I hate fights about stupid things. Especially the way Nathan and I fight. It's always the same thing: one of us gets horribly pissed about something that wasn't worth getting pissed off about in the first place, and then proceeds to sequester themselves in silence. The other person (usually me) doesn't know what they did wrong, but they feel miserable and because they feel miserable get angry and vindictive and also perfectly silent.
Silence is circular and regenerative. I once sat in perfect silence with a friend of mine for two hours because neither of us had anything to say. It was OK in the beginning, but then the silence got really heavy and neither one of us could break it. It rose and thickened to the point that it was overbearing and by then neither of us had the strength to combat it.
This happens to me so often: I need the time to think about what I'm going to say so that I don't make any given situation worse (my first response is never the correct one and needs editing). Taking the time creates silence, and then the silence has to be accounted for, and it's horrible.
Why this has to happen simply as a result of someone being too snarky to someone else I don't know. But, everything worked out OK in the end. We both know it's totally stupid, so when we're done, we're done.
And, for anyone who reads this on a regular basis, I have triumphed over the sewing machine. Like The Sims, I have no idea how I managed it, but let us not mess with a good thing, shall we?
Re-reading this, I live such a boring life. I think of Friend Stimpy who spent last year on a mountain in Switzerland, of Friend Pipi teaching English in Japan, and then I look at me, doing the dishes and sewing. Who the fuck am I?
In my dreams I was going to travel the world. I was going to go back to France, for more than two days, to wander the Paris catacombes and see the castles down in Arles. I was going to visit Ireland, to see whether it compares to my fancies. I was going back to England, maybe even to live for a while. I was going to New Zealand, Australia, South Africa, and Russia to visit the friends I have scattered around the globe. I wanted to travel the US, from Maine to California, just to say I'd seen it. I wanted to shadow Jack Kerouac from On the Road. I was going to backpack on the Appalachian Trail. I was going to see Yellowstone Park from the trees, not the parking lot. I was going to do so much, and I think my time for that is coming due.
Instead of an independant traveller, wondering where I'd spend the next night, I'm worrying about whether I make enough to cover rent. I don't even wonder, or plan, I worry. I worry about financial aid and gas money and groceries. I worry about a wedding and loans... I sound like the picture of Renton's "choose life" monolouge from Trainspotting.
Some days I want to fly away from reality.