you broke your own because you can’t finish what you start

Denn wir sind wie Baumstaemme im Schnee. Scheinbar liegen sie glatt auf, und mit kleinem Anstoss sollten sie wegschieben koennten. Nein, das kann man nicht, denn sie sind fest mit dem Boden verbunden. Aber sieh, sogar das ist nur scheinbar. –Kafka

Reader(s). Forgive the prolonged blogsence. Hopefully it has made your heart grow fonder. Actually, I don’t care. Those of you who know me are aware that my life has taken several turns in vastly different directions lately. Back in February I got accepted to two PhD programs, and that was rad. Then I got into a huge conflict with my absolute douchebag evil putz of a now-former-boss and that was annoying. Then my erstwhile-boyfriend’s pilot didn’t get picked up and that was un-rad. Then I went on several free trips to California to see schools and that was super sweet. Then I judged a fiction contest and it was blurry. Then my whatsisname of three years and I broke up, which is honestly for the best and which I am taking admirably well if I do say so myself, but which still really really sucks.

The thing that sucks the most about it is that I currently have no place to live, which is my own fucking fault for cohabitating in the first place back when I had no money. But you New Yorkers out there know how all-encompassingly impossible it is to find an apartment, especially one in a hurry which you then have to vacate in August to go start your new life at the University of California at Irvine aka the world’s greatest place HURRAY. But I digress.

I think right now I am able to drink/work/eat/exercise through my pain because I am so worried about finding a place to live that that trumps all other problems. Which is actually my real point, which ties back into the Kafka "trees" story above (for you non-Germophones that translates to "For we are like tree trunks in snow. Seemingly they lie sleekly and a little push should be enough to set them rolling. No, it can’t be done, for they are firmly wedded to the ground. But see, even that is only appearance.")

That parable was shown to me, coincidentally, by the only other person besides the Ex in the entire history of the universe whom I have allowed to break my heart, back in high school. At seventeen I was, of course, so unbelievably deep that such a profound expression in so few sentences was the perfect companion to my morose, self-absorbed, bad-at-relating-to-other-people, loserish young self. Now it provides more of a dull cynical comfort and helps me realize that relationships are just as much a temporary chiasmic unity as anything else that makes no sense in this world. You have two people who may or may not have anything in common, and they happen to be at the same place at the same time (the now-closed Tribeca Playhouse, October 2001, but who’s counting?), and they happen to spend a brief, imperfect/perfect moment connected together, but like everything else, it’s only temporary. The only people who are stupid enough to believe they can really find a soulmate or everlasting true love are religious people, and since I am not religious and don’t plan on being religious anytime soon, all I have to go on in times like this is literature. Self-absorbed, self-loathingy, chiasmic-unity-soaked literature. Oh, and tequila. Shitloads of tequila.

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