i'm not here for your entertainment
the thing about satellite eyes about probably everything is that so much thinking is involved. i've been thinking nonstop and doing almost no writing but i feel much more like i know what i am doing. i secretly sorta wish i could go to something like governor's school and just immerse myself in it but work is a MOTHERFUCKER because i can never focus, just singin to everyone in my head, you don't really wanna mess with me tonight. a weekend GASP is coming up and OMFG they cancelled camp for next week because not enough people signed up. i'm tellin ya, i'm dying. i need to write something and NOT A FUCKING POEM Sara, i tried to write a poem about a seashell and it just came out as total shit and yours is so beautiful. i was so sad because i love this seashell it's so special to me and i just want to be able to share it with the world. by the way the one about being a water droplet made me cry. i'm past thinking that i can't even write; i'm just doing it now for some silly reason i'll figure out eventually, something to do with music maybe. OR MAYBE IT'S CAUSE IT'S THE ONLY THING BESIDES ICE SKATING I COULD EVER MATCH UP but i am going to write a short story about that seashell because you know what? i'm fucking suicidal. i may just fucking explode. it's just U + Ur Hand tonight. sorry. it's the only angry song i can think of right now. why the fuck am i angry? is it because i feel like i missed my chance for just about everything? that maybe if it weren't for all the shit i went through i could have applied to governor's school, too? i have been doing nothing but thinking and drawing little cartoons on paper plates, and leading kids through the forest and telling them exactly what happens when a tree dies, and acting all happy about it and YOU KNOW WHAT? I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO cause i'm not here for your entertainment (none of the kids were sad anyway). if it died cause someone carved their own stupid initials into its side then i have the right to be pissed. it's a fucking nature preserve. all i want to do anymore is enjoy my time not spent at work, limited though my actual working time may be, i feel like i should get started on something, like rewriting chapter 2 cause it's a mess right now. but i am too tired. i just have to wake up. wake up. wake up. wake up. wake up. it's no wonder my story is about escaping. i can't bear to think anymore. i just want to not think again, ever. and i never want to move. moving sucks. i just want to write, forever and ever and ever and ever and