Britney

The realization that the week is almost over is less of a relief, more of a mimicry of the way I suddenly wake up fully clothed in the middle of the night, trying to figure out how much time I have to organize myself and trying to collect what I have missed and appear less disoriented. It is never a satisfying end, because it is not one; it is a bump in a cycle, an anti-climax. Every time I fall for it, waiting shakily for the next Thursday to Friday stretch, and the next, and the next. Being a fool-ess is what keeps me alive. Ignorance becomes less about bliss and more about survival.

Jenny Holzer returns to me when I am writing one of my college essays. IN A DREAM YOU SAW A WAY TO SURVIVE AND YOU WERE FULL OF JOY. Or, more appropriate for my daily life: THE BREAKDOWN COMES WHEN YOU STOP CONTROLLING YOURSELF AND WANT THE RELEASE OF A BLOODBATH. SPIT ON SOMEONE WITH A MOUTHFUL OF MILK IF YOU WANT TO FIND OUT SOMETHING ABOUT HIS PERSONALITY FAST. She is everything to me, and I mean this literally, not some half-formed instance of idolatry; she is the sum of my fears and abuses and primal desires and self-studies. I am constantly astounded that one person can not only mean so much to me but be so much. She is a light in a world where my enemies have good excuses and I am fighting to get out of the crawlspace.

At a few points in time, I would have said something along the lines of wanting to provide that kind of guidance, practice her brand of encapsulation. But I don’t know if I could handle it, or accept it. My friend told me yesterday that a girl in our school was telling her that she spent the summer reading my diaries and I couldn’t believe her. It wasn’t a lie, but I did not—and do not—have the ability to consume the thought of someone admiring or relating to my work without a barrage of assaults on myself following suit. I’m being silly, but at least I know that I am.

Is self-awareness really everything? Everyone I’ve talked to about it seems to think so. I don’t think I need to rank it, only acknowledge its extreme importance—if I try to order it or make claims on its behalf I know that I will look back and have at least one regret. That’s it: minimizing the chance for regret. That’s one of the biggest things to keep in mind, although acting on it is harder than the simple revelation of it. I can’t rank my fears either, but one of the biggest is dramatically being on my death bed in the last scene of my life and thinking about what I could have done. I hate that thought! I’ll do anything to avoid having it. ♦