(no subject)
I’m in purgatory. That’s what this is. Actually, I’m sitting in my backyard. It’s wet because my mom was watering the plants; only she can never only water the plants. She also waters the pool chairs, the pool area, the diving board, and the patio set, as if it will grow or as if it needs water or life or something. It’s cold out, too cold for a summer in New Jersey and I’m thinking an apocalypse is coming. This is definitely not global warming. Maybe hairspray in those big aluminum bottles wasn’t as dangerous as CNN made it out to be. Maybe it was a myth, like slap bracelets killing you. Someone once told me they were illegal, and I believed them and thus abided accordingly. I haven’t owned one since. I’m too good.
There are no clouds in the sky tonite, it’s not dark out either, almost a grey blue. There are some little wispy things off over my neighbor’s house. I don’t know if they could be classified as clouds. They’re red. Red sky by night, sailors delight, red sky by morning, sailors head warning. I’m a boater at heart, I am. I swear. I listen to Jimmy Buffett and wear boat shoes and know what port and starboard are. At least, I did.
My stream of consciousness, which this is, could easily be classified as some sort of mental thing and I could be medicated accordingly, probably. Who knows? I don’t know if I believe in the whole medicating thing anymore, anyways, but if I did I could buy it on eBay for 10.99. Full serious. I’m, as Martha Stewart would say, a conundrum.
I changed a lot in three weeks. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s Patrick being back within a 20-mile radius, or my mind finally going where it wants instead of where I direct it. Maybe it’s that I’m finally letting myself feel instead of just think. However, I am thinking too. I think, perhaps, that I’ve stumbled blindly across the cohesion of the polar opposites. Feeling hurts. A lot. I had a dream the other night, and I woke up physically hurting from it. It ruined my day, but at the same time it made me really happy. I’m not dormant, I can feel. And I hate it and I love it and it drives me nuts. I thought I was failing at emotion, too. Apparently not.
I was rereading some of my school papers that I had moved from my old computer. And in one I wrote about failure. Failure is my new favorite thing. Everybody needs it. Honestly. It’s affirming, in some fucked up way. Someone told me that I failed this year. Flat out, right to my face, with an unrelenting smile and it was the best thing that I’ve ever been told. Because, they told me that I tried, too. You can’t fail at something unless you try at it. Failure requires some sort of undertaking, and the acknowledgement of my failure was enough to make me love the person for forever. Damn. That’s gonna hurt.
It’s getting really dark. I should turn on a light. Or go inside. But it’s actually nice out. And, my mom just turned on the spotlight. Not sure how much good it’s going to do, but it’s something.
Something is everything. My mind is distorted in my break from everything. I become completely disillusioned by things when I’m not in contact with them. Then, when I come in contact with them I experience something similar to being hit in the head with a blunt object at full force. I always end up with some sort of bruise.
This really does seem like some sort of psychotic break. But it’s not, I swear. I don’t know what it is. My mind is just going and my fingers are trying to keep up and I know that it makes no collective sense, but it’s what I’m thinking when I’m thinking it.
Bed of Lies, by matchbox 20 just came on. I like this song. I do. Well it’s not enough just to be lonely/I don’t think that I could take another talk about it. Good stuff. And there’ll be no rest for these tired eyes/I’m marking it down to learning.
I’m not bitter anymore. When did this happen? I don’t know. I would like to think I’ve reached this closure, but maybe it’s apathy? Maybe I’m just tired and have finally realized that putting things in a box on a high shelf with their purpose to be nothing more than to collect dust could be a good thing. My mind has taken months to catch up with the rest of my body, but after once last bruise, I’ve moved on.
There are lighting bugs over in the corner of my yard. When I was younger my aunt used to catch them, rip off their glow thing, and make me jewelry out of them. I thought she was so cool for that.
