Thursday, October 12, 2000
@ home 2216 hrs
Where have I been? What have I been doing? Have these last few months been any more than waste?
About two months ago, and excuse me if I’ve posted this before, Wendi asked me if I’d regret this time of my life in the future. At the time I responded, jokingly, “Only if it gets better.” Now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s my exhaustion speaking, but I’ve begun to think that my late nights out and growing group of friends have been, for the most part, all for naught. As if, in the beginning, I trusted such actions and people to “fill the void” in my life, but now, being here, I find that not to be true and, even worse, to have eroded some more essential part of me.
I’ve neglected this journal of late and I feel the guilt of doing so. It seems the more I go out the less I have to write. Maybe because I reserve less solitary time devoted solely to cultivating my own thoughts or maybe because I’m slowly finding that all those thoughts and opinions are horribly misguided–that anything I write or feel has the aura of impermanence and meaningless about it. I’m rarely this blunt in person, and this fact makes me wonder if, deep down, I know my view of things can’t stand up to another’s cold gaze and questioning.
I am exhausted. Spiritually. I don’t mean that in any religious sense; going to church wouldn’t fix it for me. I mean, my own spirit, me, has left the room or at least seems to have. Which is another reason, I believe, my writing has been so sporadic and so much more dry than usual. I read back over my archives and think, Well, there’s some decent writing in there and some coherent ideas, and then I look at my more recent posts and find them rather lacking in discernable content. I feel like I need some time off.
Taking a hiatus from this journal isn’t fair to my readers (but, then again, continuing to write may never have been very fair to them either–ha!), as I’ve already taken an unofficial hiatus over the past few months. What I need is a hiatus from the life I’m leading. Not that it’s a horrible life. I’m proud of the relationships I’ve built recently, but I wonder if devoting so much to their well-being and growth has cost me the time and energy needed to improve upon what I consider my one true love: words.
I feel I sound a bit too much like Wendi when I suggest that I need a break from all the late nights and friends in order to get myself back together. So I contradict myself? So I’m a hypocrite? So I am. What are your thoughts on it?
Even though before this time in my life I felt very alone, I, somehow, also felt more solid. At least that’s how it seems now–distance from past experiences seems to spruce them up a bit.
I don’t know what to do. I need the phone to stop ringing but I’m afraid it will and never ring again.