08.Apr.2001
stream
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hand-writtenly psychotic notebook journal entry re-typed since I have nothing of importance to say today
I did something gorgeous and it bothers me.
I wonder if this tension is old, unsurprising yet not-expected, inevitable, building, grazing. I feel like a teenager prematurely ejaculating her desires into a tissue -- flimsy -- I stream of consciously write myself illegibly on used note-book paper.
The date-phrase "Would you like to come back to my place?" has never happened to me. This might not be a bad thing. I will reiterate that I have never been asked out per se; I would meet someone, and it was always understood I would be with them, no 'asking out' involved.
The phrase "Will you have dinner with me next Thursday?" has also never happened.
Single. Sometimes. Hindering things are, well, hindering, suffocating, weird. He makes me feel younger than I want to be, which is to say he nearly makes me feel my age. When you pride yourself on having a 25-year-old mentality then soon realise you are 3 years shy of 25, that kind of disappointment ... hinders.
I have mutant girl/guy hand-writing.
So tired. It is 6:30am.
The older I become, the younger I feel. In a fury of 2nd-grade passion I proclaimed a boy as "my pride and joy". He recoiled. It set a very regular tone to my life.
As you age, the harsher the blows of dreaded relation demise become, but it is eerie how banal the world usually is -- and a brief moment of odd superiority reigns when you realise this.
I'm not sure I know what I want from you, but I do know it's something sexual.
So what does happen now.
Sometimes, the life in my brain is much more entertaining the one the outside.
Strike that.
The brain-life is boring but real; I am a thinner version of myself. I drive. I work. I am mostly out of here. How banal life can be, how real I want to be.
I've had this nail-polish on my thumb for six hours. I have already commenced systematically chewing it off.
Each time I venture to Oklahoma, I am over-come with depression. Especially now. Don't ask. It hasn't accumulated itself as something real. It will take some time to comprehend.
I am so tired. I crave niccotine.
I. Am. H U G E .
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time & machine