"Dear Meg. For the first four years of your life, I thought you were a house cat."
i kind of feel like a house cat today. just kind of lounging around, kind of purring to myself, not really doing anything productive when i should be. procrastinating yet again with my thesis. thinking about what i could possibly do tonight that doesnt cost any money, which is, well, nothing really.
just watched harold and kumar go to white castle in bez's room. its one of those movies where the writers probably had about 3 or 4 great one-liners, and wrote a script around those few jokes. it actually made my head hurt, except for the cameo with the guy who played van wilder. so hot.
sarah-bear went shopping for prom dresses today, sadness that i couldnt partake. shell look beautiful in anything she wears. i have a feeling that im going to miss this year's prom too, though :(
parents are coming down to see the show in 2 weeks, which should be interesting. they were kind enough to mail my shoes for the show, along with some valentines day chocolate, which is almost gone i think because i put it on my dresser, so every time i go to get something to wear i feel the need to eat a hersheys miniature. this is quite counterproductive, if you think about it, because i am going to the dresser to look good while simultaneously getting fat.
[sigh] if i dont want to work on my thesis i should probably work on something, like my submission for the creative writing contest that due on the 25 or 28th or something. its just hard, because when i gather my work into a single portfolio, its looks so--condensed. and i read my pieces over and over again to pick out the best ones until im eventually numb to them, and i cant tell if theyre worthwhile anymore.
i need a muse.
i need good, melancholy music that twists and chips the outer corners of my heart just enough to bleed a little, and write something meaningful.
i have a distinct fear that what i write has no meaning to anybody but me, and when i start to feel numb to my own words i get a little hopeless. detached.
detachment is one of the worst feelings to experience. its that lethargic sense of indifference that drives me crazy, that makes me constantly search for, well, i guess anything. i walk around the city and i cant help but picture a hazy cloud of want silently pushing along everybody i pass, in and out of doorways, crossing streets, moving, looking. i love to people-watch. occasionally, when i look at people, really look at them, i can see the hunger in their eyes to feel something, anything, because i know exactly what it looks like. we all do. its a queer, controlled desperation. i want to feel something, anything, real, deep, honest. i crave honesty. thats not even the right word for it, really. yet its always odd to make eye contact with someone who mutually understands this. every once in a while, i look at a complete stranger in the eyes, and they look at me, and i know that they instantly see how thirsty i am for a connection to-im not even sure what. and then we both quickly look away.
ive gone off on a crazy tangent. going to tidy up the room a little, then hopeful get something sincere written so that i may feel somewhat productive today.
just watched harold and kumar go to white castle in bez's room. its one of those movies where the writers probably had about 3 or 4 great one-liners, and wrote a script around those few jokes. it actually made my head hurt, except for the cameo with the guy who played van wilder. so hot.
sarah-bear went shopping for prom dresses today, sadness that i couldnt partake. shell look beautiful in anything she wears. i have a feeling that im going to miss this year's prom too, though :(
parents are coming down to see the show in 2 weeks, which should be interesting. they were kind enough to mail my shoes for the show, along with some valentines day chocolate, which is almost gone i think because i put it on my dresser, so every time i go to get something to wear i feel the need to eat a hersheys miniature. this is quite counterproductive, if you think about it, because i am going to the dresser to look good while simultaneously getting fat.
[sigh] if i dont want to work on my thesis i should probably work on something, like my submission for the creative writing contest that due on the 25 or 28th or something. its just hard, because when i gather my work into a single portfolio, its looks so--condensed. and i read my pieces over and over again to pick out the best ones until im eventually numb to them, and i cant tell if theyre worthwhile anymore.
i need a muse.
i need good, melancholy music that twists and chips the outer corners of my heart just enough to bleed a little, and write something meaningful.
i have a distinct fear that what i write has no meaning to anybody but me, and when i start to feel numb to my own words i get a little hopeless. detached.
detachment is one of the worst feelings to experience. its that lethargic sense of indifference that drives me crazy, that makes me constantly search for, well, i guess anything. i walk around the city and i cant help but picture a hazy cloud of want silently pushing along everybody i pass, in and out of doorways, crossing streets, moving, looking. i love to people-watch. occasionally, when i look at people, really look at them, i can see the hunger in their eyes to feel something, anything, because i know exactly what it looks like. we all do. its a queer, controlled desperation. i want to feel something, anything, real, deep, honest. i crave honesty. thats not even the right word for it, really. yet its always odd to make eye contact with someone who mutually understands this. every once in a while, i look at a complete stranger in the eyes, and they look at me, and i know that they instantly see how thirsty i am for a connection to-im not even sure what. and then we both quickly look away.
ive gone off on a crazy tangent. going to tidy up the room a little, then hopeful get something sincere written so that i may feel somewhat productive today.