September 25, 2006 - 1:02
I feel coarse, brown, oafish. Inelegant, spastic even, unattractive. Of course it shouldn't matter so much. But God I want to be found as beautiful as I find some. Looking at them and feeling so roused by their features, or the way they move. I feel defeated by these people before I even start.
I have no right; but I'm relentless, almost greedy with it. When it's over I'll envision things like purple eyelids on pillowcase, and know that I approached delicacy that I had no business with.
My self-doubt is insane, actually. Tempered with opposingly crazed euphoric washes, such as yesterday, when I actually felt "transcendent". On tea is all. Realizing I had memorized the piano to Ave Maria some years before, without even knowing it. "Remember how capable you feel right now."
Believing as I do that there's too much stored in my head that I can't access, things I've forgotten, that when I suddenly recall how to do something or I reconnect with cleverness, it's an indescribable rush. On this sort of trip, I've thought before that I actually knew everything, and it's only a matter of luck or the right word, and I can tap into it right there to reference, or even own if I was just careful with it.
I guess my wish, if I have to be semi-productive and not just emotive, is that I could learn to operate on some level ground where I just feel normal. Like a normal curious girl who learns lessons, and feels ready, seasoned. Who doesn't forget, who doesn't frenzy, who only feels worthless once in a while when she's done something stupid, and then recovers back to her senses. To have a more reasonable reference for her physical self, that isn't based on perceived projections from outside sources that she's already deemed much better than her.
If I donate my eggs, I could get a little bit of free psychotherapy, probably top-notch.