Its after nine. I smell like Spicy Italian Sausage, onions and sweet peppers. Oh, and menthol cigarettes and body butter. I'm a glutton for punishment. Why smoke? So I can sigh freely. What's it to you?
I've spent all day sleeping, waking occasionally to change locations or the speed on the fan. Felt sick at the end of the day so I started cooking savory things for supper. That wouldn't usually be the case except I had a feeling that a day with nothing but sleep and blackberry wine on the stomach probably wasn't a good idea. And, in fact, there was very little sleeping involved. It was mostly laying there, thinking. Lacking the motivation to get out of bed sounds kind of scary to me. There might be something wrong. If only it were an easy thing of placing a finger on this feeling and saying 'Aha! There's the button.' If only fixing it were as simple as pressing a button. There's loneliness, certainly. Which sounds easy to fix, right? Find other people. Problem solved. Except I hate the idea of my happiness being dependent on the whims of other fucked up, fallible people, especially those with their own selfish motivations.
That sounded harsh, I bet. Fuck 'em.
Right now there are two editors in two different places reading separate examples of my writing. I should be excited. Instead I'm just anxious. And a little bit angry. its been year two of this 'plan' and I'm no closer to a school or getting paid than I was to begin with. I've got more in me. New ideas every day. I'm just too frustrated to write any of them down.
Somewhere, also, in a land far, far away; there's someone thinking of me. Not the way that I'm thinking of them, of course. Some hours ago she was probably having one last beer for the weekend, along with the cigarettes she insists she doesn't smoke anymore. But she needs something to shakily bring to her cupid's bow lips. She needs to sigh freely. She might play with a bottle cap, and remember a time when she suggested we collect them. And then she'll toss that one away, just like the rest.
And there's no way I'm going to sleep anytime soon. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
I've spent all day sleeping, waking occasionally to change locations or the speed on the fan. Felt sick at the end of the day so I started cooking savory things for supper. That wouldn't usually be the case except I had a feeling that a day with nothing but sleep and blackberry wine on the stomach probably wasn't a good idea. And, in fact, there was very little sleeping involved. It was mostly laying there, thinking. Lacking the motivation to get out of bed sounds kind of scary to me. There might be something wrong. If only it were an easy thing of placing a finger on this feeling and saying 'Aha! There's the button.' If only fixing it were as simple as pressing a button. There's loneliness, certainly. Which sounds easy to fix, right? Find other people. Problem solved. Except I hate the idea of my happiness being dependent on the whims of other fucked up, fallible people, especially those with their own selfish motivations.
That sounded harsh, I bet. Fuck 'em.
Right now there are two editors in two different places reading separate examples of my writing. I should be excited. Instead I'm just anxious. And a little bit angry. its been year two of this 'plan' and I'm no closer to a school or getting paid than I was to begin with. I've got more in me. New ideas every day. I'm just too frustrated to write any of them down.
Somewhere, also, in a land far, far away; there's someone thinking of me. Not the way that I'm thinking of them, of course. Some hours ago she was probably having one last beer for the weekend, along with the cigarettes she insists she doesn't smoke anymore. But she needs something to shakily bring to her cupid's bow lips. She needs to sigh freely. She might play with a bottle cap, and remember a time when she suggested we collect them. And then she'll toss that one away, just like the rest.
And there's no way I'm going to sleep anytime soon. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
