am-bishons

wanting to read more books without putting in the time
wanting to go more places but not be absent from home
wanting to cross the road but stay on this side
wanting ambition
but not wanting to fulfill it.

you ever get that way? All humans must. We're all the same person, just at different stages.

chigarettes

such a beautiful specimen is sitting 3:00 from me and my gawd i have to try hard not to stare and not to make a weird face and not to think about it. I wish I could get a pep talk from someone who doesn't give a shit, someone who rolls with the punches and is jolly alone or alive.
where is that person and when is their seminar?
First day of real snow, first day of not smoking, and i'm becoming more and more aware of myself. I want to just look over, ahh, i did it, and I saw the side of her face and it calmed me the way nicotene used to (yesterday).
I am in love with a few different people in a few different ways. There is that special love I harbour for my favorite author(s), and then there is that love I harbour for a dead person (that love that no one else can live up to), and there's the love I've got for my lover, and then the love I have for the mysterious stranger that I want to give my whole self to because I can't breathe around them anyway so what purpose does my body serve? gaddamn, it hurts to look at her but it hurts worse to miss her (and not see her).I have placed myself in her line of sight, perhaps that was dumb, because I can't just look at her, at any moment she might be looking at me! Oh the catch22's.

gosh, I don't know. but I found this post from someone about their first day not smoking and I like it, I think I should write notes to cigarettes more often.

see link for full post, duh. http://cynthiafriesehassanein.typepad.com/storyboardc/2009/06/thank-you-for-not-smoking.html

down frown

Why when a person is down in the dumps does it make him or her feel better to write about it and publish it on their own blog on the internet? Let's see. Reason 1: it makes them feel like someone will read it and give a damn. Reason 2: it makes them feel connected to something other than their pillow and blanket. Reason 3: it makes them feel like a real person, contributing to the web of yammering on and on. Reason 4: weak attempt to reach out to reality however, they fail to recognize the internet as a state of unreality.
Took me three hours to get out of bed this morning. After eating breakfast and getting dressed I went back to bed for another hour. Scrubs makes me laugh a little, so atleast I was entertained, but then the four deaths of the transplant patients in episode 24 of season 5 took me over the edge and left me defeated in my own illusion.

got out of the house and to the coffee shop where I am currently dousing my sorrows in caffeine. What are my sorrows, you might wonder? My moods are my sorrows, my inability to live in the present and future tense without making daily or hourly reference to times past. I am being shadowed by the ghost of a friend, or rather by a memory. I am incapable of incapable at? incapable in? I am incapable to? I cannot accept and move on. I can only accept and whine about it, I guess. Which makes me quite the conversationalist, and quite the companion, I suppose. You get down on yourself, you get down on the world, you get down on the world for letting you exist, and for having you exist this way. Some cycle this is. And then you get comfortable in your bed and never want to leave because nothing is more soothing than a head on a pillow. Phone-lines tangled and connecting you to the people who can only boast about their days of tedium, it's embarrassing, it's tired. I shouldn't even have a telephone. Why does anyone need to get a hold on me?

I guess I needed to leave the house today to get some more sustenance, I'm thinking oatmeal and oranges until I die. We all think we're invincible until we can't think anymore, at which moment others realize that you weren't invincible.

Everything seems like "too much trouble" to bother. And I apologize to those who spend time with me, to those I expect to know what to say to me. It's a matter of great expectations, and who had that right in the first place? yes, dickens. yes. I am afraid of many things, namely of wasting your time. If you have found a way to enjoy the time allotted to you, then do not devote any time to this time waster. I am kicking myself until I fall down, I am holding my own head under water, I am dying to be dying.

fun session, eh? ain't no body like your body: dead and burned up and thrown at the wind. I'm gonna make a fuckin awesome skeleton someday.

that's what you're wearing?

woot woot. just a post to fulfil my sense of entitlement.
me: "just because it's my birthday I can say what I want and offend who I want and everyone has to love me!"

other: "no no, that's how every day works. to a point."

me: "so what's so special about today?"

other: "today you can do it with a tiny hat on and with cake all over your face."

me: "Oh! That's a good compromise!"