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03.07.03 - 3:56 a.m.

sleeplessness. the word looks sleepy, even, all of those curled up s's like sleeping me. I think i woke up at 3:30 thinking, suddenly, about that movie _The Ring_ which is just what everyone wants to wake up thinking about. I blame it all on becca who called me in the middle of the night to talk to me all about how the two best friends names are Kate and Becca and that the main character lives in apartment 601 as my address and other kooky details that i have been trying to forget nightly since i saw that movie, And then every sound is that kid coming out of the television and im only writing about it now in order to expunge as i fear she will grab hold of my foot from under the desk and eat me or turn me into something decomposing or whatever it is she does. So i turn on the radio and, of course, its rachmaninoffs super scary symphony which is beautiful but-still- super scary and of course, there are 7 symphonys included, each of them scary and i wait anyway for minor to turn to major and it doesnt, as it is supposed to and i wonder, for an extended period of time, whether or not he could of called it the super scary symphonies, because certainly, he knew they were. I changed the channel, two channels down, a dangerous move but was hoping to find some fiery protestant preacher who could lull me and instead i found pachabels cannon, which- of course- got me thinking about my wedding as it would any unmarried woman. I imagined all of you coming down the aisle one by one and was instantly mildly concerned that the peice wouldnt be long enough ESPECIALLY if i had to include my sisters in law. So i thought about the dresses and SHIT! who would do lana's hair?? I assumed renaugias position in the parish life center bathroom trying to fix lanas hair and whether mith's hair would stay up as it is the most slippery thing on gods earth. So that will be a problem, mith and lanas hair, but past that, the dresses. And i thought about cap sleeves. And i thought about trying to hug becca with cap sleeves, i wonder if i will be able to hug her, to raise my arms and maybe i will just touch her face and kiss her on the cheek and ill want to hold her hand the whole time but i wont be able to of course. And the lineup, a black girl an indian, a various sized assortment of white girls, all of them pretty, and becc.

Whats your Frequency Kenneth B. Shaw?

It seems that there should be a radio station explicitly for people who cant sleep.

And im wide awake, the surprise of it. Its as if i have something important to do tomorrow and the anxiety, but there is nothing, but work. And this weekend, one project due and grahams band on sunday, i think all the wrong people in my life will be drunk and i imagine i will have to be careful.

Sometimes there is such a fine line between making this public and making it worthwhile. There are things i want to write and things that i cant. And i hate that about this. In life, i do think there are just somethings that you dont need people to see regardless of artistic volition, there are just some things that you cant let out in the daylight.

I wish i wasnt scared of the dark and scared of this room that i have spent my entire life in. I wish i wasnt scared that there is someone under my desk, under my bed, behind the bathroom door. I wish that even after i wake up and check around with the lights on and fear in the bottom of me that i dont believe that as soon as the lights go out there are ghosts there that stand by my bed while i sleep and put their hands on me and i wish i didnt wake up in the middle of the night sweating with the immediate knowledge of that underneath my tongue and that daemon slipping into the shadow of the tall of dresser, my stomach stinging with his hand there. There is nothing here. And i wait for rem or vivaldi or Pastor James to bring me back to sleep to make me feel like a woman in her bedroom in a safe neighborhood. To make me feel like a woman thinking about her wedding without a monster under her desk or a tall man in her closet, behind her dresses.

I wish that i couldnt scare myself with myself.

I wish that i could see even the thinnest line of blue grey light at the tops of the trees. But this is the "dead hour of the night" as close to night as it is morning. Miserable.

I wish that i could make myself stop thinking of things without feeling repressed, focoult i think, or frederic jameson maybe "repression is painful, it leaves permanent scars..." I wish i could take parts of me out that obsess and worry the same corners over and over. I wish that i could carve out the parts of me that worry to a smooth veneer the faces of individuals who should stay apart from my life. I wish that i was just like everyone else at 4 in the morning. I wish i didnt wake up with fears all the time, gasping into a sitting position and facing nothing at all and everything possible and sweating. I am a collection of parts that im not necessarily proud of. And in a sense i am a tall tall building made only of parts that other people like, shiny on the outside, and fresh. But i think that people look at me and know that none of the windows and doors open, all of the up stairs lead to down stairs and lead to a lobby that is full of fake and very green potted plants. My mom would say that im not that way at all, that shes sure all 23 year olds feel that way. I hope they dont. And i hope they arent. I fear to take myself seriously, i fear to set myself up as a player in whatever game. I am surprised at times that i wake up at all in the morning.

"I know you have your issues"

"No, i dont, im issue-less" (Ha! im the opposite but nothing could be more terrifying than letting you try to support my very tall tall building)

"Sure, you have issues"

"Okay, name one then..." (And dont you know this is me asking you inside to sit next a potted plant and suffocate. Cant you imagine how delicate this is? How could you not want to fold me in your arms and thank god you didnt. And when i step outside my revolving doors i see how nothing in the world is more vulnerable and accesible than myself and its terrifying and humiliating and i try everyday to be different than that but dont even know where to begin and know in order to ask for help, that you must be in so much love with me that you would set everything else down in order to shoulder me up for the rest of our lives. And i fear thats a horrendous thing to ask and fear even more that no one will ever offer.

And maybe, and hopefully, its nothing like this. And maybe at 9 am everything in this world changes and i am the most normal person. And i am strong and i am moving in the right direction and i make the right decisions and i am not an empty building, so tall, with nothing in it but upstairs leading down and plastic plants.

I hope this is nothing but melodrama. I hope that all of this dissipates with one persons grown up sigh. I hope that it doesnt exist.

Sometimes, just waking up in the morning and going to work must be the most presumptous and dangerous thing there is. For me to assume that i can be trusted, this collection of parts that i hope ill grow into, that i hope are real, that i hope are programmed correctly, that i expect to reverse themselves at anytime, to fall over a ledge and render me nothing at all.

In comparing myself to others i seem advanced. But what if advanced only alludes to your relative ability to become palatable to everyone around you? And what if that is the weakest variable and i am negating everything that i should be growing into. And then, i cease to exist and terrify myself with this reverse cartesian philosophy. I uninvent myself all the time and i makes me want nothing more than to stay in bed and stay safe.

I feel, as if i am going about it all wrong, and that people around me know it but know not to tell me as it will un-exist me. And maybe, they dont know it that exactly, but they sense it and they sense by coming inside that they will suffocate.

Tell me this is the dumbest dumbest thing you have EVER heard, please.

And tell me that noise isnt a man with a plastic bag shifting position behind my bathroom door.

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