paste haste waste
i guess this sickness I’ve had for the past week is no excuse for not writing either.
I mean, soon they’re going to have to come along and delete this thing, and I used to post an entry a day?
What happened?
I guess I’m not so interested in my own life anymore. I get on the internet and I immediately go do something else that’s not productive in the least bit. I just don’t feel like writing.
It comes back to the Waste of Space.
I can’t even keep a journal, let alone write a novel.
But, that’s the problem with ADD kids like me.
I shouldn’t just leave big empty gaps when I post. Like my whole deCastro problem, it’s been solved. She thinks I’m the greatest thing ever now.
I was talking to her after class the other day, because I was making up half of her absent work, and I told her how my mother had said ‘I’m worried about you’ and thought I might be suicidal.
She just grinned from over at her desk and said “Liz, you ARE Sylvia Plath. But you saw through the whole suicide thing, as it just being her tragic life and state of mind.”
Sometimes that woman who I half despise understands me better than my own mother. It’s almost like she’s always making sure I’m OK.
The other day? She sent me out of her class because I was ‘too sick to be in school.’
Too sick.
And then she gave me three good tissues because I’d been carrying around a roll of toilet paper (that’s what they supply our classrooms with for tissue), and said “Take these, use them wisely, I know how you feel.”
It’s almost like the start of some corny story where I’d been supplied with the tools I need to survive in the world.
Tissues. How emo.
That same day, I fell asleep in the car with APC’s The Thirteenth Step playing softly for an hour because my mother had to go to a meeting. It’s not like I blame her or anything.
I’ve been putting on the fluff camo for her, as of late. As always, she’ll fall for it but when I start becoming cold again, she’ll be upset and worry about me.
I’m supposed to worry. I’m your mother.
The girl who quit driver’s ed. wants to be independent.
i wonder if my life’s just a paradox, or if i just defy all stereotypes.
Or perhaps I just took too much Niquill. However the fuck that’s spelled. I can’t even remember if that’s the drug I took.
...
I just read the saddest story on the Verizon Online news section, about this old woman who was killed by her dogs. And her neighbors were saying she was always taking stray animals in and they were her only comfort, and that finaly
The very thing she had loved and took care of all her life killed her."
I guess the same thing goes for all of us.
I’m so fucking emo.
I mean, soon they’re going to have to come along and delete this thing, and I used to post an entry a day?
What happened?
I guess I’m not so interested in my own life anymore. I get on the internet and I immediately go do something else that’s not productive in the least bit. I just don’t feel like writing.
It comes back to the Waste of Space.
I can’t even keep a journal, let alone write a novel.
But, that’s the problem with ADD kids like me.
I shouldn’t just leave big empty gaps when I post. Like my whole deCastro problem, it’s been solved. She thinks I’m the greatest thing ever now.
I was talking to her after class the other day, because I was making up half of her absent work, and I told her how my mother had said ‘I’m worried about you’ and thought I might be suicidal.
She just grinned from over at her desk and said “Liz, you ARE Sylvia Plath. But you saw through the whole suicide thing, as it just being her tragic life and state of mind.”
Sometimes that woman who I half despise understands me better than my own mother. It’s almost like she’s always making sure I’m OK.
The other day? She sent me out of her class because I was ‘too sick to be in school.’
Too sick.
And then she gave me three good tissues because I’d been carrying around a roll of toilet paper (that’s what they supply our classrooms with for tissue), and said “Take these, use them wisely, I know how you feel.”
It’s almost like the start of some corny story where I’d been supplied with the tools I need to survive in the world.
Tissues. How emo.
That same day, I fell asleep in the car with APC’s The Thirteenth Step playing softly for an hour because my mother had to go to a meeting. It’s not like I blame her or anything.
I’ve been putting on the fluff camo for her, as of late. As always, she’ll fall for it but when I start becoming cold again, she’ll be upset and worry about me.
I’m supposed to worry. I’m your mother.
The girl who quit driver’s ed. wants to be independent.
i wonder if my life’s just a paradox, or if i just defy all stereotypes.
Or perhaps I just took too much Niquill. However the fuck that’s spelled. I can’t even remember if that’s the drug I took.
...
I just read the saddest story on the Verizon Online news section, about this old woman who was killed by her dogs. And her neighbors were saying she was always taking stray animals in and they were her only comfort, and that finaly
The very thing she had loved and took care of all her life killed her."
I guess the same thing goes for all of us.
I’m so fucking emo.