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Mon | December 05, 2005
Forgotten Things
I have a tendency to become blissful and turn my brain off like I'm on the drop of a rollercoaster. Tao isn't like this. Jan is like this. I am going to go through everyone I know and think of whether or not or how much they are like this and try to detect any patterns.
I must be more mindful. Last night I hung out with Sharif and we were both kind of vacuous. We went to a bad kgb reading and then improv. I asked him what he thought the difference was between a story in which people have sex and porn. When is it just, this is porn. He said you know it when you see it. I have never seen it, so it doesn't help. I have an idea that it has something to do with vocabulary and emotion.
Whenever I make resolutions it's to do bad things. Like that I should lie more and watch porn. You're such a liar, he said. No, you are the liar, I should take some tips from you. I don't remember how we got to talking about lying. I might have written about it in this blog. I forget whether I've told him about this blog.
Last night I forgot that it was Sunday. I think this has happened before and I started to write about it and then I thought forget it, why do I write about such trivial things. But then it happened again and now I am thinking I must examine myself a little and figure out why I forget. Forgetting is fantasy, is disconnection with reality. Being in a writing state of mind involves disconnecting with this reality in order to more fully inhabit another. I have always been annoyed at writers who embrace their faults like some badge of their genius. I must be more mindful, that is all. I must be aware of how much I can forget before I start to miss trains.
I could not do anything after I realized I had been erroneously waiting for the 11:49, that I had not missed the 10:39-- it did not exist, there was nothing to miss-- I could have caught the 11:11, and was now waiting for the 12:34. I could not do anything after these revelations but I could not do anything before, either. I sat and wanted to go home. I observed the bums at Starbucks. I called Sharif and told him I missed my train. Well do you want to stay here? he asked. He meant his place in Fort Greene. He didn't mean anything else. No, I said, looking at my jeans with the rips and stitches and painted flowers. I might be able to get away with wearing them the next day at Kap, but I thought I had better not try.
I sat on the train until Orange and then had the inspiration to lie down on the three seater. At Millburn the conductor came by and called me Miss. He said I could lie down but that he didn't want me to miss my stop. Also there was a man coming around. By the way he said man I knew he meant creep. Write me a letter, the creep said, as we were leaving Summit.
This morning when I turned on the lamp it flashed and then expired. I remembered again how yesterday I sent that email to Jim but it went to the whole damn group. I forgot my cell phone. I left it in the pocket of my other jacket.
Improv is temporal. I forget what they said.
Sharif smells like dust. Last night I wanted nothing more than to go to the other side of the table and sit on his lap. Not in a provocative way, but in a cozy, intimate way. Instead I got up to leave, and he took a long time to put all his clothes on. A sweater and then a sweatshirt, and gloves, scarf and hat. I cannot believe you are the fussy one, I said. I put on my jacket and I'm done. While we were walking down 7th St. I borrowed his hat. When we got to the 8th St. N/R station we grinned at each other and said,
-bye!
-bye!
Last night when I called him from the Starbucks where I was surrounded by bums and crazy people, he told me that he left his wallet at the sushi place. Because I threw my fucking wallet in my fucking bag, and it fucking bounced off the edge of the bag instead of going in. He said this all good-naturedly. Over dinner he told me about this girl he slept with a few times and then told her it was turning into a relationship and he didn't want one of those. Oh, I said sympathetically. You probably hurt her feelings. No, he said, we hung out last week, for the first time in a month. I thought she must have been hurt anyway because when Eric broke up with me I was hurt but continued being friends anyway. I started to think of how to show him that she might be more hurt than she seemed, how to change the way he was thinking about her so that he would be nicer and more considerate. Oh what do I care about her, I said suddenly. I hope she gets hurt. Sharif laughed. I like him because I can say anything to him.
I told him about how I had to email ~~ recently to tell him I wasn't interested. That he had kept trying even though I kept brushing him off. That he had said thanks for the clarification, and I was surprised he didn't know. I wonder if I should email all the guys I know, I said, and tell them exactly what I think. I think they know, but maybe they don't. I tend to think everyone must know exactly what I think because I know exactly what they think. Still, after all these years, I don't know what I think of Sharif. And now that I'm thinking about it I don't know what anyone really thinks of me after all. Maybe I should instead email everyone and ask them what they think. But I am already forgetting my recent email disaster.
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