calling car one: car two
Aug. 8th, 2001 09:08 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aslantmood much improved today.
despite the foul hot weather. despite 100 degree heat from now until sunday. despite tired limbs this morning. despite depression of yesterday. mood much improved.
very confusing dreams which i cannot sort through. can't even remember the images very well, by now, and i did not write them down this morning. just colors, a carousel of faces and places.
neutral morning. completely. almost a little happy. maybe i will put music on. mark isn't here yet. haven't listened to music in weeks.
lauren called last night and we chatted for a lovely while (hi lauren) and it was so good to talk to her. i do miss my haven friends. much of a muchness.
i finished the plath journals last night. unexpected: they taper off, gradually going silent about her intense therapy work, etc. more and more acceptances. i skimmed through the final appendix looking for information on her two children, found very little. felt cheated. i imagined ted hughes in grief burning her last journal, or ripping it apart. or putting it into a trash can with other predeath items. i don't even know how she died. i picture the lost journal somewhere, hidden. the consciousness of lost objects. peering out to see when they will be found.
despite the foul hot weather. despite 100 degree heat from now until sunday. despite tired limbs this morning. despite depression of yesterday. mood much improved.
very confusing dreams which i cannot sort through. can't even remember the images very well, by now, and i did not write them down this morning. just colors, a carousel of faces and places.
neutral morning. completely. almost a little happy. maybe i will put music on. mark isn't here yet. haven't listened to music in weeks.
lauren called last night and we chatted for a lovely while (hi lauren) and it was so good to talk to her. i do miss my haven friends. much of a muchness.
i finished the plath journals last night. unexpected: they taper off, gradually going silent about her intense therapy work, etc. more and more acceptances. i skimmed through the final appendix looking for information on her two children, found very little. felt cheated. i imagined ted hughes in grief burning her last journal, or ripping it apart. or putting it into a trash can with other predeath items. i don't even know how she died. i picture the lost journal somewhere, hidden. the consciousness of lost objects. peering out to see when they will be found.
