Mauvais Sang - Bad Blood

This is a side post regarding my current mental frustration in regards to comfort and confusion. The chemo has worked, and maybe it has worked too well. I feel fine, I feel incredible, I feel motivated.

This portion of Rimbaud’s poem is summarized as having “described the narrator’s Gaulish ancestry and its supposed affect on his morality and happiness.”

But what will all of this motivation lead to? More courses at school? More time alone at home to read, and draw, and sit online, beween two computers. More time to listen to the hundreds of records that I own? Time for what? Boredom? No obligations except school. No Girlfriend, no friends, no drinking to speak of.  TIme to just sit and be bored. Create what I must create out of that.

How does that all start? Fixing your room that you’ve lived in for a few months and has half of some dead persons things that are useless to you hanging around. i’ve tried to fix, just now, streamline the position of things, the desks, the bed, the receiver, the turntable, the copier, the file cabinet, the dressers.

I’ll need a place to put my clothes, I’ll need a place to sit and read by a light on the table next to it. I need a place for the dog while he is here.

50% progress on 50% of the area I’m looking at. Trying to have a normal life that will allow me to have friends over and make it feel like this is just not a bed room with a sick child in it. No, rather a small living area. So no one must sit on my bed any longer.

Time to get working on this, today and tomorrow. I believe Pops will be quite okay with helping out as he’s just as disturbed by the mess as I am. Perhaps for other reason, but perhaps not. This was not to any degree, truly, liveable until about 5 minutes ago. I must make it…a place to live.

I will not sleep tonight, No I will not sleep tonight, and thus the challenge continues.