i'm so good at forgetting and i quit every game i play.

 

my head and my feet are soso tired and i should be enjoying my time more but i get caught up in nets and webs and fish hooks.  i don't want to waste all my minutes here.  i don't want to be petty and old; i want to be young and excited and lick the raindrops off spruce branches.  you only have yourself for a short amount of time, and you only have others for a short amount of time, and i feel as though i have been frittering away all my time with myself and with the rest of people.  what a terrible thing to do.  how foolish.

 

i feel rusty and unused to human contact.  i would like to be charming and gracious, but i'm not.  a grown man once called me "prickly".  i would rather be prickly than what i am today, which is something like socially atrophied.  it's not a matter of self esteem.  it's a matter of not feeling very likeable.  i am a fruit bat.

 

 

 

 

i am a sleepy fruit bat.

 

like those on that postcard secret, my ovaries have seriously disappointed.

 

i think it is obvious that i am not cut out for any sort of major illness or injury.  even the smallest uncertainty is impossible for me to handle graciously.  in my head i demand that my body feel at least 90% good at least 90% of the time, forgetting that manymanymany don't feel good any of the time.  i say, "this is unacceptable," because to me it is.  because i am childish.

 

i don't miss school yet.

 

oh plus i am listening to bright eyes lately, which is unusual, but he is very bouncy-country-twang all of a sudden and i like it, kindof.

 

i will quit my job soon.  i will quit my job and i will be sad because i am sad every time something ends, whether i will miss it or not.  whether i like it or not.  and if things continue as they have been going, i will quit my job and i will cry because it is over and because i cry.  what a waste of energy.

 

my dad says i need to live in the real world.  i usually reject those sorts of ideas, but today i think he may be right.

 

so make all your fat fleshy fingers to moving

and pluck all your silly strings

and bend all your notes for me.

 

i feel like watching punch drunk love.

 

 

a heart just can't contain all that empty space.

[it breaks.]

 

remind me to never again have a mall job.  or anything in retail.  i forgot how much i hate the nine to five.  or one to nine; whatever the case may be.  that said, they are giving me keys soon i think.  silly of them.  oh and i discovered i am very good at helping moms choose outfits for their children.  for some reason they all respect my opinion on pre-teen fashion.  even sillier.

 

all i need is time.  [all you need is love.]

 

my parents return tomorry from vancouvy just in time to begin full-scale packing procedures.  as if my house wasn't crazy enough.

 

i read recently from a woman who is upset about human trafficking in our country and upset about the slowslowslow pace that canadians [particularly salvo canadians] are doing things about it.  fair enough.  she was remembering that back in the day the sa used to put together bands of soldiers and take brothels by storm, escorting the women who wanted out in the middle of their ranks.  this woman is someone i have only encountered a handful of times - i don't know her at all.  but she terrifies me.  not because i think she is wrong, but because i think she may be right, and because she is maybe the dangerous i should be.

 

too many things, too little mind.  too little heart.