(no subject)
I'm just taking a little break from reality, I'll be back in a week or so. I might come out of my shell, I might even pretend to have something to say.
I've always wanted freedom, but the closer I get the more scared and anxious I feel. That's not that strange for me (it's still difficult), I'm afraid of what I want (girls for example, I am ashamed of my level of fear and how it is increasing... even when I'm drinking). I don't know why I would want to let anyone know my weaknesses. I guess I just don't care that much. At the very least I'm generally happy now. I like that. I like a lot of things. I'm able to get excited. I'm going on a roadtrip, I'm going real far. I'd like to cross Canada and circle down to California and come back through the US, but I might not have the funds. I won't have the funds, but that hasn't stopped me in the past. Well, I guess it has, but I feel like a "real boy" now. I don't care about any of that, I've been listening to Neil Young and he's been telling me to play guitar and to travel. That's what I wanted to do with my life and he's saying it's possible... just not here. My mother is crazy, but she's probably the most respectable person I've ever known. One of those people that can just do what it takes. I'm more like my father, I can't say bad things anymore because I might die young, I might die homeless. I'm not better than anyone, but I don't feel worse. This is A Bullshit. Vomit from my fingers and my brain. We're talkin' Sciatic Never blues. My back isn't sore and my legs aren't broken, but, boy, is my posture a thing of the past.
I frequently get comments from people twice my age about my hair colour. It usually sucks, they're nice people and everything, but I just don't know what to say to someone twice my age who starts a conversation about my hair. I'm twenty-one, I know I have red hair now. I know that's strange. They're good people though, I guess they're just tired of talking about the weather.
I don't know what I'm talking about. I just had this idea in my head that I needed to write a real journal entry. I needed to write about reality before I forget about it.
I still have the urge to go out late at night, just sit on the swings in Victoria park by myself, sing a song, go for a walk, whistle a tune and then I can go to bed. I enjoy being alone in a places that people gather during the day.
I've always wanted freedom, but the closer I get the more scared and anxious I feel. That's not that strange for me (it's still difficult), I'm afraid of what I want (girls for example, I am ashamed of my level of fear and how it is increasing... even when I'm drinking). I don't know why I would want to let anyone know my weaknesses. I guess I just don't care that much. At the very least I'm generally happy now. I like that. I like a lot of things. I'm able to get excited. I'm going on a roadtrip, I'm going real far. I'd like to cross Canada and circle down to California and come back through the US, but I might not have the funds. I won't have the funds, but that hasn't stopped me in the past. Well, I guess it has, but I feel like a "real boy" now. I don't care about any of that, I've been listening to Neil Young and he's been telling me to play guitar and to travel. That's what I wanted to do with my life and he's saying it's possible... just not here. My mother is crazy, but she's probably the most respectable person I've ever known. One of those people that can just do what it takes. I'm more like my father, I can't say bad things anymore because I might die young, I might die homeless. I'm not better than anyone, but I don't feel worse. This is A Bullshit. Vomit from my fingers and my brain. We're talkin' Sciatic Never blues. My back isn't sore and my legs aren't broken, but, boy, is my posture a thing of the past.
I frequently get comments from people twice my age about my hair colour. It usually sucks, they're nice people and everything, but I just don't know what to say to someone twice my age who starts a conversation about my hair. I'm twenty-one, I know I have red hair now. I know that's strange. They're good people though, I guess they're just tired of talking about the weather.
I don't know what I'm talking about. I just had this idea in my head that I needed to write a real journal entry. I needed to write about reality before I forget about it.
I still have the urge to go out late at night, just sit on the swings in Victoria park by myself, sing a song, go for a walk, whistle a tune and then I can go to bed. I enjoy being alone in a places that people gather during the day.