All the Horrible Girliness

It isn't particularly late, but I should be in bed with my husband. It was nice there a few minutes ago when I laid with him, the lights on, my arm slung over his chest and his little baby-snore rocking me almost to sleep.

Something makes me want to be awake at night, some fight to squeeze time out of a day. Or the voices, the stories and conversations that run around my skull when things get quiet, maybe it's just too much to be alone with in the dark. So I get up and go to the computer every night, and post on forums because I need conversation and I really don't want to write.

I threw away half my collection of books the other day. It broke my heart to dump them. I'm sure we could've donated them somewhere, but once things are ready to go, Mr. Aran just wants them out of sight. They weren't even particularly good books; many I would never read again if I'd even made it all the way through the first time. I love books, though, I love the idea of them, and throwing them out seemed sacreligious.

In my bookcases I came across a bunch of old spiral-bound notebooks with my writing in them, stuff I really thought was genius at the time. It was so embarassing to read over that 97% of them got dumped, too. I bought a new notebook and pen at the Japanese store without guilt, because one of my great pleasures is writing on the first page of a new notebook with a new pen, and the first writing went something like:

"I'm sitting outside the market. It's sunny. These old ladies just pulled up next to me and now they're asking for directions."

Supposedly, as long as there's no emotion in it, just the bare representation of facts, I won't feel like vomiting when I read it in five years.

posted by Samus @ 9:54 PM