>>From: Belacqua
>>To: Perdita
>>Subject: Re: days
>>Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2000

I woke up with the alarm this morning after another night of non-sleep, took my medicine, and sat on the couch listening to my newest Reggie and the Full Effect CD, when all of a sudden I felt so tired I couldn't move. So, I laid down for a minute and woke up two hours later. So much for school today. I'm not really missing anything because in philosophy we're reading Nietzsche, who I get, and I never go to biology anyway, so whatever. I'm sorry you don't feel any better today. I've been having a terrible problem with self-derision lately. I'm afraid to leave my apartment or to open my mouth to say anything because my esteem has gone through the floor and I have this horrible fear that I'm going to screw something up if I move. I feel like I'm completely worthless and heading straight for a disaster. It feels like my mind is staring into a mirror and insulting what it sees inside. My crowd anxiety is getting a lot worse, which really sucks at school because it’s just one enormous crowd no matter where you go. When I find myself in the middle or even near a group of people, my stomach locks up and I have to stare at the ground and I start sweating like crazy. Since I have to ride the bus to and from class every day, there's no way to avoid being in the middle of a crowd. That's probably part of why I never go to biology any more. It's just too many people to handle.

I wrote a story a few years ago in high school about trying to take Cassandra to this really nice place in the woods behind my house. There's this stream that flows through our neighborhood, and I used to always go back to it to sit and stare at the water rushing by because for some reason I'm fascinated by moving water. I love rivers and waterfalls, but not oceans and lakes. Anyway, there was this particular place I wanted her to see because it was amazing to me at the time (it's the spot I talk about in my poem about time) but to get there you had to climb down this tiny embankment that was about a foot and a half high, maybe, and she refused to follow me because she was afraid she'd fall and mess up her shoes. I couldn't fathom why she'd rather look at a miserable view from the road than test her footing for a far greater reward. “I had the world back there to give to her, and she took the safety of the swamp, leaving me at the threshold between the two. Poised between Earth and Eden, I pushed off with my right foot and came forth from the trees to the hot black asphalt and the sun assaulting my eyes. A cloud passed by, and I saw the shadows race uncertainly along the paved path in front of me." That's the last paragraph of the story. I don't remember why I started on that. I think it was because of the different conceptions we have of the world, and the fact that most people don't want to put forth any sort of effort to divine what life may mean. That story, when I wrote it, was intended to be a sort of parable. I wish I could say that the way I wrote it wasn't the way it happened, but it was, and I'm afraid it happens that way all too often. I'm always searching for something to make me feel transcendental so I can get beyond myself, leave myself behind. Alcohol accomplishes that quite well. I know that even if she had come along and seen what I had to show her, she wouldn't have seen anything but a small, winding, muddy creek, where I saw the entire history of the world and myself being dissolved by time.

I used to be a sparkling prose writer. I had two stories I think I was really proud of and still wouldn't change a word of (and I can't find the final draft to my favorite one), but I can't write prose anymore. I can hardly write verse sometimes. Hemingway, towards the end of his life, was realizing that he was slowly losing his ability to write, and on one particular occasion, it depressed him so much that he attempted to walk into a spinning airplane propeller. A few of his friends caught him before he made it there, though. Of course, he eventually blew his brains out. I think. I don't remember for certain. I'll probably think about starting that philosophy paper today. Who knows? I may get as far as creating the heading.

Anyway, I hope your day improves at least a little bit.

I love you.
Belacqua

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>From: Perdita
>To: Belacqua
>Subject: Re: days
>Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2000

Belacqua,

Ten more minutes here at work, and I just don't know if I'm going to make it. My heart is going nuts and I feel like it's about fifty billion degrees in here. My throat is all tight and painful and I feel like I can't breathe.

Okay, you know what's really weird? You know that feeling you get right before you sneeze, when all the muscles in your body tighten up like they're gonna explode into that sneeze? Well, that's what I feel like right now. I love sneezing. I think it's really cool. The whole concept of being able to actually get something that forceful OUT of your body just makes me feel very relieved or something. I like knowing that a sneeze has come and gone, and when it left, it took with it all that it needed to take. I wish I could sneeze out all the other feelings in my body that I don't want.

Your e-mail reminded me of the summer after I graduated because my family took me to Washington state, where we did a lot of hiking and shit out in Olympic National Park and on Mount Rainier. Well, on one of the hikes, we came to a waterfall that was probably one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen in my life. I could've stared at it forever, and I don't even LIKE being out in the middle of nature like that. In any case, to occupy myself on the hike back to the car, I wrote a song about it. If I had it with me, I'd send the whole thing to you, but for right now, all I can remember is the chorus:

I wanted to feel like the water,
finally falling free
from the everyday flow
of endless monotony,
but the way my life was heading,
the way my story seemed to go,
I felt more like I was crashing
into the rocks below.

I spouted it off for my family as we were walking, and they all told me how very "nice" it was, as if they had ANY CLUE WHATSOEVER that I actually FEEL like I'm fucking plummeting into jagged rocks hundreds of feet below.

Well, my ten minutes are up now, and it's off to dreading everything else for the rest of the night. I hope your day got better.

I love you.
Perdita