Love means always having to say you're sorry
Or, a letter to James Addiction.
I have to earn my online time. I am getting my life in order. I wrote a recommendation letter, went running, walked more than I talked for once. I am reading one of those books that is very much what I need. It is passionate and it is about Art and danger. It is about discomfort and truth.
Here is the reason why I have not got an ethernet cable, why everything is so lovely: I wept when I read that James called me narrow minded.
I'm sorry if I come across as dense or narrow minded. I can plead guilty on the first count and reject whole-heartedly the second. I am not narrow minded and resent that entirely. I am many things, unpleasant and pleasant, but I am not narrow minded, Lord in Heaven, let it not be so.
If I were on the debate team, this is how it would look:
"But Ms. Margaret, I have this lovely graph--"
"If you'll just listen to me for a--"
"Honestly, if you will just reason--"
"Shut the fuck up!"
It made me cry to read that. I know I'm difficult, and obnoxious, and I throw around a lot of ideas all the time. I say things without thinking. It doesn't mean that I'm playing the devil's advocate, or know at all what I'm talking about. And it doesn't even mean I'm charmingly impetuous, either.
I have a bad habit of talking about things when I don't know as much as I'd like. I never ever let anything drop, not ever, oh, I cannot let it happen. We know this we know this we know this, how many times must I tell you, we know this. I try on ideas for size all the fucking time. I say things and I don't know if they're true, but I want truth. I want art that is talking about truth. I want it.
I'm taking this very frustrating class about historiography. I'm not going to talk about it because I don't feel like crying in the computer lab.
Life is so ugly sometimes.
I'm sorry if I let you down and I'm sorry if I fuck up and I'm sorry if I make mistakes, and I don't pass it off as being human, I know it is my fault and that I can't pass things off on my chemical emotions all the fucking time, and I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.
Prospero said to Caliban: I hate you because you make me doubt myself. I say to you: I said the same thing, and retreated into my safe and comfortable world. Peace treaties are out of the question, aren't they? I don't hate you, though, I doubt I ever did. I just don't like being called narrow minded. Not in the least.
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