(no subject)
"Every story is a ghost." I'm pretty sure Chuck said that, but I could be wrong.
She was poetic, but more in a pathetic way. Not quite so roses and sunshine as much as wet leaves in a gutter. Inspiration was fleeting, but when it hit it caused the letters to rearrange in a cloudy mess of thoughts. The room is full of chewed pens and crumbled paper like the site of a tragic literary armagedon. Words didn't make sense anymore and the air was starting to suffocate her. A tsunami of panic and confusion quickly crashed into her. It wouldn't be so bad if this didn't happen so often. However, this time it was different. It wouldn't go away.
By normal means everything was going great. She had a job she loved where she was surrounded by people she very easily got along with. She was making pretty decent money and was even thinking about moving into a better place. She had friends and a boyfriend that were always there for her. However, she didn't really care about money, a house was a house, and a lot of the time she just wanted to be alone.
There was just something she couldn't shake. Everything around her was beginning to make her sick. Sick in that all too predictable way. She couldn't stand anything about herself anymore, physically or mentally. She wanted a change but she didn't know how to get one. She watched movies and read books pretending she was the characters in them. Sometimes she was the heroin, sometimes the antagonist--anyone who wasn't herself. She had met a huge block in her life and the hardest thing was figuring out how to get around it.
She was poetic, but more in a pathetic way. Not quite so roses and sunshine as much as wet leaves in a gutter. Inspiration was fleeting, but when it hit it caused the letters to rearrange in a cloudy mess of thoughts. The room is full of chewed pens and crumbled paper like the site of a tragic literary armagedon. Words didn't make sense anymore and the air was starting to suffocate her. A tsunami of panic and confusion quickly crashed into her. It wouldn't be so bad if this didn't happen so often. However, this time it was different. It wouldn't go away.
By normal means everything was going great. She had a job she loved where she was surrounded by people she very easily got along with. She was making pretty decent money and was even thinking about moving into a better place. She had friends and a boyfriend that were always there for her. However, she didn't really care about money, a house was a house, and a lot of the time she just wanted to be alone.
There was just something she couldn't shake. Everything around her was beginning to make her sick. Sick in that all too predictable way. She couldn't stand anything about herself anymore, physically or mentally. She wanted a change but she didn't know how to get one. She watched movies and read books pretending she was the characters in them. Sometimes she was the heroin, sometimes the antagonist--anyone who wasn't herself. She had met a huge block in her life and the hardest thing was figuring out how to get around it.