must be an identifiable pattern happening... I want something trendy and medium short, layered bangs that flip out and just long enough in the back for pigtails, the tiny ones. I think those cuts are so cute. I want to feel cute and playful, girlish and light.

I just feel like mentioning that over the history of my blog there have been a few I never posted, and never will... maybe I should delete them.

Thinking about individual moments in my past I have no desire to relive most of it, some places, some times I would go back to, but not most. Before Georgia is good, before all the confusion set in. Just being a happy kid and feeling free all the time. In some ways I'd like to go back and try again. But there is something impossible about that- the fact is I'd just be the same person again, make the same choices again...

Another thought... there was a baby in here earlier largely exploring it's own voice, the shouting kind, loud, unpatterned spurts of baby-shouts. In my mind I understand, but I find it very disruptive to my own mental state. Conversely, a librarian just went out and asked a group of young men to have their boisterous conversation somewhere else and it wasn't bothering me at all. I think I was enjoying it, like white noise. The sound, a long with the sun being in the early stages of setting, reminds me of being at a hotel and hearing all the people at the pool, laughing and conversing incomprehensibly. So why is one pleasant and the other jarring? I guess the baby shouts were abrasive and their laughter and indistinguishable words weren't. Pool noise. Nostalgia even.