All I see is words
I spend my days reading and writing. My life is reduced to letters and the things I can do with them. My eyes begin to ache, my forehead feels like its going to pop, and the rest of my body sits there, neglected, as all of my resources are rallied to support my head.
I sit hunched over, and feel my spirit commune with writers before me - cramped fingers, stiff back, and atrophied legs. We peer at the words until they stop making sense and, even then, we go back for more. Its addictive, this writing thing. Each sentence is an opportunity to express a truth, and words present themselves like enticing puzzle pieces.
The vault is unending - there is a perfect word to express exactly whatever concept is hiding in the folds of our brains - all we have to do is find it.
Some days I barely leave my room, let alone the house. Some days I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, arranging and rearranging sentences. Sometimes its because I want to, sometimes its because I have to...
...Today is the day that counts as "a week and a half" for my haphazard and poorly executed one-night stand. He told me two Fridays ago (over the phone) that he would be back in a week and a half and that he would see me then. Ever since, the days have crawled by.
Why? Because I happen to find this particular person somewhat attractive, and it would irritate the living daylights out of me if he didn't call.
I'm armed with The Man Diet, by Zoe Strimmel. I have my self esteem still, barely clutched to my chest like a precious treasure (which it rightly is). I do things to distract myself - I walk, swim, eat, write, read, sleep, and aimlessly wander the internet. But those coping mechanisms only go so far. I almost got myself to turn my cell phone entirely off, but couldn't. I didn't want to risk having my phone not tell me if I had missed his call or not...
I only Facebook-stalked this guy a couple of times. I didn't even friend him - I knew that would just cause problems. Luckily I was able to breathe through the urges and know that FB-stalking only leads to bad feelings. Ever.
I need to do something worthwhile with my life. I need to volunteer, or have someone look forward to me. Right now, no one seems to care where I am or what I do, and it seems to sap a lot of my will to do anything at all... I can entertain myself just fine, but if I feel like my actions (or even my self) are without consequence, then I just don't feel motivated to do anything...
I sit hunched over, and feel my spirit commune with writers before me - cramped fingers, stiff back, and atrophied legs. We peer at the words until they stop making sense and, even then, we go back for more. Its addictive, this writing thing. Each sentence is an opportunity to express a truth, and words present themselves like enticing puzzle pieces.
The vault is unending - there is a perfect word to express exactly whatever concept is hiding in the folds of our brains - all we have to do is find it.
Some days I barely leave my room, let alone the house. Some days I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, arranging and rearranging sentences. Sometimes its because I want to, sometimes its because I have to...
...Today is the day that counts as "a week and a half" for my haphazard and poorly executed one-night stand. He told me two Fridays ago (over the phone) that he would be back in a week and a half and that he would see me then. Ever since, the days have crawled by.
Why? Because I happen to find this particular person somewhat attractive, and it would irritate the living daylights out of me if he didn't call.
I'm armed with The Man Diet, by Zoe Strimmel. I have my self esteem still, barely clutched to my chest like a precious treasure (which it rightly is). I do things to distract myself - I walk, swim, eat, write, read, sleep, and aimlessly wander the internet. But those coping mechanisms only go so far. I almost got myself to turn my cell phone entirely off, but couldn't. I didn't want to risk having my phone not tell me if I had missed his call or not...
I only Facebook-stalked this guy a couple of times. I didn't even friend him - I knew that would just cause problems. Luckily I was able to breathe through the urges and know that FB-stalking only leads to bad feelings. Ever.
I need to do something worthwhile with my life. I need to volunteer, or have someone look forward to me. Right now, no one seems to care where I am or what I do, and it seems to sap a lot of my will to do anything at all... I can entertain myself just fine, but if I feel like my actions (or even my self) are without consequence, then I just don't feel motivated to do anything...