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all right. 11 february 1999 i have had to remind myself that it is not the year 1000 & that this is actually not january. i'm having issues with the little things now. i had the worst dreams this afternoon. i think i'm going to pull another sleepless week. i don't think i can stand going to sleep. i've got plenty of reading material & perhaps i'll be able to catch up on the shit that i'm Supposed to be reading. heh. but i'm starting to look at myself again. & personally, i think i look like kind of miserable. i don't know what's going on. why would i be miserable? there's no time left for losing. there's nothing going on. i'm not being threatened, my morals aren't on paraded display. everything is a-okay. right? but when someone leaves. someone that you actually had interaction with, someone you perhaps thought positively about at one point.. when that someone goes on.. elsewhere.. what do you do? aren't you supposed to remember the good times instead of the bad? that's what i thought anyway. but like the cruise we took over break where the entire time was wondermous & then the last day sucked & we missed our plane.. which was easier to describe to grandma & uncle stephen when we got home? right. so it's easy to focus on the negative. yeah, i could lift up my shirt & show you where my skin is somewhat black & blue from too much internal bleeding. but really, what would be the point in that if when we were sitting outside on the deck, we saw four falling stars? does it take away the pure joy i get by squealing at the sky & waving my finger as a nonverbal repetition? never thought i'd say a word. i made the other swallow his teeth. why should i cry for you when you did nothing but fuck with me? why should i feel guilty that i wasn't the real thing? because you weren't either? i guess that's how it goes.
way down. say it now. mm. inside your fear, lots of things can come out. just ask my dreamkeeper. he would tell you that my subconscious needs evaluation, evolution, elevation. i would like to go to old towne & walk around by the embassy suites, go inside, sit on the couch & get a ride to the torpedo factory. i would like to lick ice cream off the back of my hand. why is it that i'm thinking of this? does it really make Any sense, whatsoever? no. but maybe that's the point. maybe the point is that we don't exactly get what we always want, that just because i wish you to be happy & will you to survive doesn't mean you will. but it's not my fault. i didn't do it. it didn't have anything to do with me. i can't get inside your head so badly that you do that. i didn't make that much difference in the first place. why should i pretend to give myself worth through something like this? maybe everyone has noticed that my eyes are incredibly bloodshot & that's why the proximity between my appearance & my state of mind have been compromised. but i'm okay. it's not my fault. i didn't do it. i fucked someone's life up.. but he fucked with me. & i won't feel responsible for his lack of fucking sense. |
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