Focus

"the right dreams for a man in peril were dreams of peril and all else was the call of languor and death"-Cormack McCarthy

See? Isn't that the best picture of zoo-wolves that you've ever seen? Aren't you jealous as all get-out?

I dried the roses in the oven, I'm finishing my fantastic reversible quilt, I'm reading 'The Road', I helped my neighbors move, and by this level of productivity you can tell it's nearly finals week.

On top of that:

I haven't heard back from the graduation office nor the hermitage of Sage.*

I spent Saturday night at a party so deeply self-loathing and uncomfortable that the only reprieve was to act totally at ease --which is exhausting--

and I look forward to ten days of papers due, dr. appts far off in the Downtown, my screenwriting teacher dropping names like a NameDrop Tree, writing that long-overdue soccer/zombie thriller screenplay, typing up 5 more papers before coaxing an early final out my Lit Theory teacher, finalizing arrangments to borrow a car for my Dream interview, cleaning house, washing clothes, eating maybe if free time allows, going to rehearsal, and did I mention the self loathing, the feeling of being so uncomfortable in my skin that I want to shed myself like a mud-soaked sweatshirt? Oh, and breathing, I should probably breathe.


*Sage...such a sweetheart:

Me: So is your hand broken?
Sage: Why?
Me: You never emailed back.
Sage: Actually, I may have broken a bone in the palm
Me: You may have? Shouldn't hospitals and doctors help you figure that out?
Sage: Yeah, I wouldn't wear a cast to work.
Me: you're not allowed to wear a cast to work? Really?
Sage: I didn't say couldn't, I said I wouldn't. It's fine.

(Later)


Me: So everything working out ok?
Sage: I can't talk about it until it's done.
Me: When can you hang out?
Sage: Never. I don't know. (picks up beer with hurt hand, grimaces, switches hands)
Me: I think I hate you.
Sage: everyone does.
Me: (although I'm glad he didn't hear this) Try acting less proud of that.





Yeah. He's not the shiniest. And doesn't seem to like...people. Which I can relate to. However, I know, I KNOW he enjoys my company. (<--forced inner monologue of positivity kicking in) The fundamental problem is that he wants to be alone, and I can't understand that. Hours of solitude are nice at times; but I grew up alone. I was always alone. In my mind, it's not a situation you long for. It's status quo. But clearly I don't know Sage well enough to help out. To even know if he's serious half the time. Who knows, maybe my childhood would have been paradise to him.

Or maybe he's in a place/of a mind where being cheered up is a luxury and a waste of time. Maybe, pardon the archaic term, he's in peril. Maybe I want an excuse beyond simply disliking me.


Maybe I should stop drying flowers and hunting caged wolves and be happy that (despite his apathy and lack of affection) the man has spectacular eyes. For F-ing serious. Damn.

edited to add:

(at some point in the evening)

Sage: Whatebs.

Me: No, I won't stand for this. No, I was ok with adding an 's' to whatev, but a 'b'? That's not even reasonable.

Sage: (Pause) whatebbbbbs.