Juice (feignedrhapsody) wrote,
Juice
feignedrhapsody

Her wingspan’s all feathers and coke cans, and TV diners and letters she won’t send.

She sat right down on the sofa and said;
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.
‘Cause last night I had something so good.
These days get so long and I’ve got nothing to do.”
We spent all day getting sober.
Just hiding from daylight, watching TV.
Well, I got all this time to be waiting for waiting for what is mine,
To be hating what I am after the light has faded.
Way, way, way too long.

I’ve spent a good deal of the last few hours looking at my old blog entries on my abandoned LiveJournal. --“Man I ain’t changed, but I know I ain’t the same.”—I still listen to the same music, still play FreeCell when I’m upset, and still cry when I’m angry…However, I was a lot more articulate back then, which troubles me. Have I digressed? Was this a sudden change that I just didn’t notice? No. I’d notice something like that. I think perhaps it was just subtle change that happened over an extended period of time.

Do I seem dumber to you?

I also don’t talk about the same things I used to. But that’s probably because I don’t have the same friends I used to. I mean, sure, all my friends from high school are still technically my “friends”, but the majority of us don’t really talk all that much, let alone hang out. I’m paranoid enough to think that most of them probably hate me and are just talking to me (on those rare occasions that we DO talk) out of some guilt-induced feeling of obligation.

Do you secretly hate me?

I’m more nervous than I was then.
More paranoid.
More anxious.
More worried.
More “troubled” in general.

I’ve turned into one of those people that always irritated me. You know the ones—the people afraid to get hurt. I’m going to go ahead and blame it on my last few job choices, seeing as office jobs seem to suck the youth right out of a person. I’m dying. I’m socially dying. I’m emotionally dying. But, as said in Harold and Maude, a lot of people enjoy being dead. But they’re not dead, really. They’re just… backing away from life. What I need to do is take the advice away from that movie instead of just the words; “Reach out. Take a chance. Get hurt, even! Just play as well as you can.” I just… I don’t know anymore. I get into a situation—especially a “good” situation—and I panic. I go into it fearing the worst “… so rather I’d just prepare myself by doing the emotional equivalent of waving a big stick around in the middle of a pitch-black room after hearing a suspicious sound. And, hopefully, I’ll hit whatever the thing is that may be about to put a knife in my back. Am I really that scared? Scared to the point of paranoia? Or am I psychic? Do I feel something inevitable coming? Or do I feel nothing at all?” I just… I feel like I’m afraid of everything, anymore “… but it’s almost the abhorrent thought of it that makes me want to run screaming into the center of that fear. Like a moth to a flame. It’s hypnotic. On the other hand, maybe my feet are cold because I’m finally seeing a long-held goal come within reach. And I don’t know what I’ll do without the dogged pursuit… what will drive me? I’m scared of getting what I want. I’m scared of not getting what I want. I’m scared of not knowing what I want. Or realizing that what I thought I wanted is not what I actually want. What?”

She don’t want nobody home, ‘cause it’s a little too crowded then.
But she don’t wanna be alone, so they just keep pouring in.
Pretty whitewashed lies
Endless alibis
And the reasons that need cleaning every night.
Half a world away
You can’t wash away
The stain of the deceiving
And the thing that you cannot believe
And well
She don’t want no one around
‘Cause she don’t want anybody to see
What she looks like when she’s down
‘Cause that’s a really sad place to be.

Aside from my epiphany that I really don’t like who I’m becoming, I did have a very good weekend.

* Dear Friday: Thank you for making me realize that the group of folks I’ve been hanging out with recently really DO like me for me. I was so worried that they were just hanging out with me out of pity or obligation, but I don’t think it’s that at all. They’ve like, adopted me. I just… I love you guys. Thank you.

* Dear Saturday Morning: Swallow a knife, please.
PS: Tell my car to get better or do the same.

* Dear Saturday Night: HOLY FUCKING SHIT! Blue October was phenomenal.

* Dear Sunday: Thank you for letting me relax. I love you Nick.

PS: I have HUGE, Wiley-Coyote hands. You know, for those of you who didn’t know.

I had so much that I wanted to write and I just can’t seem to find the words. They’re escaping me at the moment and I’m getting kind of upset with myself. Forgive me, please.

Forgive me, also, for being so down lately. I really don’t mean to complain constantly and bring you all down with me, but it’s so hard to keep myself to myself sometimes and I forget that I have the tendency to repeat myself and people get sick of hearing the same “woe is me” storey over and over again. I just need to get out of my rut and learn to appreciate myself for who I am instead of hating it.
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  • 3 comments
No, you don't seem dumber to me. No I don't secretly hate you. And I wasn't aware of your Wiley-Coyote hands.
And yes, Saturday morning should have swallowed a knife. two, even.

I hope you do figure out what you want. And I hope you get what you want. Because although you may not agree, I think you deserve what you want. That whole figuring out what you want thing, is hard. I can't seem to do it either. Blah.
Screw it. Let's go eat some Huggy Bears, throw on some sweats and eat ice cream/sherbert (for those who can't eat ice cream) and watch dvds. hahah

<3
Oh my god, yes.
Just tell me when and where.
Oh man. Anytime. And probably at one of our houses!

Huggy bears!! Lol.