6
from my notes few days ago
here i am. sitting in my bathtub. cooling my head. typing on my phone. word after word as i did on many phones before this one.
i think one of the reasons why i love wes anderson is the way he shows bathrooms. a personal fort to retreat to, smoke, and work. i always loved our old bathroom with rooftop windows, a heated floor, and a nice tattered armchair. i remember hiding there in the morning, reading magazines and books i sneaked from my mom’s library.
yet, circling back to the reason why i have to cool my head. last night i woke up from a sharp pain. as if something had gone very wrong. the pain went away quickly, but now i’m thinking about the fragility of humankind.
i haven’t been to a doctor in several years, and i’m not planning on going. i’d rather die than let myself be operated on again. i really don’t like the whole idea of saving lives by opening you up and cutting away the malicious or malfunctioning pieces of you, then throwing them away. something about it feels deeply disturbing to me.
i don’t know if i would have thought so the first time i was operated on. i would be dead now if i hadn’t been. that’s a strange, crippling feeling. the whole idea of dying is. choosing to die or choosing to struggle for life... oh well... it is so easy to start stressing over the feeling of powerlessness. no, that’s not quite right. it is more like the feeling of losing power. the feeling of control inevitably slipping away.
it's monday. the second week of the heatwave. i feel like my thoughts are slowly melting into murky glass shards, piercing my eyes with excruciating tension. i'm fighting the heat with packs of twelve ice cream bars and ice-cold lemon water. unsuccessfully, though.
my dear friend (or at least i love to think of them as such) gave me a wonderful book that i now carry with me everywhere. there's something weirdly intimate about sharing books or songs. living through the same lines, sounds, thoughts. almost like exchanging letters.
i will be quitting my job in two weeks, and the weird feeling about the future doesn't want to leave me. it looks bright and shapeless. like a newly exploded star. the beginning of some terraforming amplitude.
i'm contemplating a travel route. leaving my stuff somewhere. looking for new equipment to start nomading. i mean, i already kinda do it if you give it a thought. and my gradual accumulation of trinkets has already started to scare me.
i feel like not having roots, and following the mantra deeply engraved on my teenage heart, once written by a polish poet:
|
... |
Budowałem na piasku |
i don't feel confident about my tomorrow, as i've never been about my yesterday, so the absence of ground to stand on is not uncommon, yet the fear of all-swallowing darkness is. but with my newly born star paving this thorny path with iridescent light, i'm sure everything will be as it is supposed to be.