Tag Archives: personal

How I Have Been Different

11 Feb

– gained ten pounds & some-odd noticeable inches
– stopped wearing jewelry (have started again)
– started wearing the same thing all the time
– started avoiding eye contact
– added roughly forty gut-wrenching songs to music library
– began to sift through previous past
– memory loss
– started avoiding mirrors
– negativity
– started inactively [but noticeably] avoiding sleep
– huge grade drop; loss of comprehension and slash or concentration
– loss of writing
– gain in casual musical experience
– [ironic] decrease in tolerance for intolerance
– started to cry when well-enough immersed in any story
– loss in retention
– obsession with past
– skepticism
– idiocy slash loss of the Right Thing To Do

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Uberman Update Five

30 Jul

Two important notes:

  1. Gaming is ruining my life. I will no longer play unless at least one if not both of these qualifiers have been met:
    1. If it is two in the morning or something similar and I will sleep if my brain is not engaged with cheap entertainment.
    2. More importantly, if I have done something productive during the cycle and have more than a half hour left of free time.
    3. Scratch that, three qualifiers: If I have both showered and, if not exercised, at least made an effort or a plan to do so in the near future.
  2. This may not be working. I know when to cut my losses, and I can be healthy, despite some people’s doubts. I do know what I’m doing, guys. And if trust in that fails you, know that my body knows what it’s doing for certain. If I actually need sleep – in the real sense of the word – my body will sleep. I can’t train it out of that. This is only mildly successful because my body is tolerating my escapades so far. If it doesn’t anymore, I’ll stop. Say… In the space of three or four weeks, I must have a full fifteen naps in a row – two and a half days, or sixty hours – go perfectly.

I haven’t been keeping logs today- I’ll try to do them later, but I’m going out for a college visit in a few seconds. Ta!

Angels & Airwaves

29 May

Friday morning was rushed & forgetful. No pillow. No paper. No time. Car ride.

And do you ever lay awake at night?
And do you ever tell yourself, ‘Don’t try.’?

Friday itself was comforting, but out of place, somehow. I didn’t have anything. I wasn’t brave enough to do anything. There was no frisbee.

Don’t try to let yourself down… Don’t try to let yourself down.

Friday night was just like I’d remembered it… The depression set in well enough. I was lucky to have Jim. ‘You still awake?’ No answer. Glad?

And do you ever see yourself in love?
And do you ever take a chance, my love?

Saturday morning wasn’t too tired. Breakfast. No writing. Like always.

Because you know that I will… Because you know that I will.

Saturday itself was normality and repetition. Gaining confidence. Skip. Lurch-skip, out-skip. I didn’t know where love was.

So hear this, please; and watch as your heart speeds up endlessly… And look for the stars as the sun goes down- each breath that you take has a thunderous sound…

Saturday night was bottomless black despair. Po-jazz made me glorious… Then po-jazz made me want to break things. Tree. No sleep. Journal. No sleep. Jim. No sleep. Downstairs. No sleep. Sneak. No sleep. Upstairs. No sleep. Journal. No sleep. Need you… No sleep. Then- Run.

Everything, everything’s magic.

Sunday morning was love, and all was right.

Just sit back and hold on, but hold on tight… Prepare for the best and the fastest ride. Reach out your hand and I’ll make you mine-

Sunday itself was an end to many things. Breakfast. No meeting. Bagpipes. Little arranging. Need us…

Everything, everything’s magic.

Caramelldansen

13 Mar

1. Went to bed at twelve seventeen, after reading most of Eoin Colfer‘s Airman (you know him; he wrote Artemis Fowl, and it’s pronounced OH-EN KAL-FER).

2. Had some fantastically trippy dreams, involving some kind of narcotic, clockwork elephants on stilts, full armour from an asian country of some sort, a gymnasium, a wild chase scene, and a phosphorus-based electric-green gas that worked like chloroform.

3. Transferred to the floor at some point. I really forget, but I started on the bed and ended up on the floor. (This sounds harmless and fairly cute, but it begins to be dangerous when you realise that I regularly sleep six feet in the air. Luckily, though, my method of descent did in fact involve the ladder.)

4. Reality began to mix with dream when I was woken by my sister playing the piano at full volume. Was not pleased. … Could not bring myself to move to stop it.

5. Pretended I had no legs and attempted to figure out how to retrieve my glasses (they were in the loft). Made out really well, actually, and did eventually get them without the use of pedal locomotion, but in the end decided that while it was a fun pursuit, I would rather keep my legs in use.

6. Groggily sat in my chair and was surprised to see that someone was already talking to me (and before I saw the time, surprised that someone was even up at this time in the morning). Received a much more pleasant wake up call from Eli. Celebrated 10:05, not 22:05, for the first time in ages.

7. … Yeah.

