As I mentioned over on Vox earlier, I woke up in the mood for The Weakerthans, and have spent a majority of my day listening to them. Specifically, “My Favourite Chords.” It’s matching my mood quite well. And my mood? My mood you ask?
Well that would have to be totally fried with a good bit of moodiness that calls for introspection. I’m actually quite welcoming of the introspection. I have to start a new story, and no story can be written until you spend a good chunk of time psycho-analyzing yourself in the name of procrastination.
I made the mistake of visiting the Lonely Girl archives of iwilldare.com. My intention was not to make myself cry, rather I was going to make a point about the upcoming 3-day weekend and how much I used to hate being asked about them. I never found what I was looking for, but I found quite a few entries that move me to tears in a weird, detached way.
Sometimes when I look back on those more emotional entries it’s as though I am reading the words of another girl (and sometimes when I see the typos, and awkward phrases, I wish they were someone else’s). The pain in some of those entires is palpable, but in some ways it feels like the pain of someone else — though I know perfectly well that those are my words, my feelings.
Anyway, my original point is that another 3-day weekend is upon us. Instead of worrying over what people might think if I tell them I’m doing nothing and have no plans, I’m excited for the weekend. I can’t wait to do nothing and have no plans (though my friend Ray might come up and just the potential for that makes me smile). I miss spending time with me. I keep feeling things building up. I haven’t written anything in three months, and I feel cloggy inside. I want so much to spend some time alone that I feel myself growing resentful of anyone who wants any of my attention.
It’s selfish and I don’t even care.