"i don't smoke, i just never sleep"-joplin
okay, bear with me. i've got this stream of consciousness thing going on and i can't really stay on one topic anymore-it's that bad. so just bear with me because i feel like writing a lot, not that you have to read it all, but i just feel like ranting about anything i believe is meaningful or important at any given time tonight. here we go: (a hint-new paragraphs=new thoughts, generally)
people dont really have anything intelligent to say anymore. they all say shallow self-indulgent BS and complain when they aren't really in the right to. i think a lot of people want the attention and so they build up and blow up their "problems" in order to gain sympathy or attention. but there are people out there who are much worse off, even at our school. so they make a big deal out of nothing really and those of us with actual problems roll our eyes and give our le sighs and pretend we give two shits, but we never really do because we know it's exaggeration.
i think i've figured out the worst parts of not being able to sleep. um, looking at the clock every fifteen minutes and expecting it to be an hour later. having to feel each slow minute and each long hour. there's that and then there's the whole mock sympathy/empathy you get from the majority of people. i can't stand that anymore. (i'm very irritable right now-very on edge and violent. it's not good. and i'm just very frustrated and depressed because i can't sleep...so if this paragraph offends anyone i'm not apologizing, i'm just kind of hoping no one takes it too seriously. i'm a delusional loon with no empathy right now...if that makes up for any of it.) and i've taken to jst lying about the amount of sleep i've been getting. if i get thirty minutes of sleep then i tell certain people i got eight times as much just to avoid the same routine sympathy they’ve been acting out for months. that just about kills me. every time i see them they're saying something like "oh, i'm sorry. that really sucks." and then, "i know what it's like to not be able to sleep, tossing and turning all night. it really sucks and it's really frustrating," or something vaguely synonymous. okay, they know what it's like not being able to sleep for like one night under the factor of high stress levels or something. i've not slept well in about 4.5 months. and you can tell these people have no idea what yr going through because it's such a topic of conversation-they're intrigued by it(this doesn't just apply to insomnia, but basically any problem one may encounter repeatedly/consistently) they want me to talk about it because they’ve never experienced it themselves. i'm kind of reminding myself of the priest? guy from scarlet letter...i wonder what i did bad.
i think i adopt the flawed characteristics of people i read about or see in movies somehow subconsciously. i can't stop it and i can't prevent it. and i can't go back to being "normal" again. it's quite unsettling. for example, after reading Nausea(Sartre) i've been struggling with this nausea i get from objects and from my own mind. i think about it too much or something. and after watching Memento everyday for a week i snap out of my conscious coma, get up and can't remember a thing except for one incident, which i really don't care to go into. so at like four in the morning i'm searching around for pictures and my writings to try and remember everything, which really doesn't matter because i get it all back after i shower anyways. it's really weird. but i'm coping pretty damn well, i think.
i tossed and turned all night trying to get some sleep or, at the very least, some comfort. but i was visited by the nausea again last night and it took me hours to find a position that didn't make me cringe or vomit air. then i still could not rest for i was no longer tired. instead i listened to peoples voices and opinions and thoughts; the same audio i have been listening to four weeks-days and nights-in a dance between sleep and being awake-a constant day dream. i no longer know or remember which thoughts are my own. the audio and my mind have bled together and i cannot decode which of these ideas are my own and which belong to the naked feminists, interviewers, interviewees, talk show hosts, etc. i am nauseated by the fact that alf of what is in my head belongs to someone else. i've been evicted from my own mind and i should bail on this weary body, i think. it's nearly time.
i am emotionally unattached. how very uncancerian of me. i can't control any of them anymore, but now they aren't really brought on by anything. they're panic attacks. mood swings. waves of joy, anger, sorrow. i can't analyze myself without confusing myself. cut it out.
i just realize i analyze everyone else too. i analyze what they say. i write down a quote from anyone in one of my notebooks-i suppose whichever one is closest and has room enough to write in. write down a quote and analyze what surrounded it, built up to it, and what it meant. what the importance of what the person said was. how very Buddhist of me. anything on this earth has the same relative importance to the earth as i do. a chair, a phrase, a person, an animal. i'm no bigger, better, more important. it all just exists in total equality and any inequality is created by society. society is corrupting us, i think. Bush is no better than me, but he gets secret service.
