the zombie years

I love break. I hardly ever drink, but I've had the equivalent of a day of binge drinking spread out over the course of this week, and I'm starting to feel it. I watched a bizarre Chek movie called "Little Otik" which I recommend to you all (especially the first half), and on Christa's suggestion I bought and finished Blankets, a coming-of-age graphic novel memoir. I've also been reading Dog Years, another memoir, and I've been starting mental notes for my own memoirs. It's almost unfortunate that I have so much to write about, but I'm starting to realize that maybe the only reason I'm a horrible person is because I have all this guilt and shame and pain that I need to just purge and be rid of. Ha, that's a great reason to write a memoir, right? I'm going to write it without any publishing aims, just my own need, and then we'll see what happens from there.

I have this expanding aching fragile heart lately, and I don't know what to do with it. I'm falling in love. I'm crying at sad songs. I'm thinking in bad poetry... It's the kind of feeling that usually leads to distruction. I've been reading a lot. I bought Flatland for my stepdad, and I can't stop reading it myself. I've been swimming in memories thinking of scenes for this memoir, and it's a little haunting, a little terrifying, like resurrecting the dead. And I'm afraid of zombies, I really am.