I liked being alone. One Hundred Years of Solitude. My parents are just constant reminders of the fact that I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not doing enough to fulfill my potential. I'm not as good as I could be. Or maybe even...Maybe I'm as good as I could be and that's not good enough; maybe I'm just fooling myself, thinking I could be something better than just mediocre. I sound so stupid. I don't know why I expect the world to stop just because I finally said something that's been on my mind for years, eating away at me. I expect a slight, but noticeable pause when I finally accept something that's taken me a long time to accept. The world won't know I've finally had a short epiphany. Like that feeling you get the moment before you're about to do something big. The world doesn't know yet... Like a silent suicide, a fading life. I'm not depressed, I'm just strangely...I guess I find that writing down something so drastic-especially repeatedly-is a small thrill. I think I understand that aspect of Richard Wright.
I am never able to explain, on paper, concretely, any of the truly brilliant ideas I have in my brain. They just don't ever come out right. Don't make me think about it anymore, ok? Because I strive for others to know what I know. And it's really a crying shame I can't write it down.
Or is because it doesn't seem nearly so brilliant, now I've written it down?
I think about death often now. It's an odd sort of way to be, really. Just so matter-of-fact. Often like death. Not a great, building thundering, just a short, unexpected shudder, and then gone. So casual, not ceremonial. I thought about it like that. Driving home so many times, I see the skid marks on 1141, off the road. I wonder what that would be like. I can't fathom how Mr. Cameron swirved off the road there, on 549. He must have been going so so fast. Sometimes, I think about being shot in the head. Alive one moment, gone the next. Alice, hurry, the white rabbit's out of time. I imagine that'd be kind of funny. No time to think about it, just, "hey, I think you shot me." Kind of reminds me of that show..."Hey man, that was close, you just nicked me. Hey, help me up, all right? Come on! That's just rude. Quit staring at me, and help me up you ass hole. ...Hey. I think.. Did you hit me? You bastard, you hit me hard, didn't you? Damn it! Where are you going, you ass hole?! Come back here and help me up! Aren't you human? Hey, help me!" And then he wonders whether or not he's thinking this or saying it, all the time? Funny.
I turn to see myself staring back, at first a mere reflection. But then it is myself; Ophelia stares blankly back. Have I finally breeched the surface? I lean down; I pray my vision is tangible. How funny, I think to myself, It's not disturbing, seeing myself there, at rest; it's peaceful, really.
It sucks being vulnerable to other people's feelings. If they're grumpy, you feel like crap. If they're happy, you're just grand. I wanted to be happy today, and everyone's unwittingly dragging me down. I hate myself when I'm miserable. It was so great before; I was happily unoccupied. I was thinking about all the things I can do and see and be and feel and things were light and airy. And then, a wave of disgruntledness. No one seems to realize how truly selfish they are when they're having a bad day. They don't realize they're thoughtlessness. No one cares they're making someone else unhappy when they're thinking about their own dissatisfaction. And then I started thinking. More and more, I am beginning to realize how very different people are from one another. It's not just their cheery or dreary dispositions, it's they way they let things affect them. I wish I could be my own person, not let how others are feeling determine how I'm feeling. Some people don't have that nagging perceptive nature. Some people do their own thing. Some people don't worry about looking egotistical, and write whatever the heck they want in their journals; they don't erase things that they think might cast a negative light on them. They don't obsess over little things like bumping into someone in the hall. Some people have "one of those days" and some people don't. Some people will never have "one of those days" and will hate being left out of this common trait in the human race. How silly to be upset over their good fortune. Some people will never lose all hope. Some people grieve longer than others; they can't see past their pain. Others can't understand because they have a wider perspective on life. Does this make them insensitive or unfeeling? Some people are ridiculously overanalytical about everything. Still others can accept that it's a waste to think about things so much. Well now. I could go on and on and on. So their you are. Here I am.
So I had to take the damned quiz about 6 times, but I FINALLY found it. YES!
You are SALUTE YOUR SHORTS. You are a wangsta who
knows business. You have fun in the sun and
know how to have a good laugh.
Which old school Nickelodeon show are you?
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I am now learning Italian and Portuguese. Little by little.
Il canzone é dolce.
Italian for "the song is sweet."
A vaca está suja.
Portuguese for "the cow is dirty."
Kit broke up with Jeremy. Poor Jeremy. : ((
Am going BOWLING this weekend so yay for that! Too bad it's only just Wednesday. Maybe I'll have more to say later.
I also plan to attend The Violent Femmes' concert on March 13th
The unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks meal is back at Olive Garden. Yayay! I plan to take part in that. And Alias is new this weekend. YES! All is back to normal.
Glenny
Jenny
Joy
Jeremy
Josh
Shawn
This is ME.
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