2004-07-13 || 12:58 p.m.

|| the sky is falling the sky is falling ||

ack. i am trying to write about why i haven't written and it's all very stupid, really. it's just that i have been feeling particularly off my rocker lately, and everything has become this crazy mad dash where there is no proper sleeping or eating or resting but a lot of crying and complaining and . eh. i don't feel like talking about it. it's not a depressy feeling, it's more the birds-caught-in-ribcage feeling, or just being excruciatingly tired and wanting to lie down for a while. or being well aware that the little chalk line that one Must Not Cross in order to keep it all together is one foot behind me.

which is so fucking dramatic for my situation, but that's how i'm feeling.

i am very dramatic, which i never really noticed.

or admitted.

but there are all kinds of things i wanted to write about. saturday family dinner at owen's and our attempt at reliving high school by way of cool teenage coffeehouse scrabble sesh and coming to the conclusion that teenagerness is so far behind us and we are destined to march straight into wacky 30-dom (entry to follow, once i remember all signifying factors)in no time at all (thinking of signifying factors and realizing perhaps they should not be written here, for the over-thirtieses (hallo, my brian) will get all offended). being absolutely obsessed with 'blow out.' birthday gem of the year: brian's gift of 'the beach' scented laundry soap from restoration hardware. my clothes and blankies smell all wind-whipped and bourgie (boo-zhee? how does one spell?) as hell and it only gives me a little bit of a headache and i keep sniffing my shoulders and sleeves when no one's looking. singing a casiotone song with owen last night at thee parkside in front of 75-ish(?) people and not barfing but shaking so much i couldn't hit the right keys a couple times. missing my sister horri-terribly. missing m.b. horri-terribly. the house on bancroft house falling into the messiest paper-scrap-filled shambles ever, so much so that i took pictures of the living room the other day to document the squalor. the fact that you cannot see one square foot of carpet in my room, as it is covered wtih heaps of clothes and still-packed suitcase and cats and paper.

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