21166
I feel funny.
My lips are dry, which is nothing new. My head feels like it's full of mercury, all wobbly and heavy-like.
I want to write, I want to drive, I want to quit fucking procrastinating. Actually, I just want to go to bed. Hmm. I don't want to say procrastinating, actually, because it gets such a fucking flogging on people's blogs and spaces and such.
And I'm not even procrastinating. I'm just sitting doing nothing. Well, now I'm writing and skipping the song because the dandy warhols are not good tonight. QOTSA. Much better.
"If it gets you down, well then I'll take it..."
It's a wednesday and I should be doing something more worthwhile than sitting at home lamenting the fact that I have to find someone new to like.
I'm sick of being lonely. I haven't been lonely for a long time, but now I find myself sitting in a big puddle of it. I have friends, sure, but I lack that person that you just tell everything to and then curl up on a couch with. I want a doona.
I need to write some short stories. A detective one, for school, and others, for competitions. I want money. And, outside of an anonymous benefactor unloading some excess cash and telstra shares on me, it's up to me to get some. I'm struggling.
Anna doesn't like me anymore.
A mutual loss, there, I feel.
Wish I could drop some intelligence in a bin somewhere.
Wish I could say things without feeling stupid. Might do that. I can pull off most things without feeling stupid.
I'm lethargic and slow and fucked and hungry and notso and tired and my throat hurts and I want to do things I'll regret and get hurt and eat more and run more and drive.
"she didn't think of you in that way"
Gosh. What way? Jeez.
Bed. Maybe tomorrow will be the day.
My lips are dry, which is nothing new. My head feels like it's full of mercury, all wobbly and heavy-like.
I want to write, I want to drive, I want to quit fucking procrastinating. Actually, I just want to go to bed. Hmm. I don't want to say procrastinating, actually, because it gets such a fucking flogging on people's blogs and spaces and such.
And I'm not even procrastinating. I'm just sitting doing nothing. Well, now I'm writing and skipping the song because the dandy warhols are not good tonight. QOTSA. Much better.
"If it gets you down, well then I'll take it..."
It's a wednesday and I should be doing something more worthwhile than sitting at home lamenting the fact that I have to find someone new to like.
I'm sick of being lonely. I haven't been lonely for a long time, but now I find myself sitting in a big puddle of it. I have friends, sure, but I lack that person that you just tell everything to and then curl up on a couch with. I want a doona.
I need to write some short stories. A detective one, for school, and others, for competitions. I want money. And, outside of an anonymous benefactor unloading some excess cash and telstra shares on me, it's up to me to get some. I'm struggling.
Anna doesn't like me anymore.
A mutual loss, there, I feel.
Wish I could drop some intelligence in a bin somewhere.
Wish I could say things without feeling stupid. Might do that. I can pull off most things without feeling stupid.
I'm lethargic and slow and fucked and hungry and notso and tired and my throat hurts and I want to do things I'll regret and get hurt and eat more and run more and drive.
"she didn't think of you in that way"
Gosh. What way? Jeez.
Bed. Maybe tomorrow will be the day.