I am jack's raging bile duct
Pure exhaustion seems to be overcoming my insomnia, unfortunately, my health as well. I wish I could be healthy, active, and able to fall asleep properly all at once. Maybe it will come eventually.
I'm feeling antsy and worried, and as though I'm running til I'm out of breath and getting nowhere. I work about 9 hours most days, at a job that does nothing to engage my brain, and come home too exhausted to do anything but talk to Jeremy for a few hours and maybe eat something. I suppose more than worried I feel trapped. I'm hoping that when I get back to classes that will change, and I will feel like I'm accomplishing something, and sleep better.
I'm uncomfortable here, at my aunts, where I've been staying for the summer. It's nice, I have the freedom to come and go as I please, but I feel temporary and out of place, like a semi permanent guest. This definitely does not feel like home. It would have been hard to drive to Tampa and Sarasota from my parents house, but I miss them, and if I didn't have to work I'd be home much more often. This hasn't been the best summer, I did not work out as planned, or get near the amount of artwork done that I wanted to. Ironic then, I suppose, that I will always remember it as one of the best, for the same reason The Producers will always be one of my favorite movies.
I need to immerse myself in things to be happy. They have to last, they have to affect me. I seem to skim the surface of people, and life, experience little ephemeral pleasures. But there are a few things I become snagged on. Like art, like literature, like the rain, like you. Those are the things that last, that form the structure of my life. Not anything concrete, just ideas, motifs that everything else revolves around like ripples.
It's like the old dichotomy between many acquaintances or a few close friends, and why I've always had the latter, and it's never really bothered me. I never really feel much regret for the things or people I don't snag on to, but there is still a connection, and that is enough for me.
I have a habit of creating extended metaphors for things, and sometimes I do it without realizing it, and I wonder if it doesn't actually inhibit my own understanding of what I'm working out, or at least my ability to express it. It seems to be easier to explain things that way sometimes, and I can make it make sense in my mind, and just keep going and adding bits of a puzzle to explain why some concept is an ocean or my mood is a tree. But other times I wonder if I couldn't work a metaphor out for any two things, and I'm just being too lazy to speak literally. What a funny mode of laziness.
I'm feeling antsy and worried, and as though I'm running til I'm out of breath and getting nowhere. I work about 9 hours most days, at a job that does nothing to engage my brain, and come home too exhausted to do anything but talk to Jeremy for a few hours and maybe eat something. I suppose more than worried I feel trapped. I'm hoping that when I get back to classes that will change, and I will feel like I'm accomplishing something, and sleep better.
I'm uncomfortable here, at my aunts, where I've been staying for the summer. It's nice, I have the freedom to come and go as I please, but I feel temporary and out of place, like a semi permanent guest. This definitely does not feel like home. It would have been hard to drive to Tampa and Sarasota from my parents house, but I miss them, and if I didn't have to work I'd be home much more often. This hasn't been the best summer, I did not work out as planned, or get near the amount of artwork done that I wanted to. Ironic then, I suppose, that I will always remember it as one of the best, for the same reason The Producers will always be one of my favorite movies.
I need to immerse myself in things to be happy. They have to last, they have to affect me. I seem to skim the surface of people, and life, experience little ephemeral pleasures. But there are a few things I become snagged on. Like art, like literature, like the rain, like you. Those are the things that last, that form the structure of my life. Not anything concrete, just ideas, motifs that everything else revolves around like ripples.
It's like the old dichotomy between many acquaintances or a few close friends, and why I've always had the latter, and it's never really bothered me. I never really feel much regret for the things or people I don't snag on to, but there is still a connection, and that is enough for me.
I have a habit of creating extended metaphors for things, and sometimes I do it without realizing it, and I wonder if it doesn't actually inhibit my own understanding of what I'm working out, or at least my ability to express it. It seems to be easier to explain things that way sometimes, and I can make it make sense in my mind, and just keep going and adding bits of a puzzle to explain why some concept is an ocean or my mood is a tree. But other times I wonder if I couldn't work a metaphor out for any two things, and I'm just being too lazy to speak literally. What a funny mode of laziness.