(no subject)
So I met this guy today.
Well, not really him. But I almost threw up on myself because I really thought it was him smoking next to me. An Italian version. It was interesting.
My hippie doctor says, "Use art to convey your feelings." And he gave me a small canvas, some acrylic paints, and and 2 brushes. He says, "You like to write, use that as an outlet." But he didn't give me a typewriter. No such luck there.
If I wanted to paint my feelings, I'd have to use fire for a medium and paint it on my chest. If I wanted to write out my feelings, I'm not quite sure where I'd get all of the blood I'd need to finish before I drained myself dead.
Oh, the melodrama. The pain, the anguish. Woe is me. Whoa, even. Whoa, it's me.
I like that better.
I'm not quite sure why my pathetic, needy, self-centered excuse for an existence has so little confidence and such low self-esteem. Even with the people I know I shouldn't even need too much self-esteem with, I become consumed with self-doubt and hellbent at sabotaging the only things that matter to me. Because of a petty and insignificant 5 lines of text.
Why do I feel I need to be constantly reminded of the obvious? Monotony drives humanity, and I'm part of that bullshit I suppose. Or maybe I enjoy the thought of possibly being fucked over and left for dead by a horde of well-meaning loved ones who have their own problems. Maybe I've brain-washed myself into thinking that being miserable is a better state of existence.
I mean, being miserable lets you see things you don't normally notice when you're happy. Or even apathetic. Like the 3 year-old who wants to play a game and the mother slaps him on the wrist and tells him to shut up. Or the couple that walk out of an obvious counseling session and sit in the waiting room, and even you can tell which one wants to make it work even though you've never met them. Or the incoherent gossiping of a gaggle of bitches who flip-flop as soon as another bitch walks up. Or the blank, jaded look you get from a cashier when you buy groceries, because they probably have something real and terrible happening in their life.
Maybe I need terrible too. Or maybe I just need to get over myself.
Well, on another not-so-long note, I'm excited to be watching these two movies tonight as I sit around and wait for nothing to happen, even though I'm actually waiting for something.
Well, not really him. But I almost threw up on myself because I really thought it was him smoking next to me. An Italian version. It was interesting.
My hippie doctor says, "Use art to convey your feelings." And he gave me a small canvas, some acrylic paints, and and 2 brushes. He says, "You like to write, use that as an outlet." But he didn't give me a typewriter. No such luck there.
If I wanted to paint my feelings, I'd have to use fire for a medium and paint it on my chest. If I wanted to write out my feelings, I'm not quite sure where I'd get all of the blood I'd need to finish before I drained myself dead.
Oh, the melodrama. The pain, the anguish. Woe is me. Whoa, even. Whoa, it's me.
I like that better.
I'm not quite sure why my pathetic, needy, self-centered excuse for an existence has so little confidence and such low self-esteem. Even with the people I know I shouldn't even need too much self-esteem with, I become consumed with self-doubt and hellbent at sabotaging the only things that matter to me. Because of a petty and insignificant 5 lines of text.
Why do I feel I need to be constantly reminded of the obvious? Monotony drives humanity, and I'm part of that bullshit I suppose. Or maybe I enjoy the thought of possibly being fucked over and left for dead by a horde of well-meaning loved ones who have their own problems. Maybe I've brain-washed myself into thinking that being miserable is a better state of existence.
I mean, being miserable lets you see things you don't normally notice when you're happy. Or even apathetic. Like the 3 year-old who wants to play a game and the mother slaps him on the wrist and tells him to shut up. Or the couple that walk out of an obvious counseling session and sit in the waiting room, and even you can tell which one wants to make it work even though you've never met them. Or the incoherent gossiping of a gaggle of bitches who flip-flop as soon as another bitch walks up. Or the blank, jaded look you get from a cashier when you buy groceries, because they probably have something real and terrible happening in their life.
Maybe I need terrible too. Or maybe I just need to get over myself.
Well, on another not-so-long note, I'm excited to be watching these two movies tonight as I sit around and wait for nothing to happen, even though I'm actually waiting for something.