i dont feel like doing anything.  i feel so tired.  what's even worse is that i'll somehow have to channel my creativity for the GSA submissions... i've decided i'm doing short stories, since i always feel like a bit of a faker with poetry.  i've seen to many deviantart wannabes and have unfortunately imprinted on their already-copied style of e.e. cummings (i think i mentioned this before, perhaps in another post).  i typed up this last night and thought about how bad it was.

it is the dangerous human.


it survives on the flesh of your promises,

sucking them in and

barely tasting the hot bitterness as it feeds.

the desire is uncontrollable, insatiable,

already singeing off more than expected of its ribcage.

the slow burn of the dry tongue and lips that

drip of living silver juice is only a

small price to pay for a life, but

the permanence of starvation looms and

lingers ever closer.


later in a coil of darkness it

heaves and retches, the tangy bile

burning and scalding its throat and nose.

up come the words,

up come the light and life it held onto,

now a solid ball of brittle iron that simply

weighed it down.


i am the untrusting animal.

i cower at the hands before me,

retching up promises -


because this is the turning,

this is what we hope to feel

after years of nothing

and gray. -


this is the question that finds

the answers within ourselves,

floating in the cloud above our heads that

we could almost reach if we jumped

just a little farther.-


(obviously, dashes after lines mean a new idea, and the last two of them are really pathetic)


 i'm not saying it's bad because i want you to see it in a better light just because i'm modest about it.  i'm learning how to be proud.  i'm trying to learn that i don't have to be outspoken if i don't want to.  i don't have to change.  and i wrote in my last lecture assignment that i had already figured it out, but things sound much more convincing on paper than they do in my head.  i convinced myself to believe it at the time being, but i'm still working on it.  i'm trying just to get to a comfortable level of self-acceptance.  it may not work, but hey, i'm getting older every day and i haven't had a bad mood in... well, not all through break.  so the 20th was the really bad one, and then the 23rd maybe? and of course the 24th was bad too.  nevermind.


going to the doctor for both a checkup and a mental evaluation.  i am neither ashamed nor shoving it in your face to show i'm special.  (and you're choosing to read this too, you know.)  but i think talking to someone would at least help me make small talk and connections with people.  with most people i just feel lost, like my mind doesn't even work on the same level.


i can see it with my boyfriend.  he says all the things i wouldn't say, that i'm thinking (ok, let's say... you mention a movie. i ask if it's good and you say yes.  then i might think of the movie theater, then who i might have seen there, then what they were seeing and they had said they went to eat at a restaurant... then i'll ask you what your favorite food is.  or at least wonder about it, which takes up room in my head and prevents me from thinking of a follow-up to your reply, so i get flustered.  all in the blink of an eye).  but he certainly does convey his intelligence a lot more frequently than i do, and though i sometimes mentally cringe at how what he says would make no sense to somebody else, he does have a lot of... acquaintances.  people in high and low places, especially teachers.  maybe i just doubt general human knowledge.


so i learn from him.  we're made of the same parts of the printer and the files are the same, but his output fills up an entire sheet of paper while mine takes up a few lines.


see?  that analogy really didn't make any sense.  but it's ok on here because you don't see me.


i don't like when i think like this.  i think of a reason for acting a certain way and then see right through it, like all those disclaimers.  you know, "i didn't say this for that reason..." "i'm not trying to sound self-centered...", "this isn't what it sounds like..."  of course it is, it always is, i'm just giving you a disclaimer so i don't sound like a bad person if you take it the wrong way.  it makes it your fault because i warned you.  and i hate it.  everything becomes like a fog i wade through, none of those barriers called excuses that justify how i feel and act.


i'm miffed.  my neck hurts, my spine is crooked, i can't sing, i have piano lessons thursday and haven't practiced in 3 weeks, i'm tired, and i'm in one of those perpetual states like waking up 30 minutes before your alarm goes off and you're dead tired but you know you can't go back asleep because it won't be worth it because your alarm will just wake you up once you drift off.


there's a lump on my bottom eyelid that hurts.  it's called a chalazion, google tells me.  it's when oil from the glands can't drain probably.  yeah, probably because i've been fiddling with my eyelids on and off for the past couple of weeks.  the eyeliner even looks off because there's no bottom lashes to offset it.  no, i don't feel ugly.  i just feel bare and unable to do anything... anything at all.


sleep now.  no optimism tomorrow.  no nothing.  just sleep until i wake up and the routine starts again until the weekend, where i sleep away the days until mondays start all over.