Tuesday, 01/11/05 - 12:07 pm.
Sometimes I look back at the not so distant days (last semester, that is) when Joe asked me to attend the Beatles tribute the band he was in was presenting at some club.
I was watching In His Life: the story of John Lennon yesterday afternoon, and when I see that type of things I begin to think about Joe, not just because he likes The Beatles *almost* as much as I do, but also because he goes on stage to play guitar himself; it doesn't matter if he's famous or not (he's not), the point is he's good at it.
Perhaps it's just a fantasy, a cheap romance fantasy, result of my love for The Beatles...or Aerosmith, for that matter. Joe's a fantasy, whereas Joseph is...reality. He's my boyfriend and yet not the guy who'd apreciate receiving a John & Yoko postcard, for example. But that's obviously a detail that doesn't matter in the big scheme of the universe.It's until these days that I don't feel so bad about not going to see Joe play at that tribute. I don't think looking at him on stage...and him looking back at me from stage...you know, it'd have blinded me.
I'll go on the fast lane and say "everything happens for a reason".
If I let my mind wander a little further than yesterday, I don't remember a thing but meaningless, dateless snapshots with no emotions (the most significative things I remember from last semester are getting along with Joseph and my guitar lessons with Joe). I have forgotten how I felt in 8th grade with the Carmen and Veronica awful deal, and I have forgotten what 3rd grade was about, to mention two things. I wish I had a better memory. I need inspiration.
I'm reading Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, and the first chapter (er, entry) blew me away, because of how he used all that information the character was talking about. On the back side of the cover it says "where do you get your inspiration?", and the character, a woman, used to paint things she'd never seen. I'm afraid I can't write about things I haven't experienced, first, because I start thinking well, what if someone who's gone through that -therefore being an authority in the matter- reads this and it turns I'm wrong?. Second, it'd turn out mediocre.
As far as things I do know, it's all too simple and it amounts to nothing. In my life so far there's been no plot, no direction, no turning points, no tough decisions to make, no hard situations that require divine strenght to endure. Nothing. And all I write is nothing.
I didn't sleep well because I was choking in thirst. I don't know what that was about. When I did get to sleep, I was woken up by my nephew and niece and their argument. "Shut up, shut up!!!", my niece kept repeating, sadly omitting the fact that she's the one who never shuts up. I thought of getting up and see what I could do to fix the situation, but I decided I just don't care about these kids anymore.
I mean, in the sense of knowing that it doesn't make any difference what I do or I do not. Argue all you want and be fucking annoying, apparently that's the purpose of your life, I thought, and I rolled on the couch. I stayed there until both of them walked out of the door, to school.
It saves me a lot of trouble, pretending to be asleep until everybody's gone.