Tema (notorioustemo) wrote,

Prose Before Hos?

So Happy Easter and my mother accidentally killed a bunny today while gardening. Irony? No—seriously. And she considers it a bad omen of sorts. But really, isn’t everything just some portent of my inevitable misery?

I’m totally keeping it together while everything around me seems to be going to bits, but honestly, [forced] optimism is just exhausting. At least I’m trying. Or something.

Honestly. The weather has been a f[l]antastic mood-elevator (yes, my mood is riding up and down—and has perhaps pressed the emergency stop button so that it can kiss a strange boy while someone in surveillance smiles). Or whatever. I haven’t kissed anyone on an elevator in a while. Or someone on a mood-elevator? And if I were to jump off of a cliff while having sex with Courtney Love would I be falling in love? And I just adore driving around with the windows down and wearing open-toed shoes. And I’ve been reading a lot and smiling and I haven’t cried in a while (since a little melt-down last Wednesday?)—And and and.

And Anna is amazing for creating the group entitled "I'm Saving What's Left of Me For Paul Adler." And aren't we all, really?

And parents have no right to be passive-aggressive.
So—Mother’s Shtick:
Yes you will be happy at Yale. Of course. But you won’t if you aren’t positive you will so why don’t you fucking go to NYU or just crawl into a gutter somewhere and you cannot blame me if you’re not happy so how about you don’t go but you are going to go to Yale I mean I don’t know but I need something to throw in my friends’ faces but I don’t know if you’ll be happy but you probably won’t but I won’t bother you.

She thinks my discontent is a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. And I’ll give her that. In that you can certainly be as much of a mess as you’d like to be so long as you tell yourself you just can’t clean anything up. But I don’t think I’m going to be unhappy. Mainly, I think that I’ve had a difficult couple of weeks. And it’s at a point where pretty much everything is comical. And I’m reading The Death of Artemio Cruz and I love how Fuentes makes the line between cruelty and tenderness so thin. Such a timeless trend.

And I just watched the last half hour of Easter Parade. My favorite comfort movie (right up there with The Graduate, I <3 Huckabees, and Boogie Nights) and I’m mulling over a little escape to the Berkshires but will try to hold off on that one until the weekend.

Let’s hope that April is the cruelest month and that something decides to bloom come May.
Come what May?
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