tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13680868.post-1145934059317810432006-04-24T21:53:00.000-05:002006-04-24T22:00:59.330-05:00that subject line reminds me of a story i read once. i think it was a story about dying, but i only read it once even though i've read all of her other stories multiple times...i can't stand stories that end with death. stories where people die and are forgotten by much less interesting people. i don't know why that should be surprising. i want for there to be something after. i have always wanted that, desperately, more than anything else, for there to just be one goddamn place other than THIS.<br /><br />.<br />.<br />.<br /><br />i think i was going to post and say...right, something about finals. about how i never think about the heart of me these days, just live in this endless mess of tv and tennis and coffee and games and i can't even remember what day of the week it is--my calendar remembers for me, and i cross off days with due diligence, shocked by their minuscule import. terribly phrase, those last two words. blech. of course my writing is off. i haven't been WRITING lately, and what i do write is crap.<br /><br />something has to give. i hope so anyway...because i can persist for terrifyingly long days on nothing, no meat, no light, no water, no air. i can feed on myself till nothing but a hand, or a toenail, or an eye remains, and have no knowledge of my disappearance.<br /><br />...and there is not much remaining.irahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08126052534311148133noreply@blogger.com