its 3:30 am sunday night/monday morning and i think im officially an insomniac. im stumbleupon-ing space exploration and illegally downloading the iLife suite for my computer.
a few thoughts i can manage to scramble together –
its fucking cold in my room and i cant leave my little puddle of heat to close the window and/or take off my makeup. ergo, i will feel AND LOOK like a zombie tomorrow.
my thoughts are awfully loud when the house is this quiet and still. im paranoid someone will be able to hear how much my inner thighs hurt or how im gasping for air from breathing as quietly as possible.
i have this constant fear of becoming bored with things/people. i dont know if its just some exaggerated fear of commitment, or if i have ADHD, but there is a looming doom that im going to self-sabotage something good in exchange for the hunt of something new or better. im unsure what it will be, but it will be epic no doubt.
there is a friend that hasnt been much of a friend lately that wants to go out as friends to say farewell before he moves away but im not a fan of donating my time to selfishly inconsistent people that can’t roll with the punches. man, typing that out is already more effort than im willing to put into this dilemma. i dont miss drama.
i need to change my bc asap before i start to get noticeably fat.
thoughtcatalog has been really disappointing me lately. normally i see at least several pieces that inspire me to write something half as good, but in all honesty, this here post of my delirious ramblings is exponentially more interesting and thoughtful than tc right now. and thats just sad.
ive noticed that i like art that that freezes or documents emotion. art has always been my lifeblood but could never really explain why, or maybe ive just never really thought about it seriously. i think i have a hard time understanding/feeling/empathizing/experiencing emotions, so its always so fascinating to me when a simple photo, song, or journal entry can make me feel something. and in turn, i always feel a great sense of accomplishment when i can do the same and capture any type of feeling in my art, whether i personally experience it or not.
my college diploma still hasnt come in the mail and it doesnt concern me too much because i dont need a piece of paper to validate my education and self worth, but it would still be nice to have, ok??
i also want to brush my teeth but i dont think that will be happening.
if one day i find myself with a lot of money, i want to build a beautiful house somewhere in a lush forest. it will be the most zen thing on this planet.i want a tree growing out of the center of my living room, and many libraries with old books and leather-bound journals. i want brick walls and wood walls and glass and natural light. it needs several fireplaces, hammocks, dogs, pianos, antique rugs, and extra large coffee mugs. i want everything to look and feel comfortable and i want to be happy in it.
if i could hang forty miniature dumbbells from the inside sockets of your eyes and make them heavier at an exponentially dangerous rate, you would stop asking me how i am feeling. i haven’t slept in a week. my eye movements have been anything but rapid, my brain strings words together like chunky mismatched beads and my body feels like a blowup sex doll trying to run a marathon in heels (and im sure i constantly have the same exact facial expression too). I NEED REM SLEEP BUT MY BODY WONT LET ME HAVE IT. is this some sick joke my body is playing on me? am i on a hidden camera show for science?? is this karma coming after me for having a life after college??!!
as if life wasn’t already one ridiculously cruel acid trip, a work party took place last night. this is just unspeakably wrong and unnatural on soo many levels. ‘work’ and ‘party’ should never be in the same sentence because there is an inevitable risk of witnessing things you cant never ever unsee. going to work on monday may be the most awkward day of my life. i think my boss is an alcoholic. he was 3 drinks deep before appetizers and didn’t even care to ask if i was of legal drinking age before force feeding me shots at the afterparty. it was an absolute clusterfuck of very questionable flirtation, belligerently horrid singing, and sexually-frustrated vibes of awkwardness from some people that really need to come out of the closet. i very much want to say i had a good time, but it was a strangely morbid and forbidden type of fun that im not sure is even allowed to be felt.
the weather has been rather humid lately. i dont know if it actually has been, but ive been sticky and uncomfortable for days on days on days. its like one of those hot flashes that you cant recover from no matter how many times you shower. i have no idea what my body is up to, but this proverbial heat wave is fogging up my mind and rendering me confused for some reason. i cant even describe what it is exactly that ive been confused about – its everything and nothing. and the more i think about it, the more my organs start to sweat. yes this sounds weird and disgusting, and it totally is.
i’m not anti-social, i’m selectively social.
there’s a difference.
sometimes my life feels like one giant palimpsest of missed connections. i used to think i was born too early or too late or too on-time or something because everything just always seemed off. there was the one that got away, the one i let go, those other two that ran away, and ive learned that eventually, everyone makes their way out.
i also used to think there was a giant hole in me that let people through. it got to the point where i felt like people were flying through me like schools of fish.
sure, i believe soulmates exist but only if we rename it to “people we can’t get rid of for some annoying, inexplicable reason.”
the overthinker’s guide to addressing your existential crisis
(what i would be telling my shrink if i ever get over myself and finally see one)
often i think ive lived a bigger life than i actually have. for some unjustified reason, i believed my life has been one for the books. my stories, worries, and wins have always been so exciting for me to tell. people laughed at me, admired me, pitied me and praised me, and whatever response i received, i was somehow satisfied. i was grateful that i even had these cool experiences to share with others. i could see in their eyes that they were infatuated with the illustrations im painting before them.
im not sure when it started, but all my glorious truths now feel inadequate. inadequate for what, i have no idea. i dont know if i stopped caring or others stopped caring, but i can’t feel its weight anymore. those concrete histories that composed my foundation have silently imploded and i feel so light, i could float away. everything up to now holds no significance outside of the context in which it took place and ive been so naive to think it ever transcended it.
some people make this feeling worse – the ones that are in more of a sweeping romance with their past than an affair with the future. now these people have lived. they have explored, improved, loved and betrayed, and experienced all these things that i cannot even begin to comprehend. ive always thought i knew, or at least could imagine, these emotions but now when i compare myself to these people, i feel silly. i don’t know the first thing about anything. and whatever i thought i knew is just so insignificant i might as well just forget it.
the only dictionary i reference.