allmydreams's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- here she comes now i am, as usual, putting off this monster of a paper i have to write by friday. evan made me two cds today, so i feel compelled to listen to at least parts of them before beginning my work. plus, more importantly, i'm just lazy. oh, and i think i'm getting sick. my occasional smoking habit is turning into an occasional non-smoking habit, i suppose. i really want to read more of "prozac nation" as well. i can't decide if i hate elizabeth wurtzel, or if i sympathize with her, or if i look up to her, or if i'm just plain jealous of her. i hate the way she seems to have to just slinked her way through life, getting really damn lucky along the way. i can't stand how she got into harvard, the fact that she lost so much weight when she went to college, the way she seems to mention that she won the rolling stone college journalism award in every single statement i read about her. but at the same time, i mean, isn't she exactly who i want to be? no one (including myself) really understands what i mean when i say what i want to do when i get out of school. i want to write literary journalism, i want to write for a magazine, i want to write a fucking memoir, i want to be a pop culture critic, i want to live in the city, i want to be beautiful and i want christina ricci to star in a movie about my life. i guess i sort of want to be just like elizabeth wurtzel. but for some reason, it's a different feeling than i have about say, joan didion. this just seems so real to me. i am so overindulgent and self-centered (in my writing, in my life, in my head...) and so is she and i just feel like i relate to this. i am just this girl who was always a bit spoiled and was shuffled through a couple really good schools but never really fit in quite right and never was quite happy and was always a bit paler and darker than everyone else, if that makes any sense at all. i don't know what i think about her depression. i guess i kind of envy the way her mental instability comes across as almost a tangible thing--something that is just. so. apparent. my own neurosis is something a little more subtle, something that can be hidden better and something that i don't really like to reveal. but i can't deny that most people who get to know me really well eventually run away because they find out i am so fucking self-obsessed and crazy. i guess evan is right...insanity is sort of a romantic thing. i hate admitting that. i've spent so much time trying to pass myself off as a somewhat normal, functioning person. but anyway. what it all comes down to is that this book really just makes me want to write, want to be able to write, want to be something besides the subject of writing. i feel like i should have accomplished so much by now...it's this constant malaise that's been following me since sunday night, when i had to listen to all the other scholarship recipients' bios. i just feel so fake. i'm not trying at this at all and i think it's starting to show. *** i am also afraid of getting old. i hate living next to a nursing home. almost every day i see these white haired women with sunken cheeks and these blank faced men scooting around with their walkers, wearing expensive suits they've owned since the seventies. i don't want to end things on that note. on the other hand, there is my grandmother, who is obviously on the last leg of her life. she has days, weeks, maybe months left to live, but to me, she seems like a regular person. she will be 83 in august, but her hair is still a dark charcoal, her face is nothing less than attractive, and no one could call her insentient. i mean, she lives alone, she can have conversations; if she wasn't on this practically numbing medication, she'd basically be fine. i guess i should just hope for that. and to die in my sleep. i'm so scared to death of death, really. 3:39 pm - 2003-04-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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