(no subject)
I guess I'm going to get a MySpace. Don't know why, I hate it. It's like the new Harry Pothead and Star Wars... just one massive fad. But I'll keep happy stuff in there, if I do get one.
I'm still not happy. So, in effect, it may very well be a while before I'd have anything to post on that journal. I kept writing little notes of appreciation for myself in my poetry booklet, one note everyday, but then a few nights ago I had a dream that sort of put me off to writing the notes of self-appreciation.
Basically, I was alone in this giant house, and couldn't go anywhere. I opened a door, screamed all my hatred for Nick, all my loneliness, all my ache over my dead duck and sick dog, all my general heartache into the room and slammed the door to lock it. When I turned, Nick was sitting against a blank wall with his head on his knees sulking, possibly crying. Of course, he wasn't really there, because in truth I was alone.
But the point was that no matter how much of my hurt I let out and lock behind the door, there's still going to be reminiscent threads. I did feel good over the weekend and the two days Nick was absent--I even commented in Al-Rashid and Melton's classes--but yesterday I was ready to scream and cry when I saw his crap on his desk.
I've just let my life fall to pieces again. I can talk about my grief to people all I want, but it won't take it away. There's something I want that I just can't have.
It would've been bad enough if he had just stopped loving me. I can understand that. But why he had to scorn me so with the "I only want you when I don't have you" game, I don't get. He didn't even care enough to stop and think about how he bloody felt. I shouldn't have held him in such high regard--hey, I wasn't very high on his priority list anyway. "Eh, I'll wait a few weeks before I let her know that I don't really care that much," is not equivalent to, "She's more mature than me, better than me, worth more than me."
Fuck it. Just fuck it all. I really just don't feel like living anymore.
I'm still not happy. So, in effect, it may very well be a while before I'd have anything to post on that journal. I kept writing little notes of appreciation for myself in my poetry booklet, one note everyday, but then a few nights ago I had a dream that sort of put me off to writing the notes of self-appreciation.
Basically, I was alone in this giant house, and couldn't go anywhere. I opened a door, screamed all my hatred for Nick, all my loneliness, all my ache over my dead duck and sick dog, all my general heartache into the room and slammed the door to lock it. When I turned, Nick was sitting against a blank wall with his head on his knees sulking, possibly crying. Of course, he wasn't really there, because in truth I was alone.
But the point was that no matter how much of my hurt I let out and lock behind the door, there's still going to be reminiscent threads. I did feel good over the weekend and the two days Nick was absent--I even commented in Al-Rashid and Melton's classes--but yesterday I was ready to scream and cry when I saw his crap on his desk.
I've just let my life fall to pieces again. I can talk about my grief to people all I want, but it won't take it away. There's something I want that I just can't have.
It would've been bad enough if he had just stopped loving me. I can understand that. But why he had to scorn me so with the "I only want you when I don't have you" game, I don't get. He didn't even care enough to stop and think about how he bloody felt. I shouldn't have held him in such high regard--hey, I wasn't very high on his priority list anyway. "Eh, I'll wait a few weeks before I let her know that I don't really care that much," is not equivalent to, "She's more mature than me, better than me, worth more than me."
Fuck it. Just fuck it all. I really just don't feel like living anymore.