obsessively writing and rewriting our names together on a white piece of printer paper as i remember some doing in grade school. this is all for the purpose of creating a name tag to secure to our mailbox. it is a simple task but i cannot get the font right or something. who’s name should be first? the care and obsessive concern i am placing in this process is my morning’s catharsis. a symbol for all things happening now and for all things felt. i am reminded in looking down at these names together of the moment i first saw them together on our lease. how ecstatic i felt at the sight of it. i am unsure of why i allow my mind to do this to me. in two hours a few strangers will arrive here to look through our place, to potentially judge what it is they may suspect we are and what it is that we may be going through. i am feeling violated and upset.
It is one of the terrors of human existence that we may be led at once to seek and to shun solitude; unable to bear the mortal pressure of its embrace, unable to endure the nostalgia of its absence. ” I think man’s happiest when he forgets himself,” says an Elizabethan dramatist; and, with Gerard, there was Adrienne to forget, and Jenny Colon the actress, and the Queen of Sheba. But to have drunk of the cup of dreams is to have drunk of the cup of eternal memory. The past, and, as it seemed to him, the future were continually with him; only the present fled continually from under his feet. It was only by the effort of this contact with people who lived so sincerely in the day, the minute, that he could find even a temporary foothold. With them, at least, he could hold back all the stars, and the darkness beyond them, and the interminable approach and disappearance of all the ages, if only for the space between tavern and tavern, where he could open his eyes on so frank an abandonment to the common drunkenness of most people in this world, here for once really living the symbolic intoxication of their ignorance.
i can’t remember much about my time on antidepressants, but what i do remember is that i was somewhere in my fourth year of college. i can recall living with andrew during this time. i remember a few friends, one notably being a dancer and psychologist with whom i was infatuated, expressing their uneasiness with my decision. i remember other friends expressing their open support. i remember telling some friends that i felt like a zombie, although i don’t clearly remember actually feeling this way. i remember it feeling cool outside. i remember seeing you for the first time, coming from around a bush on main st. i remember drinking far too much, on far too many nights. i remember missing a lot. i remember screaming and threatening to commit arson against our most frequented coffee shop. i remember all of the evils which i called people. i remember crying between two friend’s arms. i remember the warm sun and my space heater. i remember you in the snow.
sometimes when i am feeling more down than average, i hear a voice chime in from somewhere that says to me, “you truly are suffering,” and at every time i can never discern whether or not this sentiment is sent sarcastically. all that i can feel for certain is that these aren’t my own words, as far as i can recall i had first met them in a book or a movie, yet regardless they are here now to ride it out with me and further complicate things.