Monday, September 29, 2003

Love notes

It’s funny, isn’t it, when once your heart has finally healed from the wounds someone’s inflicted and they find you again. I have, however, been expecting "something" ever since the kendo class. I am frightened but cannot show any weakness. I am ready for this meeting which must take place. I feel as though I’m walking into battle with my oldest mortal enemy.

Friday, September 26, 2003

Dispatch from Purgatory

The peace from the kendo class has not faded. But with this sense of freedom my urge to travel has awakened. I crave movement. I am afraid of thoughts that start to consume me when they have a chance to sprout roots and grow. Mostly since I have no one to tell them to. I hate when I sense any sort of need within myself for someone to know me intimately. I feel that this is impossible. Have I given in to hopelessness? I tell myself I have not, but then, what am I doing here? I’m not silly enough to expect happiness, but complacency seems to be beyond my grasp.

Wednesday, September 24, 2003


I am refreshed. I stepped into an advanced kendo class at a martial arts school. I was met with skepticism but soon won their respect. No more questions were asked. All matters of sex, size, and status were disregarded. I have a need that nothing in civilian life can satisfy. Nothing compares to the intense pure and meditative state of simple combat. No thinking. Just action.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Career moves

My design for the perfume bottle was accepted. It’s my first success with the company and a huge relief. Even though I was ultimately disappointed with my proposal, this news came at a time when I sorely needed it. I was beginning to doubt my ability to adapt to this life and feared having to start all over again.

In celebration I even allowed myself to be convinced to go out with a group from the office and get a little drunk. They kept ordering me vodka tonics and soon I was thinking, how easy it was to drop my mental checklists, my vigilance in this unfamiliar room. How easy it was to chat and laugh at unfunny jokes. Perhaps I should cultivate a few bad habits.

I soon excused myself, explaining I don’t often drink and didn’t want to make a fool of myself. There were a few stares but they were too concerned with their own enjoyment to question me. I feel I’ve achieved something—the appearance of being (almost) normal.

Monday, September 22, 2003


Somehow it’s weeks later. I’ve been merely existing. I get home from work late and turn on the television. It’s a strange sort of reality, but no less real those who know no other. How can I possibly tell anyone that all they see is an illusion? That they are slaves to the Vast Machine? That there is a larger truth? I'd be ostracized, fired, medicated. They think I’m strange enough for refusing to date. My broken heart is but a flimsy excuse. These men bore me. Kierkegaard said “Boredom is the root of all evil—the despairing refusal to be onesself.”

He also said, “There is nothing with which every man is so afraid as getting to know how overwhelmingly much he is capable of doing and becoming.”

It's just that I convinced myself that anything would be better than being alone. So far the results have been disappointing.