It's not all that, it's not. "What is it then?" she asked. If I could even begin to answer her question she would have shown me some respect but I gave her a dull nod and said "I don't know." I am sick of pleading ignorance these days. I want to know. I want to know. And I want to know more than the things I study, read, write or think. I want to fucking know.
Literature really does you in, if you take it seriously. The world does you in if you take it seriously. Why didn't I realize it before? I never took it seriously and I was fine, then I lost half my friends, I mean not just drifting away but actively antagonizing them, I am such a wretched bitch. Fuck this world!Fuck it all. I want to stop being endearing to a handful, I want to be enduring instead.
And now-after a really pathetic day- I came home and discovered that a didi of mine has sent me a parcel of books, choglet and clothes from Montreal. This made me cry out of sheer happiness. Isn't there this strange thrill that permeates one's body and mind when one discovers that one is loved unconditionally by someone at least? I was so happy with everything until I discovered that she had also sent me a piece of putty. Amazing putty that tears like paper, bounces like rubber and shatters like ceramic! It's s'posed to be for stress relief and is manufactured by a company called Copernicus Toys. (Irony, huh?) It has made one li'l retard sister very very very very happy :)
I don't know what to gloat over more-Michael Chabon, endless gourmet choglet or my piece of yellow putty nothingness (and putty sounds like potty, I am exhilarated!)
Silver linings etc etc outshining them dirty grey clouds, huh!
Thank you and I love you Buba didi!