spectacular spectical of a tree stump
I sat and stared at the keyboard for about fifteen minutes wondering if I should even write in this journal. It has grown so old over time that when I re-read my past journal entrys they seemed to be more like dream experiences then actual events of my past. I tossed around the realization that I haven't got an audience to correspond with anymore even if I were to write in it. Then I remembered I never really had an audience in the first place on here. The audience and main commentator was always that of a needy, self-indulgent, lonley girl who needed to be aknowledged via internet because she could not do it in real life, or so she thought. I suspose the latter is also why I was tossing the question in the air until a faulty catch caused it to fall on the floor and shatter into the shitty fact that not that much has changed. So I sit here lurking at the friends I used to have journal's and Myspace's wondering what they are doing these days, who have they become?, how did I loose them?. How did it come to be that I can't keep them? is it because I would rather smoke pot, hang out with Jon, and forget that other people live on earth? I'm confused as to whether I don't have friends because I am in a relationship and just grew much to complacent within it,or if it is because I turned into this anxiety freak that can't have friends even if I wanted to because what i think i know is making me crazy. shitty progressive dissorderz. It is probably both. Either way I am sick of my bullshit because I have not had "girl talk" in like maybe a year and a half. Not counting my sister. My head is filled all to often with too much nostalgia, for someone of such pardoxical disposition. I want to be social, but I don't like the whole facade game people put on half the time...I guess that is the main reason why I can't stand meeting new people. I would much rather sit in a puddle of menstral urine, and forced to listen to reggatone then listen to someones shitty lies. I say it like it is most the time so maybe also people don't want to hear the truth that i have to say. So here I am writing in the journal I created once upon a time when the nights and days were spent so unpredictable, and whether or not I should have gotten rock and roll tattooed on my right tit was the biggest decision I had to make. I miss you all and i miss not giving a fuck about anything and getting away with it. But....I wouldn't give Jon up for the world so I guess i'm stuck with my self inflicted shitty little neurosies. I am all too painfully predictable now. Why am I even telling myself this in text form? ANSWER ME BACK DAMN IT !! Dear Live narcissistic journal of magicical answers to trivial life questions. Don't do me no worng bitch. haaaaaa blah blah. Shut up Kayylaaaaaaaaaaaaa