my pinky toe is bleeding profusely. seriously.
I have entirely too much to be doing to be updating this, but I never have been one to have my priorities straight. I just realized what intense irony lives in the relationship between that statement and my life in Winston-Salem. I think maybe only Katie will understand this irony.
Why does it always take me so long to realize whoever I'm interested in is a skeez? (Although I have to be honest, I haven't been "interested" in him in a really long time. I find him totally uninteresting, actually. Predictable, needy and annoying. Unbearably strange by nature, thus, to some degree, hard for me to resist.) I hate listening to and acting upon advice (it always feels like what it is - someone else's solution to a problem that isn't theirs), but I really should start doing it, because I don't solve my problems, I let them sit until they magically disappear or my life goes in a direction that allows me to abandon them. How To Avoid Being Walked On, Signs To Knowing You're Being Used, Stop Making Excuses And Shrugging It Off, Stop Caring About People Who You Know Don't Care About You...
I think this summer will be my release summer. I'm going to tame all of the things that have been pulling me down. And I know for a fact that even if I spend my entire summer on that leather couch, morning noon and night, watching HBO and eating avocados and cookies (activities I abhorred exactly a year ago, because everyone was too busy or too unreliable), it will still be the best feeling in the world.
In other news, I finished Naked Lunch completely. I read all of the attached letters and articles by Burroughs, parts cut from the original copy, even the editor's commentary. I talked to my drawing teacher who's actually a rather large fan. He showed me some paintings Burroughs did, and after further research I discovered some of his photo collages and a collaboration he did with Ralph Steadman (needless to say this excited me to an extent that does not lend itself to words). I'm not ready to say that it changed my life (the book, that is), but it definitely opened my eyes and my mind (that sounds so sick and artificially philosophical). It did instill the prospect of a different, slanted approach to executing a commentary, it made me realize a few of my boundaries, and in some sections it blatantly terrified me.
But I'm not writing an English paper right now, nor am I writing a book review. So I should probably shut up about it.
My brain hasn't wrapped itself around my awaiting diploma just yet.
I don't want to get a job.
I have to get a job, I've no money at all.
Nine days left, and everything is due Friday. After Friday I'll have no reason to avoid him except for the truth. I hate having to let people know that I too am a needy person. I hate having to live up to my adolescent and girlish insecurities. I don't want to need reassurance or to need to feel needed.
I should go to bed. I have to get up to learn something my math teacher would have taught me, if she could teach.
I love the little smiley face thing for mood. It looks like a little steaming red turd of Everything-That-Could-Go-Wrong-Will.
Why does it always take me so long to realize whoever I'm interested in is a skeez? (Although I have to be honest, I haven't been "interested" in him in a really long time. I find him totally uninteresting, actually. Predictable, needy and annoying. Unbearably strange by nature, thus, to some degree, hard for me to resist.) I hate listening to and acting upon advice (it always feels like what it is - someone else's solution to a problem that isn't theirs), but I really should start doing it, because I don't solve my problems, I let them sit until they magically disappear or my life goes in a direction that allows me to abandon them. How To Avoid Being Walked On, Signs To Knowing You're Being Used, Stop Making Excuses And Shrugging It Off, Stop Caring About People Who You Know Don't Care About You...
I think this summer will be my release summer. I'm going to tame all of the things that have been pulling me down. And I know for a fact that even if I spend my entire summer on that leather couch, morning noon and night, watching HBO and eating avocados and cookies (activities I abhorred exactly a year ago, because everyone was too busy or too unreliable), it will still be the best feeling in the world.
In other news, I finished Naked Lunch completely. I read all of the attached letters and articles by Burroughs, parts cut from the original copy, even the editor's commentary. I talked to my drawing teacher who's actually a rather large fan. He showed me some paintings Burroughs did, and after further research I discovered some of his photo collages and a collaboration he did with Ralph Steadman (needless to say this excited me to an extent that does not lend itself to words). I'm not ready to say that it changed my life (the book, that is), but it definitely opened my eyes and my mind (that sounds so sick and artificially philosophical). It did instill the prospect of a different, slanted approach to executing a commentary, it made me realize a few of my boundaries, and in some sections it blatantly terrified me.
But I'm not writing an English paper right now, nor am I writing a book review. So I should probably shut up about it.
My brain hasn't wrapped itself around my awaiting diploma just yet.
I don't want to get a job.
I have to get a job, I've no money at all.
Nine days left, and everything is due Friday. After Friday I'll have no reason to avoid him except for the truth. I hate having to let people know that I too am a needy person. I hate having to live up to my adolescent and girlish insecurities. I don't want to need reassurance or to need to feel needed.
I should go to bed. I have to get up to learn something my math teacher would have taught me, if she could teach.
I love the little smiley face thing for mood. It looks like a little steaming red turd of Everything-That-Could-Go-Wrong-Will.