2002-11-11 || 12:12 a.m.

|| when animals attack. ||

i keep losing my voice and then finding it.

why is it so fun to lose your voice?

tonight i sat on the backstoop and transcribed the week's events into my wee paper journal. tiny letters, all crammed together. two pages ago they were big and full and self-assured. tiny letters: this is my week.

and i was writing and writing. mostly about swearing off that one part, the part that is turning my heart into swiss cheese.

swiss cheese isn't so good for heartstuff.

and. it made me. very sad. and hurt. and it made me want to go in my room and shut the door and put the blankets over my head and never. ever. come out.

at least not until thanksgiving.

it's a rough spot. and sometimes it's all right, i'm not thinking of it, i am so very busy and there are dishes to wash. and sometimes. i have to stand very still and hold on to my head for a second, like when you're pretty sure you're going to black out.

but. hurt.

and i was thinking. what if, on the first (two) time(s) (i'm afraid we're talking about that boy now. i am sorry.), i didn't properly let all the hurt happen. what if i was so efficient in pushing all of it to corners that it's going to come back? like a broken bone that hasn't healed properly. so i have to break it again, reset it, and let it heal again.

don't want to.

and this is a terrible entry. swiss cheese and bones and all that. mixing my metaphors. and being boring and shit.

christ.

i am very sorry.

so. i fecking hate matters now, actually, and might just take that hiding out in my room idea to heart.

i will build a fort in my effing tiny room and wear headphones at all hours and not even bother to put any music on. so i will be tethered right there, right next to the red cabinet. being so obnoxiously emo that i want to kill myself just to save someone else the effort.

i mean. i wouldn't really.

but the idea of fastforwarding maybe a month sounds very nice. so that my evermorphing heart will be a regular heart again and i don't have to think about it so much.

and i won't have these dark circles under my eyes.

and i won't cry about very stupid things.

and my feelings won't get hurt over very silly things. and i won't feel such an everloving need to have everyone like me. (i know you're reading this. why don't you like me? can't i just bake you cookies or something? or not wear particularly loud clothing anymore?)

and i won't continually have the feeling of a band-aid being mercilessly ripped off in the heart regions.

i'm sorry.

i will erase this.

i hate this.

usually i am okay.

i just.

sometimes things don't work out really.

sometimes things are very __________ .

previous || next || random

guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land