I always forget how centering it feels when you finish a delicious novel finally after everyone's gone to bed. I remember at my mother's when I finished Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murikami sometime this year and ended up crying and thinking and getting an interesting closure on various things I though I'd already felt closure about. Crazy!

I have a lot of experimenting to do with what feels right for me... in what I care about, in how I react and think and value things and see things... because a lot of presumptions about how things should be keep peeling off. I think I like it. But I keep finding myself humbled. Oh. I took it way too far, this way, or that way, I'm persisting or agonizing too much, I'm expecting too much out of myself, etc. etc. Baaaalance is hard and I don't think I'll ever get it just right because few things in life are that understandable and normalized and routine...?

Reading a novel really helps my attention span, too. It's such an indulgent thing, to be able to pursue an idea for so long- that someone has elaborated to that extent with that holistic nature and trust in the listener to keep listening. It makes me want to listen to more long, meaty stories that I can use to open my eyes to others, relate, learn, reassess...

It is also very important to have dance parties and drink too much sometimes.
It is also important not to be scared of silence
these are lessons i'm having pounce on me
it is also important not to use others like a diary.
this doesn't count cause it's blogger and like 4 people occasionally read it.
right????
never lost all my myspace exibitionism/ psychoanalytical lack of shame