A chill in August

I'm surrounded by books, yet I'm not particularly excited to read them. I'm surrounded by photographs, but they often represent little more than ink on nice paper. I'm surrounded by friends, but I take them for granted. I'm surrounded by tools of the trade: ink, paper, computer, printer, pens... I could write anything, but I have no thoughts to push my hand.

I am slipping, and I need to grip a little harder and make sure it doesn't all slip away entirely.

A ripped out page

The green monster of jealousy is a dirty, hateful bitch. I want to go to Spain, or anywhere else. I want a job. I want to be the life of the party. I want to make people laugh. I want to be hugged and kissed when I least expect it. I want to be the love of someone's life. I want to be everything I see around me.
I know why I can't write anything lately. It's because I don't feel anything. In the past, I wrote because my heart was on fire -- anger, love, lust, confusion, anything. I wrote because I felt so much, and I wanted to make people who felt, too. But I don't feel anything, so why would I make people who can't feel anything?
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Santana watched as her focus on the cheap painting across the room went in and out, in and out, like a disoriented camera lens. She could get up from this god forsaken couch, she could do something. She could work out, call a friend, watch a movie, play a game, sky dive, for christ's sake. She could do anything. Or not. The green couch had eaten her alive, completely, and the cheap painting with its overly manicured strokes had already engaged her attention. I want to go home, she thought miserably, and yet she could not put a place to the wish.
She wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Leftovers from a cooking spree and some bad eggs and cheese peered back at her from the depths. The cabinet yielded even fewer results. She returned to the couch, to her spot, where the print of her rear remained.
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See? Who would read that schlock? I couldn't write anymore at the end there. I didn't have anything left to say about this sorry woman's life.

Waiting on wisdom

I wonder what happened to me. I never used to be like this. I never used to be... pathetic. It's time for a change, but I don't know how to make that change, or what that change should be. Major life changes should be easier understood... that's the trade-off for how hard the process of the life change will be.

Outstanding Observations of the World Cup

USA fan's poster: "Where is the quarterback?"
North Korea fan's poster: "Kim Jong Il thinks I'm at work!"
Thomas Jefferson and George Washington appear to be attending the USA/Slovenia game today.
England's goalie may as well have curtsied the USA's goal in.
Denmark kicked the ball into their own goal. Way to be.

not listening, or listening too much

I am not what I profess to be. I am not lacking jealousy, and I am not proficient at Spanish anymore -- at least I don't think I'm proficient anymore. How would I know? I am not selfless, and I am not tranquil, nor am I an avid reader and writer. I am not always timely. I am not clear on what I'm doing. I am not doing what I want. I am not fat and I am not ugly.

I am not what others say I am. I am not pathetic and I am not selfish. (It is not my fault.) I am not stupid. I am not happy taking the easy way. I am not a bitch.

I'm just... conflicted, but who isn't?

thanks for the cat

Right at this instant: the backs of my thighs prickle with anticipation because I can't wait to see him, even though I know he's downstairs. He's vacuuming, and I sit at the edge of my bed, perched and ready to pounce should he come up those stairs. Come up the stairs.

what now?

I need to get my typewriter up and running. It makes you dedicate yourself to your thoughts and ideas: there's no going back, it's down, it's written, and now you have to live with it.
I feel like anything I write or say right now will be trite and worthless, so I suppose it's time to stop. That was quick.

the years are paper

I am sickeningly, painfully, frighteningly, stomach-turningly in love. Despite anything and everything, I remain disgustingly attached at the hip, wooed and romanced like a twisted princess. I am terrifyingly in love, and no one seems to understand, not even me and him. I am still fourteen.

big wheel keeps on turnin', i'm gonna keep on burnin'

Things feel too easy. I must be missing something. There's no conflict. My life is a book being written as we speak, and it makes me uneasy because I'm not the one writing it. We're in a state of rising action... rising toward what? Things seem to fall into my lap. Grades are not too terribly difficult to come by. I'm graduating early. My relationship is weird and frustrating but there's love there, so it functions. I have friends and family. I don't fight with people. Any internal questions fade from memory within hours. Something is missing. There's no conflict. I'm not afraid. I want a conflict. I want something to come fuck me up. I want to be shaken awake, and I want Life to scream in my face. This is not to say I need my life to fall to shambles, but something has to happen. It feels like I'm on a wheel: no matter how fast or slow I run, I will still be on a wheel, in the same cage, going no where. Except I'm going somewhere. A very predictable, bland somewhere. I need an upset. Knock me off the wheel, wake me up please someone something anything wake me up.

Hot Seat Failure

There are things in my life that I say and then regret for a very long time. Sometimes it's because of the repercussions on someone else... sometimes it's because of the repercussions on me. Example: during a moment in my new member season of my organization, we were supposed to sit in a chair one by one and everyone else would say something kind about that person. When my friend got up, I didn't know her very well yet, so I said I really appreciated her service to our country and that she was a strong individual (she did a tour in Afghanistan). What a truly stupid thing to say. In a moment of perfect sisterhood, I torched it with patriotism. P.S., I'm not even a patriot. Patriotism bugs the life out of me. And she's not even one of those people who revels in their wartime... she kind of ignores it. I will forever be embarrassed by that moment. I had another moment like that today.