| I can't tell if its the booze that's making me sick?
I've had more wine than usual.
Someone asked me if I can taste the difference between a cab and a merlot. I can. Fuck you. Then he asked for my phone number. Fuck you again.
I want to move away. Out of the states. I seem to recycle the few people I've ever given a shit about in my life. Their choice, unfortunately. I don't want to fall vulnerable to reconciliation just because I'm lonely. I'd rather be lonely some other place.
I'm convinced I need to become a shut in. Never leave my house and just work all the time.
This sucks, but without this, what else is there? | comments: Leave a comment   |
| The cord that turns the fan on has been moving since I woke up from my nap. I guess it isn't paranormal since it has stayed somewhat consistently in motion for the past few hours.
I'm finding it hard to be interested in anything right now. Other than laying here. & since I've been in bed all day, I feel as though I must be doing something else. Yet the drive for it doesn't exist.
I finished a book. That was nice. It was engaging, the content was thrilling and interesting, yet when it was over I felt unsatisfied. The last few paragraphs suggested a few reasons for it.
I essentially read a book about a profoundly interesting subject, but with little substance, and just enough content to make me finish it.
I guess I want to go to school and learn things. But I don't want to leave my bed, let alone my apartment. I called the vietnamese restaurant across the street to see if they delivered. They didn't. I spent an hour wondering whether or not I really wanted pho.
I really did.
On the way there nothing interesting happened. I got my $8 meal and tipped a dollar. On the way back I noticed a couple walking toward my building from skid row. Or okay, "los angeles street" or "the tent district". I heard from friends that there are various places downtown to get drugs, and I happen to live a block from the place you can purportedly score some crack.
Great.
So I walk into my building behind this couple now, and the woman is without a doubt, on crack. Or something that is making her legs kick and unable to stand still while in the elevator. I don't know much about human behavior on drugs.
If you've ever been downtown you have probably met a guy who wears a pirate hat and yells, "arrrgh" at random, speaks like he's still in the 70s and asks for pennies because hey, they're just pennies. I know he loves crack. His legs kick and he is unable to stand still, not to mention he randomly yells like a pirate.
Via similar body movement, my mind has linked the woman in the elevator with someone I know for sure does the drug.
To sum it up, a couple of crackheads live in my building. I'm not worried about it since security here is tight. It was pretty much the only observation I had when coming home with my food.
If I knew what crack smelled like, then maybe I could have identified the foul smell in the elevator. I wanted to wait for the next elevator, but I knew if they were on drugs at all they maybe would have seen my gesture to wait for the next elevator offensive, so I just directed my attention to the phone conversation I was having about how my friend bought three giant candles for $8 on black friday and isn't that so crazy?
I put on chasing amy while I ate my dinner. After about five minutes I turned it off. Casey affleck is way better looking than ben affleck. Way.
Things I wish were happening:
- my blonde weave
- gold jewelry
- for the love of god
- nails
- more texts, or phonecalls
- movies
- less elevator noise
Tomorrow I will be learning to play dungeons and dragons. If you have any pointers, leave em here. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| I feel sick whenever I think of all the things I'd like to say to you that come straight from the bottom.
So, I'll never say them.
I've never been right about these things and I'm okay with not giving it another shot.
Today, while running errands I thought about how many moments I've had in my life that always left me thinking, "That didn't go so well. Next time that happens, I'll know exactly what to do."
Well, every instance I've had that thought for never happened again. I always thought, "Of course that'll happen again." It didn't.
So I have all these supposed surefire ways to make sure whenever it happens again, I'll have the balls it takes to say what I wanted to say. I don't have any surefire or even supposed ways to get it out right the first time. So I guess I'll work on that, but honestly, the truth seems to suggest that I'm a coward. I won't say how I feel, because I'm unsure about communication and I'm afraid that what I hold in my heart is irrelevant to others.
I seem to attract people who are unsure about what they want. Once they get to know me they seem sure I am it. I met a guy who told me he didn't like tattoos on the female body, yet there we were. I was so irritated with him, it only ever got worse. He tried to say that I changed his mind about tattoos. I can change your mind about anything so long as you find me attractive and the enorphins last. Afterwards, I'm exactly what you're not looking for. Not to mention, fuck you.
So, here you go:
Dear you,
You fucked up so many times, it was unbelievable. I couldn't believe I had almost convinced myself you were trying. The best part of you trying? The sigh that sounded like you were crying on my voicemail. Grown ass man, quit playing.
Dear you,
I was so good to you. I thought I'd see you around, but I was too wrecked to stay. After so much time, I'm still around whether you need me or not.
Dear you,
I wish you'd speak more. I wish you weren't the only person who ever made me nervous. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| "follow your heart" but your heart doesn't know what you want, and what if your heart wants you to fail, your heart isn't your brain and sure they're connected, but passion will throw you into a hunger strike while your brain needs sustinence to survive.
My heart recieves mixed signals while my brain tries to decipher what the signals were meant for, are they really signals? Don't panic, if we haven't figured them out yet then how can they be so bad?
Every night I fall asleep on the verge of panic while my heart battles my brain for the correct translation of whichever signals I'm not even consciously receiving but struggling to understand.
Even if they aren't apparent, even if they aren't on purpose, they exist, and I cannot stop analyzing something that doesn't exist. | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| "...when the subconscious mind must choose between deeply rooted emotions and logic, emotions will almost always win."
- from a book my mom let me borrow | | comments: Leave a comment |
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
speakingmanners's journal