Me Too!

me too.

me too. me too. I make it a matra and wonder if you say it because you miss "me too" or if you liked the video and wanted to say "me too". me too, you know. I liked the video, and I miss you. Me too.

I woke the other day in the back of the bookstore, staring up at the ceiling, but now I am listening to bob and john sing about the girl from the north country. Yesterday and today. I don't even know about the future. I thought...and I wanted...and I wished...and I want...

It's funny, this neurotic feeling, how I thought I knew what the answer was, and then thought again. I thought about how pained I felt, how inconvenienced I made everyone else feel. I thought I knew what I wanted for myself, but I don't know. I don't know.

Me too! I started reading Maxine Hong Kingston's "Tripmaster Monkey" the other day. All about San Francisco. It was a random reading choice, one I picked up for the "fuck of it.' But the "random" nature of it gave me pause, time to think. I use commas too much. It was funny to start reading that novel, by a woman who teaches for Berkeley's graduate program, but that it would be about San Francisco, would be set there, would describe to me the place my mind seeks out when I cannot bear the present moment. And when that moment comes, I seek out some place where no one will see me and I break down and cry because...

Because I don't know what I want. I want...so much. And I give so little. What do I want? What do I want?

I don't know, but I do know that I miss you and the idea of a life without you makes me look at the spring and all of its charm, all of its flowers and warmth with hesitation, with cynicism. All I know is that I miss you.