||[Dec. 29th, 2004|11:13 pm]
|||||the magnetic fields||]|
It feels like I'm having winter break in purgatory. There's nothing bad about being back home. The last few weeks here have been completely free of stress and drama, which is a welcome change from last winter's miserable angst binge. The people here are good, I'm having fun...everything's okay. But that's just it, everything's "okay." Life is alright, but it's certainly not exceptional. With the exception of watching Return of The King on Christmas, things have been somewhat of a bust, starting out decent and staying decent, or quickly dissolving into nothingness. I take pictures to remember these nights but there's nothing especially memorable about any of them. If this town were a drawing, then it feels as if the ink has been smeared, leaving an unsightly black smudge in the middle of the page. I don't know if I'm the only one who feels this way, but home just feels so mediocre these days. It doesn't live up to expectations high or low, instead choosing to lull about in the middle, making life feel indistinct and forgetable. I'm not sad, but I'm not happy. Occasionally the scale will tilt a bit more to one side, and I'll feel a little better or worse, but even when this happens, it's not an especially significant change. I'm waist-deep in the bogs of mediocrity and need an escape plan. The feeling of numbness that has encompassed my life since I've come back home needs to be dealt with. I can't continue to go around plagued with this sense of deadness, with a feeling that my life has been injected with several shots of novocaine to the point it doesn't even feel like "life" anymore. That's why I'm looking forward to hanging out with Jocelyn tomorrow, because I need to get out of this place and revitalize my system, to let myself know that I still breathe. I need a stimulating conversation, a good laugh, something, anything to make me FEEL again. Because as of now, I'm little more than a conscious corpse. And sweet Christ it's scaring me half to death.