itchy under my skin
Sep. 9th, 2004 07:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flamingswordSometimes I just itch inside the head. Right now I feel the prickle of something I'm not telling myself and a shaky need in my fingers to be gently striking keys, tapping out the rhythm of words on this keyboard.
Erica Jong said once that she couldn't know what she thought until she could see what she said. That makes sense. Sometime I do that, too: talk about something until the truth falls out of my mouth, presses itself out my fingertips.
The hair dye is all washed out, now, back to blonde. Pink cheeks, blonde hair, so middle-of-the-bell-curve, in a largely germanic state like Texas. In some ways, everything is temporary. But other things are annoyingly more permanent than others. My habit of assuming I know what I'm doing in the presence of other people despite knowing better would be one thing. And why is that? I delude myself for what reason?
I'm not incompetent at very many things. I can even make bread now, and it only took three pounds of flour to figure out how to bake decently. Eventually I figure things out, but sometimes you get it out and it goes right back. I can't deduce the root of the problem, and I can't seem to get rid of the habit without that knowledge. So I just being confident that my lack of understanding isn't really important to interacting with other people. I suppose it's a step up from being awkward and neurotic like I was in high school. But I wish the third option would present itself already. Patience with problems that automatically restore themselves is not one of my virtues. I wish I had some sort of catalogue of what my virtues really are. Maybe I'll have to make a list. I should make a list of lists I need to make, too. And then make those lists. I could take a whole day away from getting anything done to sort through my brain and prioritize everything that wanders through my head. Sounds like a plan.
Speaking of plans . . . I need to talk out a business plan with an accountant. Which means probably having a three hour long talk with my mom on subjects that cause me to wish my bones would turn to dust and blow away. They're necessary, so I'll do taxes and bookeeping. That doesn't mean I'll do it without quiet whining and other proof of being pathetically under-prepared. Funny: I'm good at math, why don't I like it?
Erica Jong said once that she couldn't know what she thought until she could see what she said. That makes sense. Sometime I do that, too: talk about something until the truth falls out of my mouth, presses itself out my fingertips.
The hair dye is all washed out, now, back to blonde. Pink cheeks, blonde hair, so middle-of-the-bell-curve, in a largely germanic state like Texas. In some ways, everything is temporary. But other things are annoyingly more permanent than others. My habit of assuming I know what I'm doing in the presence of other people despite knowing better would be one thing. And why is that? I delude myself for what reason?
I'm not incompetent at very many things. I can even make bread now, and it only took three pounds of flour to figure out how to bake decently. Eventually I figure things out, but sometimes you get it out and it goes right back. I can't deduce the root of the problem, and I can't seem to get rid of the habit without that knowledge. So I just being confident that my lack of understanding isn't really important to interacting with other people. I suppose it's a step up from being awkward and neurotic like I was in high school. But I wish the third option would present itself already. Patience with problems that automatically restore themselves is not one of my virtues. I wish I had some sort of catalogue of what my virtues really are. Maybe I'll have to make a list. I should make a list of lists I need to make, too. And then make those lists. I could take a whole day away from getting anything done to sort through my brain and prioritize everything that wanders through my head. Sounds like a plan.
Speaking of plans . . . I need to talk out a business plan with an accountant. Which means probably having a three hour long talk with my mom on subjects that cause me to wish my bones would turn to dust and blow away. They're necessary, so I'll do taxes and bookeeping. That doesn't mean I'll do it without quiet whining and other proof of being pathetically under-prepared. Funny: I'm good at math, why don't I like it?
