complete rambling.
gibberish.
so im sitting there in barnes and noble minding my own business. just trying to read a magazine. harmless enough, i thought. but no, theres a picture of this guy and an article about the whole lot of them. i didnt read it. i will likely hunt it down tomorrow while sitting in the airport. frustrated, overthinking, head full of regrets and self-loathing. god damnit. theres this urge to pour gasoline all over the bridge and torch it. what bridge. stupid self-fulfilling prophecy, crazy since the first time i heard it and i have been ever since. my best friend tells me to snap out of it. get over it she says and starts at her best attempts to distract me. stupid self-taught scenesters and their tattoos. my old friends ex-girlfriend keeps calling her boyfriend for god knows what reason. that was a good laugh. but my own thoughts creep back into my head. this was a lot better before i decided to be some sort of indpendent woman. i liked it better when i knew where my limits were and i didnt push them. no, there was never a time like that. she called it a double standard. when im sitting in the power chair its easy not to care. when im the one at the button, i can pace back and forth without the slightest urge to call. but from here this damn view is aweful. im being dramatic. it sucks. shitass. its just somethings arent real at all, and then you get told "be realistic" and the two concepts are inherently opposite and im finding it increasingly hard to combine them. maybe i'll stick to books. real literature. none of this pop culture bull shit anymore. too bad the songs have so much beat, i could use a good kick in the ass from a slow and mournful tune. self-pity would be a lot easier if i wasnt chewing this oversized pink sugary bubblegum. so i peaked at the first paragraph. hah. has the author even met these people. theyre not that wonderful lady, or sir, or whoever you are nameless faceless journalist. you dont have a fucking clue, i thought. maybe i dont have a clue. i dont. ok, i dont. i admit that. he looks like he has downs syndrome, sasha said to cheer me up. too bad i couldnt care less about that particular one, otherwise i may have been more amused by the put down. she starts in with this whole bit about meaninglessness and me and this and i cant help but agree with every objective point she brings to the table. god damnit. i am such an idiot. sometimes i forget how smart i am and i go and be such an idiot. i could have taken things at face value and really had a good file in my memory bank and a good, rather impressive story if i was into spreading those sorts of tales, i thought i ought to play it safe. to protect who? yikes, i need to know when im allowed to be selfish. this would have been one of those times i could have been a little more selfish. alas. my back hurts from hunching over, no laptop for a week cuz im not bringing this damn thing across the country. maybe i'll just sleep on the plane, although there is something very romantic about the term "red-eye". sounds like theres something important about it. i'll be happy to be somewhere different than here for a while. and then i'll move. atleast i wont have to worry about legistics of meeting up here and there and plans and such. theres not a thing to hold me back anymore. theres no damn, no holding place, for the thoughts i could be setting free. its about time i hit up this world completely oblivious to the past. fuck it, here i go.
so im sitting there in barnes and noble minding my own business. just trying to read a magazine. harmless enough, i thought. but no, theres a picture of this guy and an article about the whole lot of them. i didnt read it. i will likely hunt it down tomorrow while sitting in the airport. frustrated, overthinking, head full of regrets and self-loathing. god damnit. theres this urge to pour gasoline all over the bridge and torch it. what bridge. stupid self-fulfilling prophecy, crazy since the first time i heard it and i have been ever since. my best friend tells me to snap out of it. get over it she says and starts at her best attempts to distract me. stupid self-taught scenesters and their tattoos. my old friends ex-girlfriend keeps calling her boyfriend for god knows what reason. that was a good laugh. but my own thoughts creep back into my head. this was a lot better before i decided to be some sort of indpendent woman. i liked it better when i knew where my limits were and i didnt push them. no, there was never a time like that. she called it a double standard. when im sitting in the power chair its easy not to care. when im the one at the button, i can pace back and forth without the slightest urge to call. but from here this damn view is aweful. im being dramatic. it sucks. shitass. its just somethings arent real at all, and then you get told "be realistic" and the two concepts are inherently opposite and im finding it increasingly hard to combine them. maybe i'll stick to books. real literature. none of this pop culture bull shit anymore. too bad the songs have so much beat, i could use a good kick in the ass from a slow and mournful tune. self-pity would be a lot easier if i wasnt chewing this oversized pink sugary bubblegum. so i peaked at the first paragraph. hah. has the author even met these people. theyre not that wonderful lady, or sir, or whoever you are nameless faceless journalist. you dont have a fucking clue, i thought. maybe i dont have a clue. i dont. ok, i dont. i admit that. he looks like he has downs syndrome, sasha said to cheer me up. too bad i couldnt care less about that particular one, otherwise i may have been more amused by the put down. she starts in with this whole bit about meaninglessness and me and this and i cant help but agree with every objective point she brings to the table. god damnit. i am such an idiot. sometimes i forget how smart i am and i go and be such an idiot. i could have taken things at face value and really had a good file in my memory bank and a good, rather impressive story if i was into spreading those sorts of tales, i thought i ought to play it safe. to protect who? yikes, i need to know when im allowed to be selfish. this would have been one of those times i could have been a little more selfish. alas. my back hurts from hunching over, no laptop for a week cuz im not bringing this damn thing across the country. maybe i'll just sleep on the plane, although there is something very romantic about the term "red-eye". sounds like theres something important about it. i'll be happy to be somewhere different than here for a while. and then i'll move. atleast i wont have to worry about legistics of meeting up here and there and plans and such. theres not a thing to hold me back anymore. theres no damn, no holding place, for the thoughts i could be setting free. its about time i hit up this world completely oblivious to the past. fuck it, here i go.