(no subject)
once I dreamed that fireflies were pure love. everyone I had ever loved in my life had marred my body, my entire right arm was consumed by fireflies. it's an idea.
things that I disliked as a child that I enjoy now
mustard coffee cats pickles
dresses black and white movies cigarettes body hair
scars sleeping glasses riding in cars
I find myself irritated at the small things. the boys in the kitchen yell at me constantly about bringing my server voice into an actual area. the kitchen is real. they are real people. the dining room, the customers, the business, is fake. I am not who I pretend to be. they don't even like the fake me, it's too real to be fake. I work work work and I try to go to school but I just don't care any more. how did I do it before? I was worse off then and tried even less but it's harder now. I know what happened but I don't like to talk about it.
instead, I amuse myself with small things and I don't cry. I don't think and I stare. I might even sit with my mouth agape, I'm not quite sure. I don't ask myself the questions I'm supposed to be asking, and I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't want to write a paper, I don't want to search for resources for a bibliography. both need to be completed by 9:30 am.
I ask myself difficult questions that I thought people asked themselves. then I found out that they don't, and they dislike it when I bring them up to them. my boss at the pizza shop is a libertarian and he asked me what I had against freedom. Nothing, man. I've even got a record player with an american flag on it. so what's my deal?
what's my fucking deal?
I dunno. I just keep waking up each morning, a little more disgusted and sick to my stomach. I won't feel like that when I wake up tomorrow, I'll all ready be awake.
things that I disliked as a child that I enjoy now
mustard coffee cats pickles
dresses black and white movies cigarettes body hair
scars sleeping glasses riding in cars
I find myself irritated at the small things. the boys in the kitchen yell at me constantly about bringing my server voice into an actual area. the kitchen is real. they are real people. the dining room, the customers, the business, is fake. I am not who I pretend to be. they don't even like the fake me, it's too real to be fake. I work work work and I try to go to school but I just don't care any more. how did I do it before? I was worse off then and tried even less but it's harder now. I know what happened but I don't like to talk about it.
instead, I amuse myself with small things and I don't cry. I don't think and I stare. I might even sit with my mouth agape, I'm not quite sure. I don't ask myself the questions I'm supposed to be asking, and I'm not doing what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't want to write a paper, I don't want to search for resources for a bibliography. both need to be completed by 9:30 am.
I ask myself difficult questions that I thought people asked themselves. then I found out that they don't, and they dislike it when I bring them up to them. my boss at the pizza shop is a libertarian and he asked me what I had against freedom. Nothing, man. I've even got a record player with an american flag on it. so what's my deal?
what's my fucking deal?
I dunno. I just keep waking up each morning, a little more disgusted and sick to my stomach. I won't feel like that when I wake up tomorrow, I'll all ready be awake.