that's how i feel in this moment, as if every talent i've tried to cultivate over the years has been scrapped by the very existence of the point in time i am currently living.
how funny, that i told her i wouldn't get sucked in again. i told(more) her i wouldn't let the summer get me, wouldn't let it catch me and take away all motivation. yet, it seems we might be getting closer to that exact possibility.
i am stuck in a malaise that i promised i would not encounter again. i lulled myself into a false sense of complacency and here we are.
perhaps i am simply hungry, though, and all this rambling is just that- words. (less)
sometimes when he is falling asleep he questions his actions.
(his therapist says everything he does is a cry for attention, but she only said that to his mom when she thought he couldn't hear. he could, though, he could hear every word because he snuck back t(more)o hear them. it's important to know what people think of you.)
he doesn't think he's doing it all for attention, but he can't deny that when everyone's looking at him, well, the thrill is intoxicating.
but that isn't why. yes, his peers think of him as constantly contrary, but didn't teacher tell them about socrates the first week of school? was that not an instruction to question everything? to take nothing at face value?
but no, he supposes, as he waivers between sleep and waking. it wasn't that type of lesson. it was more about how socrates died.
they killed him, didn't they? said he was guilty and sentenced him to death.
and he can't help but feel as if the whole world is slipping him hemlock every time they tell him to be a good boy and stop acting the way that he does.
he's trying to work up an immunity, but poison's hard no matter what form it takes. (less)
"I can't eat that."
"What? Why not?"
"That's a hockey puck, not a cookie."
"But I made it for you."
"I'm pretty sure you could kill someone with that sugary monstrosity."
"Couldn't you at least try it?"
my coat is so poofy i bet the aliens can see it up in space.
sara-beth's coat doesn't look like it's hiding balloons. oh no, sara-beth's coat is a simple and clean navy blue and is probably less than an inch thick because she has a nice an(more)d warm goose down coat with extra thin insulation for fashion.
i look like a marshmallow.
if she weren't so nice i'd hate her. that's the problem with sara-beth though, she took one look at my coat and said "aw, i wish my coat were green like yours," and i don't even have the heart to tell her that this is the goddamn ugliest green and that it's a good thing her mama dresses her because she wouldn't know good taste if it walloped her upside the head.
all that really matters, though, is that i look stupider on the bus stop than she does. (less)
we're like a cosmic merry-go-round, and i'm always finding myself back at your door.
i really thought i'd leave this time. i honestly thought i'd walk right out of your apartment just like you walked out of my heart when i caught you kissing that boy from bi(more)o in the fourth floor bathroom of the social sciences building.
but i guess you walked back in when i wasn't paying attention. i bet you didn't even have to pry apart my ribs to get back to my heart, i bet you just waltzed right up to it without a second thought.
i suppose it's my own fault, seeing as i left it on my sleeve. (less)