What in the hell do I do now?
I've been staring at this screen for about ten minutes now, a virtual eternity in this instantaneous world, contemplating which simultaneous thought I should commit to written word. And I have many of them, all at once, and it seems to me, I use that as a defense. What in the hell are you talking about, you wonder? Well, let me explain.
I fill my mind with flippant thoughts, with things that hold no real depth, to ignore what is truly bothering me. I have death on the mind, lonliness, hopelessness...all things that can and at times do consume me, but I rather not be. I rather laugh and sprout little sarcasms and jokes to people whom I barely know. I rather drink and make love with young men who are still full of life. I rather commit myself to happiness and force myself to believe in some good. I don't know why I get so weary, so restless...I don't know why I am never satisfied with anything except that it is simply who I am.
I was born unsatisfied and hungry. I was born a selfish creature, and oh I am and yes, you may be chuckling, thinking to yourself that I am full of it and merely living up to some dreary little fantasy, and I in return laugh at your confidence in this and how it is endearingly wrong. It is, believe it or not. There are parts of me that I don't like; parts of me that are waiting to be unleashed. It is almost beastly, this...this desire.
I suppose I don't like it because I can't control it. I find that I can't control many things these days. Well what do you know, I've commited a few of my thoughts to virtual paper.
Perhaps tomorrow I may decide to really write something. To get some of this excess emotion, and there is much emotion in me, out so that it no longer rests so heavy on my ever-changing mind.
Jolly.
Angelina
I fill my mind with flippant thoughts, with things that hold no real depth, to ignore what is truly bothering me. I have death on the mind, lonliness, hopelessness...all things that can and at times do consume me, but I rather not be. I rather laugh and sprout little sarcasms and jokes to people whom I barely know. I rather drink and make love with young men who are still full of life. I rather commit myself to happiness and force myself to believe in some good. I don't know why I get so weary, so restless...I don't know why I am never satisfied with anything except that it is simply who I am.
I was born unsatisfied and hungry. I was born a selfish creature, and oh I am and yes, you may be chuckling, thinking to yourself that I am full of it and merely living up to some dreary little fantasy, and I in return laugh at your confidence in this and how it is endearingly wrong. It is, believe it or not. There are parts of me that I don't like; parts of me that are waiting to be unleashed. It is almost beastly, this...this desire.
I suppose I don't like it because I can't control it. I find that I can't control many things these days. Well what do you know, I've commited a few of my thoughts to virtual paper.
Perhaps tomorrow I may decide to really write something. To get some of this excess emotion, and there is much emotion in me, out so that it no longer rests so heavy on my ever-changing mind.
Jolly.
Angelina