i don't write well when i'm having too much fun. i have to be tragic to write anything worth reading.
i need a lot of reassurance. and i get reassurance from the most spontaneous, unimportant things. reassurance=acknowledgement.
i think i would run a brilliant writer's workshop, but i think i would lose my job. i would make the students write a suicide note. but that's not a bad assignment. think about it. a suicide note is a last impression so it would make sense that you would want it to be the best thing you ever wrote. you wouldn't want to leave this world with everyone thinking you weren't worth more than the paper you wrote on. i think it demands a great deal of attention and thinking. i think that, if i were suicidal, i could write a damn good note. i think that if i don't sleep soon i may write one out of boredom just to have a project to work on for weeks or something. is that a bad idea? i'll post it if it turns out any good.
evicting the lighter from my heart shaped box(which i actually have-i painted it, far before my Nirvana fan days) i immediately press the button sending an eruption of sparks. the lighter is old; it often doesn't light on the first try. i attempt to ignite it once again and am successful. i pass my hand in and out of the flame allowing it to lick my finger tips-teasing it. but the entertainment of this trivial activity quickly burns out simultaneously with the flam extinguishing itself. and with the death of this action's ability to captivate me i proceed upstairs to the kitchen in hopes of finding something worthy of the name "breakfast". success. there are lucky charms in the cabinet-you know what this means though, so my success will not be good for long-and i pour myself a bowl, though not a generous one(at this point in typing this up i'm wondering if i've not done it before.) i eat the grainy bland pieces first so that i might be left with an eclectic bunch of multicolored marshmallows. and i begin to treat myself to them, hearts first and continuing on through the song that graces the cereal's presence. but there are eight left. eight marshmallows not in the song-these different types NOT IN THE SONG! in what order do i eat these strange marshmallows? the drastic change and obligated decision making forced upon me causes an eruption of pain in the center of my stomach(i'm sure i must have written this here before, haven’t i?) which spreads and expands outwards like a virus towards the sides. this is the same pain which erupts in my head and spreads out and around towards the back. i make a quick decision and scoop all eight up in my spoon and aim for my face. nearing my mouth, a nausea stems from the stainless steel spoon and spreads into my hand. this is a sweetish sickness like that you get when you eat too much candy, buy yr sweet tooth is content, if nothing else. i decide to eat none of these eight and pour them down the sink without regret or reluctance.
i think i could write all night, but then again, it's still quite early. quarter past nine. and i should read later on...i should read now.
A poem kind of thing:
The bruises on my arms come together to form constellations
When I sit next to certain people I can’t help but stare
For their eyes reflect something within me like an internal mirror
I try not to notice and in doing so become so obvious
I try not to notice and in doing so become nauseas
But this late at night, or rather, early in the morning, vomit nothing but air
I’ve not eaten in what feels like years
I force my hands into my pockets in hopes of finding distraction
And am shocked to find an old plane ticket
I’ve held it since the age of five; I throw nothing away
It brings on a wave of nostalgia and I rediscover the joys of child’s play
But I try not to dwell on these things I cannot have
Yesterday. It will not do to appeal to my memories; few are of a good nature
And though us cancers do it anyways, it will not help to rehash the past
Tomorrow. Is a better day and we will never have to stare again.
Tomorrow is a better day and we will never go hungry again.
We’ll pick up that radish, no matter how fowl, and consume it like candy daggers
Where do we end? Where to begin?
I am exceptionally wrong when I am actually ALWAYS right.
