Stef (firecat) wrote,
Stef
firecat

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What's happening

I wrote this several days ago and Wombats will recognize it.

So OH was out of town last weekend, and I was sorting through a lot of papers. And I ended up spending something like 9 hours reading a lot of stuff I wrote in high school. I was obsessed with a rock band called Sweet back then. So first I read the diary entries I had saved about Sweet (I typed my diary on an old manual Underwood), and then the tawdry romantic fantasies about Sweet that my best friend and I plotted for hours on the phone.

I was blown away by the passion of all of it. Especially in contrast with the emotionally shut down, dry abstract writing I did in college. It was like going to college killed my writing talent or something. I was also blown away by the realism of the romantic-relationship development in the stories I wrote (I wrote them before I had ever had a real romantic relationship). One or two of them were almost completely plausible (although the sex bits were vague, since I hadn't had any).

I want that passion back. I want that talent back. I want that unselfconscious pouring-out-of-self back. And I am terrified of it.

When OH came back I had a hard time relating to him because I didn't think he would understand any of this stuff, and because I was feeling re-obsessed. I spent two days digging up every Sweet fan site on the web and although I haven't actually played any of the music yet, because I've only got it on LP, I remember it very clearly and I've got it jumbling around in my head constantly.

Sheesh. Some people live in a world of feelings. How do they? When I get this suffused by feelings, even pleasant ones, I feel like I am drowning.

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