"Light Leaves" seems to be a good half of what I listen to. I've been feeling so disconnected lately and I'm not sure why. Maybe that's why I've been desperately clawing out into the dark, reaching for something or someone familiar and even if they're not, at least I can hold on for a little bit. Stay human.
My eyes keep closing but I want to keep writing, so I'm thinking I'll just streamwrite for a few minutes. Okay.
My roommate is very loudly speaking. I am almost certain I do not talk that loudly while in the phone and anyone who does kind ofpisses me off. Fucking a. I can't deal with loud loud loud poeple because they're so present, they're so constantly there and they are impossible to just ignore even when you're set on it. set in stone. i used to be set in stone but then i decided to grow out of the litany of rings. like roots from the ground, from trees to paper to my wastebasket. i emptied it out a few hours ago. the garbage room is disgustingly clean for a garbage room. i have to go to the doctor tomorrow. again. third time this week and i feel so weak, i can barely speak; oh look i am rhyming eric told me earlier not to do that but i constnatly am rhyming in my head so i 's'pose that's advice i cannot heed. (need need need hyuck hyuck). i remember once when i was in second grade i used sarcasm towards christina f. and she got really mad at me. it was fairly innocent sarcasm, too, but that day, as she glared and got super upset...i remember feeling horrible. it was the worst feeling in the world to have somebody i liked so much be mad at me. i hated it and tried so hard not to cry. i stil get the same stomach drop, sweaty palmed feeling whenever somebody i care about is upset at me. it was about a fucking picture, seriousy. ever since then, i have constantly tried NOT to offend people too badly. consciously. constantly. i just don't want to bother. but only if i care about them...which makes no sense, right?
this is awfully coherent for a stream of conscious writing...piece? thing? i like pie i am going to try (ha) to just write and not think things through so hard just for a change just to spice things up. ,my head is not moving i wonder if this confuses her or upset; i try constantly consistantly you do not look the same in person consistency you do not feel lthhe same, your voice is not so high pitched and what have i done your eyes are not as large. though you are beautiful. voice low and all that, too. SAVE. i always loved talking to teachers because they always loved me and as a kid i had a huge problem if somebody didn't like me, as we've already established. i want to make everyone cookies. i hate being as optimistic as i am. i hate it. i hate being confujsed and unaware. i need togo back somewhere i haven't been yet. back? yes. lighthouse maybe but i was there just not now. shining shiners hit in the eye ouch ouch ouch your thin legs are complentary to your thin personality - Read: that was not a compliment. simultaneous thinking cannot be wirtten yet. some ort of thought in your stomach tells me you're running on empty. i want to kiss all the butterflies in and all the pissed off blenders would just take their plights outside. this is what is going on inside my head. this is what it is": would you like more? probably not because it's not exactly fucking fascinating. either way: all this is useless. all of this is small and a tiresome waste of pen. i lie of what i believe. there will be glass in my ears soon like there already is, but this time it will be turquoise or aqua. yesss. exciting. i am currently cuddling Chloe Evelyn. her dad does not see her often. this sounds so odd. Chloe Evelyn is a teddy bear (though my kitty has the same name). we got her on 6/6/2006 (David and I) at Great Northern Mall. my rooom is too warm; we have complained.
my eyes have been shut throughout almost all of this. it is hard to be small and i clearly do not mean weight-wise. or height. i'm 5'6" and a half. I am tired of my waist, eep i am sleeping on the inside almost all of the time or otherwise, i get upset. this is such a whiney little mess.
something purposeful? Ah, yes...once upon a time there was a little boy. this little boy was very sad and cried quite often. one day, he listened to somebody off themselves. moral of the story: !!! alright, but seriously, a story:
Patrick was an older gentleman with whom Joanna wanted to sleep with. He was not particularly attractive and he did not woo her, but she wanted to read Cummings' innuendos with him and pretentiously giggle at the facts that they knew. She wanted to save him.
His face reflected decades of drinking and forced maturity, yet also showed stunted emotional growth because of both the aforementioned causes. His middle-aged, Irish face was covered with freckles and his nearly white hair had been coming out for over thirty years. His face smiled often but only half of those meant anything. He constantly drank, and even when he did not drink, he was thinking about it; he did not discuss this with her, however, because she was not his wife, nor was she his coworker or best female friend...he was just a student who happened to show up at his house occasionally, bearing gifts and doe eyes.
Joanna was in love with him and used her best 18-year-old techniques to woo him from across the room. The batting of the lashes and criss-crossing of her legs did nothing. But when she read her stories and songs and poetry to him, sometimes he would stare at her, ask her to read them again, and nod, smiling. This was all Joanna needed in life: a notebook, an ear, and another mouth.
I'll write more of that later.
I feel a little better. anyways. That was a terrible intro to a story but whatever, I've been meaning to write a shitty "romantic" one for a long time. :P Also: this isn't about me, incase...anyone was assuming.
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