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9:19 p.m. - 2001-05-11 Here we are, drowned in nostalgia. I remember the Mommy couch and the Daddy couch. Now I don't have to choose. Ironically, my mom took the Daddy couch with her to the apartment when they separated, and I can't sit on it today without remembering. I was four when I wrote that story. At four I didn't want to choose between Mommy and Daddy so I put in it terms of couches, the mommy couch and the daddy couch. I still do that sometimes, if you objectify reality enough, you can walk through it without noticing any chaos you might cause. People get in trouble when they personify things or objects that may or may not need to be personified. I used to personify my stuffed animals, and when I got mad, I would throw them, and then think about it as if I had thrown a friend. Honestly more pain was passed over imaginary personifications than actual 'persons'. I haven't experienced much anguish over tragic topics, but I have experienced tragic topics. My anguish came over stuffed animals, wishing the clock ran backwards, regret, fishing through the web of whether I had weaved the rejection or the rejection had weaved me. I'm still not quite sure, but deaths never bothered me. When I knew about a death, and I did, usually before anyone else, I wouldn't cry, and if I did cry, I would cry because I felt bad that I didn't feel like crying. That first thread sounded cruel, the one about objectifying reality, and I wish I could say I hated doing it. Maybe I do and it will surface in a mental disorder sometime later for a psychoanalyst to fish out, but I genuinely care about people when my psyche tells me too, and sometimes my psyche is hard and unfeeling. Something I don't like; stark honesty coupled with the ability to dodge and create. This is who I am. And now you see demonstrated what happens when I write and listen to music and write at the same time. Mind blurbs. SOME people can multitask. I'm not one of them.
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