Dearest Granny Goo:
Greetings and salutations... I miss you. I imagine you young, sophisticated, self assured... sweeping through a crowd of gentlemen in white dinner tuxedos, smoking cigars and drinking brandy. You cut through them like a scythe, with a mysterious half-smile and perfectly arched mischevious eybrows. Clouds of perfume and piqued intrest lay in your wake.
I feel like you know and understand all of me now. Everything we never agreed upon before is dissolved, resolved, or absolved. Your love for me is unconditional, tangibly so. I am tapping into that now, Grandma... I need your strength.
So there are things about me that are making life rather obsticle ridden, at the moment. I gave up my job. I haven't really made a concerted effort to secure a new one, and I now whittle away at the stocks I once thought I wouldn't touch until my future child went to college. My inherent laziness is not being utilized to any positive ends; it's just making me broke and angry with myself.
I haven't enrolled in school. I like to pretend I am above the 'novice' stigma that English Composition 101 brings... but of course, I am not. I have to suck it up and enroll at some point. Right? I'll never be a lengendary anything, let alone a writer, without the radiant beam of light Comp 101 will shine on my otherwise dreary, dusty, unenlightened life. Oh, damn... there goes that righteous indignation flaring up yet again. You will help me with that, won't you?
I found a man I like. I have found, actually... about 10 I like in varying degrees in the area of San Diego. Almost all I find intruiging in some fashion, some I find intensely sexual, and some fall into the category of a strange, Johnny come lately obsession. I have no heart to listen to in these matters, it seems. It's foolish to want the ones you can't have, but it is also intensely fulfilling to achieve a sense of fusion (possession) with them on occasion, however fleeting. I wouldn't want there to be a permanent fixture of any kind when discussing these kinds of fruitless pursuits, except the permanence of anticipation. Which, again, is an impossibility. Sooner or later, the tingly sensation is gone. And as of late, when I feel the inevitable onslaught of predictability set in, I pull out.
If you visit mom, in dreams or everyday inspirations... will you pass on a little serenity to her? My house, my roomates, and my life are all sources of undue stress in her world. Pressure points that inevitably get pushed at one point or another during almost every phone conversation. Some are screaming matches, some are catty comments, or ones that either she or I let slide. Friction is always there, however. My life contains merit; she is of the opinion that the opposite is The Truth. But, Granny Goo, all the bullshit about the webcams, and the wild parties, and the bacchinalian naked lifestyle I lead with MTV greedily filming every moment... all of it is inconsequential. You, of all people, are most qualified to let her know this. The best feeling in the world to me is making my mother laugh. Perhaps we are in agreeal on that one.
I think of you, and miss you... and I feel young and old and weak and strong. Maybe that's what happens when you turn twenty four. I am no longer secure in my knowledge of nothing, or everything. I know no black and white anymore. I am looking into me, and all I see are infinite shades of grey.
Charity and Hope,
-- Sara.
4:56 p.m. - 2001-05-12
Recent entries:
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