A vague presentiment of doom

I miss those moments of clarity I used to have on winter nights. Maybe it's because it's been unusually warm these past few days, as well as unusually wet. There is something about the smell of cold air that evokes minor epiphanies. That, or one of the early signs of hypothermia is minor psychosis. I don't know.

So...the holidays. I know I'm jumping the gun, because there is that clusterfuck known as a film shoot to contend with first. I think I've eaten up all my reserves of pre-set panic and must now resort to on-set hysteria to get me through it all. I look forward to it, natch. But the holidays! That is another bowl of upchuck altogether. I won't doom myself by saying I expect great or terrible things, but I will admit that I'm entering the festivities with the cautiously optimistic hope that it won't be completely miserable.

I've often been accused of being self-defeatist, to which I respond with a hearty 'Fuck you, douche-wanker'. Self-defeatism is a reductionist's answer to everything...those are just negative thoughts, you should just do this, you just need more confidence (like it's some kind of toggle you can switch...please). I think I've made this rant before, but I'll say it again and again and again and again until I completely swallow my own beautiful lies: when all is said and done and you find yourself staring at inner oblivion, empathy is the only thing that will convince you that you are not completely alone.

Yours,

Inari

If I were a perfect body part, I would be...a collarbone.