This reminds me so much of myself.

I know the future is open and unpredictable. My style, though, is to want to close it — to make it predictable — at least the immediate future (3 months, 6 months, a year) or the longer future with respect to my most intimate relations. A completely open, unpredictable future makes me horribly anxious. I can’t imagine how I will function (because I assume functioning in an effective, creative — not blundering — way entails making plans). Of course, I’m fairly confident that I could function somehow — but on a lower level — even if I have no certainties before me. But it has never really occurred to me, I now realize, that this is anything but an undesirable (and, in the case of love, extremely painful and destructive) limitation. It’s as if I’m supposed to walk through a forest without being allowed to inform myself whether or not it’s full of wolves. Sure, I’ll cross the forest anyway— but it seems just stupid, a pointless risk, that I wasn’t allowed to inform myself first, when I know the information is available.

[There are two vertical lines next to this sentence in the margin.]Only now do I see the limits of my view of life — how carefully I limit surprise, risk-taking, unanticipated sources of change.

The fact is that I have been unusually loose and open to risk-taking in matters of work— tolerant and relatively anxiety-free in work situations that seem to arouse intolerable amounts of anxiety and insecurity in most other people. But I have been so damned cautious, self-protective, uninventive, anxiety-prone, and needful of reassurance in matters of love. I am so very much more cool, loose, adventurous in work than in love. So much more inventive. So easily convinced that if ‘this’ doesn’t work out, something else will — that there’s always ‘more.’ Just what I don’t feel about people — whether friends or lovers.

[In the margin:] ‘scarcity economy of love.’

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Every little hair knows your name

So today I discovered that my relationship has been built on a foundation of deceit, theft, memory loss, weed and alcohol.

Well, you know what they say…. actually, I don’t think they’ve come up with a saying for this yet.

In other news from the week:

One of the grad students from work put up this Facebook status on Friday-

Intern tells her version of Genesis today:

“Eve eats the poison apple of temptation, and then God gets angry, and they are naked, and God casts them out of paradise and they need to work. Oh, and then they have lots of babies or something.”(5 minutes later)

“Clearly I am a heathen!”

(After posting this) Intern: “This is so embarassing. Public shaming. Hang on. Isn’t that what they do to heathens? Public shaming or something?”
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Also, A mentioned in a thread : Yesterday, R was on Skype, and I told her I could see Facebook reflected in her spectacles. She said– ‘sums up a generation.’ Truer words were never spoken. Ki pathetic.
The person in both instances was me, of course. For some reason everyone at work knew it was me because in their words- no one else would use the word ‘heathen’. The second I only bring up here to convince you that I am not actually a blithering idiot.
In less useless news, I have discovered Jens Lekman, a Swediesh indie pop artist. Your arms around me may just be the best thing I’ve listened to this side of alternate since The Stray Birds. His voice reminds me a little of Morrissey from The Smiths.

Things fall apart. It’s going to be a sunny week in January. Eighteen degrees- Celsius, not Fahrenheit. There’s a lot to get used to these days- inches, miles, pounds, ounces, gallons. The overwhelming presence of certain people, the overwhelming absence of others. I feel more Canadian than I’ve ever felt before. I miss Timmy’s. I miss –

“You belong here”, I was told today. Looked me straight in the eye and said, “You’ll do great”. My knees were trembling and I had confessed that I was intimidated by Harvard and MIT. “You belong here”.

Some things fall together, others fall apart. Slowly, and then all at once.

Dylan

  • In an interview with Sing Out! magazine, Dylan said, “The songs are there. They exist all by themselves just waiting for someone to write them down. I just put them down on paper. If I didn’t do it, somebody else would.”
  • “Down the Highway” – Dylan composed this song in the form of a 12-bar blues. In the sleeve notes of Freewheelin’, Dylan explained to Nat Hentoff: “What made the real blues singers so great is that they were able to state all the problems they had; but at the same time, they were standing outside of them and could look at them. And in that way, they had them beat.”[25] Into this song, Dylan injected one explicit mention of an absence that was troubling him: the sojourn of Suze Rotolo in Perugia: “My baby took my heart from me/ She packed it all up in a suitcase/ Lord, she took it away to Italy, Italy.”