I don’t know how to act around her anymore. Her mood changes with the amount of people that enter the room or the quality of the person who enters the room. I don’t know if she is trying to keep it a secret that she’s actually quite fond of me or if she’s only trying to be polite and humor me one on one. It’s confusing never knowing where she stands. She seems to enjoy subjecting me to public humiliation (a ten which, I think, puts me at seven?). in front of everyone I see damn near everyday. Whenever she says something I just laugh it off again, pretending I don’t give two shits and that’s a complete lie. It’s unsettling never knowing my place. Never knowing what she thinks of me at any given time. Her opinion kind of fluctuates. I kind of feel like lisa rowe…why doesn’t anyone point out these things and tell me what’s going on just for the reason of pushing my buttons. I think I could use that. I don’t want to go back, but I can’t stay away.
I don’t want to share my brother. Do other people have those things? Those things that you just want to keep to yrself because they’re so special and dear to you that you don’t want to let anyone else in for fear of corruption, or something. I think a lot of people feel that way about their music. They won’t listen to a band once it hits mainstream because apparently the band is full of sellouts afterwards. I think that’s part of the whole hot topic angsty generation thing. I don’t know, I’m not sure.
Are girls harder to be friends with than guys? It seems that way. It seems as though girls get over friends really quick and then there’s the whole (cliché to talk about) drama thing so typical of the hs female population. For me girls are easier, but I’m quite picky and tend to avoid the mentioned typical females, but I don’t have much to talk about around many guys so that could be reason enough. I’m a little biased, I guess. So I don’t really like most friendships with females, but I don’t do real well in friendships with males either. I’m doomed. Ha!
I don’t really like that everyone tries to have empathy for everyone. You can’t relate to everybody, there’s bound to be people you don’t relate to. And I know people know this, but they tend to choose whom they don’t relate to. Like no one in the general public really wants to relate to Michael Jackson or Martha Stewart or Courtney Love. So people deny relating to them even if they are much closer to them than they are to their peers. Maybe it’s a high school thing? I don’t know, I’ve not really gone beyond high school. But it seems as though everybody tries to relate to everyone else, or at least to me, like they have to impress me, or something, and I’m just kind of like, “why? I’m not cool. I have no influential power. And why would anyone WANT to relate to me when I’m so screwed up, right now especially?” it doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense. Maybe relating to other people is a comfort thing. Which makes me think about scenes. Like maybe everyone joins the scenes because then they are never the “odd man out”, they have other people there just like them. So yr never alone, which creates this huge comfort zone, right? That makes sense. Or that’s reason enough, I think.
There is one person I don’t mind hugging because I hug him only when seeing him for the first time in forever or saying goodbye for a long period of time. I like to breathe him in and hold him in my lungs the way he does when he inhales from his last cigarette before quitting every other month. He’s very inconsistent.
What’s so wrong with being cliché? I mean, why do people try so hard to avoid being trite? Sometimes things become clichés because it’s been tried and it works and it works well. If people keep doing it it must be pretty decent (or else the people must be pretty stupid). Things that are trite are not always bad just for being trite.
I imagine nearly everyone’s stopped reading a while ago so I’ll start wrapping this up now, although I’ll have nothing else to do for the next 031294802398490328409209933 hours that I’m awake. I’ll spend the time reading.
Hmm, I’ve changed my mind…kind of. I’m going to give taxi driver quotes:
-You're only as healthy as you feel.
-I think someone should just take this city and just... just flush it down the fuckin' toilet.
-The days go on and on... they don't end. All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go. I don't believe that one should devote his life to morbid self-attention, I believe that one should become a person like other people.
I think I relate to travis bickle. Though I don’t want to. He’s not a great character to be able to relate to anymore than Michael Jackson is, right? Although there was a sort of heroic thing about bickle’s actions while jackson’s were more…onanistic? There are other people I’d RATHER relate to, but I don’t mind being able to relate to deniro’s character. I think that’s probably my favorite Deniro character, except maybe Rupert pupkin or max cady. Although cape fear scared me to death when I was younger. I wasn’t fond of the way max said “come out, come out, wherever you are” it made me nervous and uneasy playing hide and seek after that.
Okay, I think that’s it. It’s midnight. I’ll try to read until I have to go to school tomorrow…actually, I’ll try to sleep. But that won’t work so I’ll read until about 330 and then listen to interviews until 5 when I’ll listen to stern, I think.
to my ladies-check out my sweet catty mood