Turkey!
My worst days now are way better than the mediocre moments of the best days I ever had before. But my slightly more than mediocre moments of before are probably worth more than the best days I have now. What I mean is it is not that I don't feel any better. It is that in general I just feel a whole lot less.
School is really easy. Sometimes it gets so easy I forget to try. Then school acts like it is hard, but it really isn't. When school acts like that, it's usually just getting too full of itself. If school gets too full of itself, it's usually best to talk things through. Ignoring it only makes the problem worse.
I have noticed a disturbing return of the slightly paranoid and self-concious me. I hadn't exactly beat him up and stuffed him into a closet, it was more a friendly agreement that he get the fuck out for a little while. I guess he got hungry, or something. Maybe we could find a way to work this out. Give and take. I'm fine with being a paranoid son of a bitch every once in a while, just not all the time man. Not when it counts. That isn't really the worst of it though. At least he means well. I am not exactly sure where this monstrous doppleganger came from, exactly, but it's safe to say that neither I nor the paranoid me like him very much. Sure he can have his moments, but he's always crossing that goddamn line, man. We all need to sit down and talk. Get things straight.
Today, while enjoying myself in Mr. Porter's SRT, I had an image of myself in the backyard of some old country house. The house wasn't mine, but it was filled with all of my things. Not to say they were things of mine, but they were lots of things I guess you could assosciate with me. Pictures of people I know, songs I had written, things like that. Anyway, I walked through this old country house into the backyard, where there was a giant bon-fire waiting for me. I took everything in the house and threw it in the fire. All the pictures, the journals, the notes, everything. I went back into the house, up to my room (which was mine for no other reason than there was no one else around) and took the bed, managing to throw it out the window and into the fire. Then I stood there, watching all these things of mine burn, and I smiled. I never said anything, I just stood there for a very long time smiling until the fire began to sting my eyes and they started to tear up. Even then, I didn't quit. I just kept smiling at that fire, that Old Red Flame.
It was an image that left me rather quickly. Then I read from my Government book.
My day was rather uninteresting, truth be told. I'd much rather keep it to myself.
School is really easy. Sometimes it gets so easy I forget to try. Then school acts like it is hard, but it really isn't. When school acts like that, it's usually just getting too full of itself. If school gets too full of itself, it's usually best to talk things through. Ignoring it only makes the problem worse.
I have noticed a disturbing return of the slightly paranoid and self-concious me. I hadn't exactly beat him up and stuffed him into a closet, it was more a friendly agreement that he get the fuck out for a little while. I guess he got hungry, or something. Maybe we could find a way to work this out. Give and take. I'm fine with being a paranoid son of a bitch every once in a while, just not all the time man. Not when it counts. That isn't really the worst of it though. At least he means well. I am not exactly sure where this monstrous doppleganger came from, exactly, but it's safe to say that neither I nor the paranoid me like him very much. Sure he can have his moments, but he's always crossing that goddamn line, man. We all need to sit down and talk. Get things straight.
Today, while enjoying myself in Mr. Porter's SRT, I had an image of myself in the backyard of some old country house. The house wasn't mine, but it was filled with all of my things. Not to say they were things of mine, but they were lots of things I guess you could assosciate with me. Pictures of people I know, songs I had written, things like that. Anyway, I walked through this old country house into the backyard, where there was a giant bon-fire waiting for me. I took everything in the house and threw it in the fire. All the pictures, the journals, the notes, everything. I went back into the house, up to my room (which was mine for no other reason than there was no one else around) and took the bed, managing to throw it out the window and into the fire. Then I stood there, watching all these things of mine burn, and I smiled. I never said anything, I just stood there for a very long time smiling until the fire began to sting my eyes and they started to tear up. Even then, I didn't quit. I just kept smiling at that fire, that Old Red Flame.
It was an image that left me rather quickly. Then I read from my Government book.
My day was rather uninteresting, truth be told. I'd much rather keep it to myself.