1.I keep hurting myself in boxing, but in small ways. Twice I have not made a full fist when hitting and smashed a finger while smashing my hand into someone’s ribs. Today I hurt my thumb. No serious damage (I think) but still, annoying. Small moments of being uncommitted screw me over.
2. Boxing this week was odd. I was mentally unfocused and felt awkward again. I have been emotionally distracted this week. I was thinking of the Northrup article you sent me. My body is cleansing. Getting ready to expel.
3. I want to end certain relationships that no longer serve me. No longer make sense. I am scared. I am scared of how it will look. But it’s just being human. Things end. It’s just life.
4. I have an interview for a teaching position tomorrow. It’s looks like a great company, a surprising find for craigslist, though craigslist is a normal place to post for jobs, not just creep land.
5. Adbusters has an opening, first time in a few years. Last time I was too scared to apply. I’m still scared and feel like I’m not good enough, but I’m going to apply. Who knows.
6. Boxing. I wish I could just box. Everything felt so good when I spent the whole day thinking about boxing and then got to the club and boxed. Life felt good.
7. I’m listening to Adele. So good.
8. I had a salad with olives today. So good.
9. I’m icing my thumb. So good.
10. I am definitely considering moving to L.A. in January. We will see. Don’t worry, that doesn’t mean I’ve ruled out Berlin. Or just staying here.
11. My 16 year old child prodigy friend is tutoring calculus for $100/h. Amazing.
12. There is something so important in sport. So beautiful. Gah.
13. I’m reading Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking. Incredible. One of the reviews on the back says “I can’t imagine dying without this book.” What a beautiful thing to say. To have said about ones work. Mmmm.
Everybody tells me it’s ’bout time that I moved on
And I need to learn to lighten up and learn how to be young
But my heart is a valley, it’s so shallow and man made
I’m scared to death if I let you in that you’ll see I’m just a fake
Sometimes I feel lonely in the arms of your touch
But I know that’s just me, ’cause nothing ever is enough
When I was a child I grew up by the River Lea
There was something in the water, now that something’s in me
Oh I can’t go back, but the reeds are growing out of my fingertips
I can’t go back to the river
14. It’s amazing how when one thing is damaged (the thumb) you can feel how connected it is to everything else (the fingers, the wrist). Typing with an injury, however mild, is teaching me a lot. We do not respect the value of pain. The lessons pain can give. We medicate those who feel pain. We do not listen. We do not want to feel our inherent connections.
15. I think a literature degree would be far more useful for writers than a creative writing degree. I’ve learned more from fifty pages of Joan Didion than I did in almost those entire two years of study. Study, can I call it that? Of enduring others. Yes.
16. The guy I like is still beautiful and perfect and not single. Damn it, A!
17. I wonder how long it would take after potentially moving to L.A. to get over him.
18. I have never found anyone so beautiful. Even when I was in love with people. It was never this. He’s like War and Peace, something you marvel at with whatever you know about it, before you’ve even read it. You just know it’s worth marveling at.
19. I want a hamster. Last night I couldn’t sleep and read the Wikipedia article on hamsters. According to it, the first pair of breeding hamsters from which currently domesticated hamsters are descended from were from Aleppo, Syria. Hmm.
20. It takes so much strength to live. When did I become so weak, or the forces against me so strong? Or maybe because I am strong, those forces are getting stronger?
21. Don’t let someone hit you without hitting back. Boxing. It’s true.
22. I have grown unaccustomed to writing the way I did. Well. Easily. Honestly. Now I am caked with fear. I must scrub myself clean. I must be brave. Even if I don’t know why, and I doubt the value of words. Something small, at the very least, says write.