My feet are freezing. The pool light is on. My mom changed the burnt out light so I have more light. I’m still in purgatory, though. I want out of here. I need to move on, instead of just waiting around. I keep buying stuff for next year and getting things ready and everything, but there’s nothing I can do for another couple of weeks. I’m just, waiting, it feels like. I’m in the middle of two different lives. Just, waiting. Tick tock.
Only half of the moon is out tonite. Christina is in the rain forest. I wonder if she can see it. How Fival is that?
There are no clouds in the sky tonite, it’s not dark out either, almost a grey blue. There are some little wispy things off over my neighbor’s house. I don’t know if they could be classified as clouds. They’re red. Red sky by night, sailors delight, red sky by morning, sailors head warning. I’m a boater at heart, I am. I swear. I listen to Jimmy Buffett and wear boat shoes and know what port and starboard are. At least, I did.
My stream of consciousness, which this is, could easily be classified as some sort of mental thing and I could be medicated accordingly, probably. Who knows? I don’t know if I believe in the whole medicating thing anymore, anyways, but if I did I could buy it on eBay for 10.99. Full serious. I’m, as Martha Stewart would say, a conundrum.
I changed a lot in three weeks. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s Patrick being back within a 20-mile radius, or my mind finally going where it wants instead of where I direct it. Maybe it’s that I’m finally letting myself feel instead of just think. However, I am thinking too. I think, perhaps, that I’ve stumbled blindly across the cohesion of the polar opposites. Feeling hurts. A lot. I had a dream the other night, and I woke up physically hurting from it. It ruined my day, but at the same time it made me really happy. I’m not dormant, I can feel. And I hate it and I love it and it drives me nuts. I thought I was failing at emotion, too. Apparently not.
I was rereading some of my school papers that I had moved from my old computer. And in one I wrote about failure. Failure is my new favorite thing. Everybody needs it. Honestly. It’s affirming, in some fucked up way. Someone told me that I failed this year. Flat out, right to my face, with an unrelenting smile and it was the best thing that I’ve ever been told. Because, they told me that I tried, too. You can’t fail at something unless you try at it. Failure requires some sort of undertaking, and the acknowledgement of my failure was enough to make me love the person for forever. Damn. That’s gonna hurt.
It’s getting really dark. I should turn on a light. Or go inside. But it’s actually nice out. And, my mom just turned on the spotlight. Not sure how much good it’s going to do, but it’s something.
Something is everything. My mind is distorted in my break from everything. I become completely disillusioned by things when I’m not in contact with them. Then, when I come in contact with them I experience something similar to being hit in the head with a blunt object at full force. I always end up with some sort of bruise.
This really does seem like some sort of psychotic break. But it’s not, I swear. I don’t know what it is. My mind is just going and my fingers are trying to keep up and I know that it makes no collective sense, but it’s what I’m thinking when I’m thinking it.
Bed of Lies, by matchbox 20 just came on. I like this song. I do. Well it’s not enough just to be lonely/I don’t think that I could take another talk about it. Good stuff. And there’ll be no rest for these tired eyes/I’m marking it down to learning.
I’m not bitter anymore. When did this happen? I don’t know. I would like to think I’ve reached this closure, but maybe it’s apathy? Maybe I’m just tired and have finally realized that putting things in a box on a high shelf with their purpose to be nothing more than to collect dust could be a good thing. My mind has taken months to catch up with the rest of my body, but after once last bruise, I’ve moved on.
There are lighting bugs over in the corner of my yard. When I was younger my aunt used to catch them, rip off their glow thing, and make me jewelry out of them. I thought she was so cool for that.
My feet are freezing. The pool light is on. My mom changed the burnt out light so I have more light. I’m still in purgatory, though. I want out of here. I need to move on, instead of just waiting around. I keep buying stuff for next year and getting things ready and everything, but there’s nothing I can do for another couple of weeks. I’m just, waiting, it feels like. I’m in the middle of two different lives. Just, waiting. Tick tock.
Only half of the moon is out tonite. Christina is in the rain forest. I wonder if she can see it. How Fival is that?