(no subject)

Riyadh, Casablanca, Jerusalem... is it me or is the 'war against terror' not quite going according to plan?... unless of course the plan was to create more terror in order to have a reason for further military interventions....



dreamt i was flying to spain. weird. never even considered it... packed all my old clothes i haven't worn in years...

(no subject)

i hate it when i start behaving like a 15 yr old goth. that's not to say i've got anything against 15 yr old goths, but in a 30 yr old woman? pathetic. i shouldn't be subject to my mood swings like that, i shouldn't just wallow in this unreflected negativity. i should have some kind of perspective, some kind of life, instead i watch things dropping away, one by one, being replaced by nothing. replacing them with nothing. watch television and listen to christine go on and on about the various neuroses of her horse for almost an hour, because while i could (probably should) tell her to find someone else to take care of it, it isn't as if i'd be doing anything worthwhile instead, so i might just as well go on horse-sitting.

i still have my work-table & all the pottery stuff at my parents' place, the fruit bowl i promised my sister still unglazed. i haven't done anything in over a year now, told my mother today she could throw it all away and mostly even meant it. it was the one thing that always mattered, all through my life, i tore myself up because i wasn't able to give it up and fully concentrate on archaeology, and now i can barely stand to look at it and wonder how i could ever have kidded myself i was even remotely good. all the failure seems to be tied up in there. i look at the things, and remember how good it felt making them, how convinced i was i was doing the right thing, and how in the end it all meant nothing at all, like the rest. metaphor for all the over-idealistic dreams and fuck ups. and it just hurts so much, in a way i can't analyse or think about clearly, entirely too emotional.

i hate myself when i'm like that. (see. 15 yrs. me, listening to nin, writing in *dead* journal, for fuck's sake.) unfortunately the self-disgust is never strong enough to actually make me change anything.



in other news, been forced to watch formula 1 after family dinner (:: yawn :: most boring sport ever. well, maybe after ski jumping. i can't bring myself to dislike m. schuhmacher as much as everyone seems to do, though, which has much to do with a tv celebrity cooking show and the making of tortellini, but this would be entirely too tangential a tangent.). but the victory ceremony? grown men spraying each other with champagne? is there a certain phallic / homo-erotic symbolism to this, or was my mind drifting off on weird tangents what with the boredom and the sugar high from the ice cream?