talking of Michaelangelo.
Monday, September 28, 2009
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scared // 8:22 am
...too vulnerable
I don't want anyone to be able to read me again. It's just too scary. It's too much to give up. Too much to risk.
Friday, September 25, 2009
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too many // 2:35 pm
"find someone who matters"
Revelation: I'm just like her. I'm just like her.
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stop making excuses // 1:59 pm
I am such a drama queen.
I am stupid and cliche and I am a drama queen.
I'm stupider than Catherine from Northanger Abbey. At least she knows when to snap out of it.
It takes guts to admit it. A lot of guts.
Let's just take it slow. Breathe. A trumpet like thing.
And umbrellas. I think they're beautiful.
Monday, September 21, 2009
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someday // 12:55 pm
I just have to keep reminding myself that there's a someday somewhere out there for me. I feel thoroughly disgusted with myself. I need to push. I need to work harder. I can't be keep avoiding and skirting things that don't go right.
I wish there was some way out of these things that go on in my mind.
Block. Clogged.
Run. Think. Engage.
Resist. Control.
And then apologize for your wrongs. I am straying. This is not my path.
I need a way to free myself from this.
It would be so much easier if I wasn't conscious.
Clogged.
Where is my someday.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
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hard-boiled // 1:08 pm
I am going to drift and let the thoughts that are crowding the little room I have out.
I am constantly stuck in fiction aren't I. Constantly in this state of mind where I am not who I really am, but just a spectator. So much so that I have almost become a spectator of my own mind. My own words come out theatrically, like I am performing my life, and not living it.
I read, I talk, I feel... as though I were a spectator of myself.
In reality? I'm just a little shell of nothing. Worth? Nothing much... just a bundle of emotions waiting to be released... shot like little bullets aimed nowhere in particular.
I feel almost moronic saying this. I am in a half-conscious state. My mental capacity to filter words and thoughts is almost nil.
Who's to say I won't find it someday. I can lose something and find it so quickly. This thing, I haven't even lost... why won't I find it. I own it. It can be mine.
I really like that little room. I am comfortable and others cannot reach me there. I feel alone, but not lonely. I like the lighting. The way it hits every little colour on the walls on the papers. I see it in my minds eye that little room in a 100x100 pixel frame. It keeps me happy in my "hard-boiled" days and keeps me sane at night when things seem to come loose at the ends.
I'm lazy and fatigued, but I have no idea why. I am not motivated and not strong. If you look closely, I being torn apart slowly at the sides and I hope this isn't betraying anything. Something's eating at me and I can't put a finger one what it is.
Too easy to emote. Too hard to filter. Too lazy to move. Too content to change. Ambitionless. Motionless. Stupid.
I like my eggs medium. Just right. I like my yokes to be orange, not runnny, not yellow. Almost solid, but soft and not too liquidy. So I don't think that's actually hard-boiled is it? I like it just a LITTLE BIT raw. Not too raw though.
I meant to talk about something more concrete in this post. But... I forgot. Must be the time of night. Lots of work. School will overpower soon enough. Clouds.
Let's go back to that idyllic room and hope I can curl up and fall asleep there. Can't seem to do it anywhere else.
"...till human voices wake us and we drown"
Why the f#$%^ is it so cold?
