those were the days. but today is gone and tomorrow is here.

[andi317]

i remember a time when i used to write in this thing constantly. almost everyday. i shared it all with whoever was out there in cyberspace to listen. my entries used to be funny, entertaining, maybe even thoughtful once in a great while.the words poured out forever, people felt like they were reading my lifes novel. only a slice.and when i had insomnia, thats when things really got crazy. I still have insomnia but im no longer creative with it. i guess i am in my head. my imagination runs wild, but the only thing pouring out are my tears. but now the words have run dry, and i dont even know why. not trying to rhyme there i swear. although my creative writing class takes up most of my time these days. not that it has to, but i let it. because what else would i be doing? something self destructive im sure. I wrote a poem about aaron for this weeks submision. i was proud about that. i tried and tried to after he died but it was too forced, i guess timing is everything. i got good feedback from my classmates on it, so i guess its decent. im not really sure the completely get it, how can they they dont know him or know the situation. i wish i could say my first story submision had the same fate, but my professor said some of it seemed "unbelievable" which is humerous in the way that makes me cry because in all honesty, there wasnt too much in that story that was fake. how can it be unbelievable if it happend to me? and then he told me that my "mechanical error make my seem uncredible as an author" great. wonderful. shed some tears over that one. it's not just spelling...i use spell check okay (obviously not in my lj) but its grammer, and other shit im not good at and try so hard to be better but physically cant. i mean they sat me down in a big leather chair junior year, held a life size model of a brain infront of my face and actually pointed to the parts that "just don't function as they should." no amount of studying can help that. my dad always edits my papers. but i cant let him anymore. see i dont have to make stories up like i used to. i take it all from personal experience. what would he do when he read about the time my boyfriend brought cocain into his house? moral of the story, if im not credible, no ones going to publish me. maybe ill become a janitor. there is always a mess to be cleaned up somewhere. you dont have to be credible for that job. you just need to know how to use a mop. which i guess i dont really, my mom always buys those swifter things now. just one more shattered dream.
so the real question of the night...na nevermind. this just doesnt feel like it used to. i dont want to force it anymore.