can you detect the decline?

as chronic procrastination sets in, oh, how it has, considering that my laundry has been done, in two carefully sorted lots, and that my room is clean, sparkling, organized, i set my book down. i suppose that it doesn’t really matter now, i’ve read the wrong text for the wrong week again, further emphasizing the fact that i absolutely, positively cannot exist in this ‘real world’ that i keep hearing so much about, but rather some kind of vaguely shadowed place where everything makes sense and is perfectly simple to articulate.

forgive me, forgive this intense introspection, this constant, neurotic self analyzing: it’s been a long weekend (clearly, as it is now tuesday night and i’m still reeling). i’m bruised, my skin languidly bluing at the edges of my skeletal structure, producing a strange sort of document of where i’ve been, even if i can’t quite remember. all in all, i’m a little out of sorts, but i’ll do what i can to recount some highlights.

M.I.A. played the kool haus on saturday night to a sold-out crowd, and i believe that being jammed between hundreds of other crazed, dancing people must contribute to at least four of my bumps, bruises and general aches. we arrived (we being me, you, and everyone we know) fashionably on time, buzzing, anxious to get on with this shit. the performance itself was an incredibly sparse affair: M.I.A. was flanked only by a dj and a back up singer, no fancy stage props or lights, just her, and really, i suppose that’s all we need. hands up, guns out, represent the world town?

i don’t know, i’ll save the remainder of the details of that weekend to our memories, eating at ginger on parliament in the late afternoon, an apprehensive wind blowing in and out of the windows as large as the walls–it was golden, it was beautiful.

i’ve been very busy lately, or rather just found my time annexed by things that seem incredibly important. i fell into a new job, working at planet aid on yonge street, but i don’t start until tomorrow, bright and early, so let’s not jinx it. we did gillian’s birthday, i was a pirate, and as you can tell am feeling just very ambivalent about spending hours in front of this screen musing about it all over and over again.

i think i’m going to take a break, or at least make some sort of admission of boredom with this project. i’ve got other things to do, mostly reading joan didion in the sunshine, watching yellow leaves drift around concrete and steel, pondering paradox, living contradiction.

i think i need to retreat, to go backwards, into my own head fully. it’s not about isolation, it’s about concentration, and i’m spitting out nominalizations like some kind of motivational speaker. coincidentally, november is national novel writing month. i feel like swaddling myself in woolens, a pot of tea at hand, and write something. really WRITE SOMETHING. so i need to make a break.

you’ll forgive me, won’t you?