Conversation

3 Jan

‘He’s the kind of person that wouldn’t even care if he lost your friendship.’

‘That’s just because it doesn’t occur to him that it matters like that.’

‘That’s horrible; he’s such an asshole.’

‘He’s a dreamer. This sounds bad, but… He doesn’t really have friendships. Other people have friendships with him. Don’t take that the wrong way, okay?’

‘I don’t like it.’

‘I know. Neither does he, when he remembers it.’

There Are A Lot Of Things

26 Dec

I just can’t help myself sometimes. I blurt things out, and sometimes they’re to you, and I’m not talking about that; it really was a mistake. This isn’t just to you. This is to you, too; you, the reason I now compulsively hover over every link and picture to check that there isn’t more to gobble up, for you… I confused myself that this was for you, as well; you, the person I confused myself over for a few long, flavourful weeks, and I’ll just give up now.

There isn’t any more to gobble up, and I’m sewing the pieces together, and sometimes I wish there was just a bass line underneath it all, and the wish that that would not have a deeper meaning and the deep yearning need for it to have one after all are tearing me apart.

This is to you – I will not give up now – this is to you; I know you read this. I’m sorry for everything.

This is to you, though. I want it to be. I forget all about everyone else sometimes. That worries me. Am I losing them? I might need only you and that and those, but them…

I’m falling asleep. I’m falling asleep. I can’t keep my eyes open, holiday binge, weekend binge, I do this all the time, whenever I get a chance, I’m falling asleep.

I want to cry. I want you- I did it for you when she wasn’t there, I did it for you, can I take that back can you give it to me because I think I need it now, someone to take into confidence, then disappear, double comma, end sentence, you too.

You taught me lessons I didn’t want to learn, and many slash some in a way that I still feel is inappropriate slash completely irrelevant. I hope you read this and you understand it but you won’t.

I am falling asleep.

I just gobble it all up until there’s nothing left. There isn’t any more to take, take, this season, take take this season, King Arthur falling apart I want to cry.

You say beautiful. Do you really mean that? I’m not.

I say beautiful. I really mean it. You are.

This is for you, after all.

I’m sitting here and I hope you got that, what I sent you, I hope you got it, I wish you’d gotten it earlier when you read this, I wish you’d gotten it right away, I wish I could make you stay all the time we’d be alone college you said alone.

College. Sick. I feel sick. Lashing out, writing prose, room, stifling. Lashing out.

I want to, sometimes. Or it almost happens, sometimes. I never really want to. You, with the wonderful hair, you, I wonder why she broke up with you I don’t see it, you; you did something annoying, and I nearly broke.

I don’t break. I never break. Do I break?

If this were a voice, would I hear it; would I listen? I listened last time, forty minutes, just like you, I want that, please, give that to me please I need you more than I need you because I need you; for that very same reason.

I feel sick.

I don’t see them. I don’t see them or you anymore, I never see you, I won’t see anyone, I can’t see anyone. I’m more blind than you know.

I need to throw up. I need a moment of release, I need lines for control if you say so if you say so I’ll do whatever it takes. I need to categorise. I need a moment’s silence and no clicking, I need a moment’s silence under the stars, I need to yawn and be filled.

If this were a voice, I feel sick, I would listen. I say beautiful. I say forget it.

I say forget it all. College. I feel sick. Sometimes I blurt things out, but I’m sewing the pieces together as they all fall apart. I said I saw you in an outline of light, golden light centre of my being next to you church pew lying there fantasy lying there I could have kissed you. It would have been messy in only a very figurative sense of the word.

Do I break? You’ve certainly had the opportunity to test me lately. Do I break? I’m sewing the pieces together and it’s impossible to know where this is going. I feel sick. I would listen, I would listen, of course I would listen. I say forget it. Everything.

Forty minutes…

You are beautiful.

(It was too silly.)

(But it wasn’t.)

(I’d do it.)

(If.)

Static

26 Oct


(This is so much better than the studio version, despite its faults.)

So, today has been interesting. Basically, I did nothing at school. Which was a welcome relief. I think I acted too sarcastic in French, though; the teacher does not seem to approve of my… How shall I put it. Laissez-faire approach? Not to be too punny or anything.

Nota bene: This post is bound to be rather random. My brain is feeling scattered, and surprisingly, a headache seems to be lurking.

Second block seemed shorter than normal. Since I’ve been sort of busy… I am finding it harder to enjoy free time. I just didn’t want to do anything today.

I ended up going to the band room. Jordan was there… I played him some jazz and wished I could just lock all the doors and cover the windows. Maybe sing a bit. Probably have a one-person rave party.

[I think what was missing might have been you.]

Now is the type of time in which I will begin to say ‘I don’t know…’ and not really mean it at all. The thing is… I really don’t know, but that’s not the message I’m trying to send at all. Please, anybody, help me interpret when you find me like this?

Chemistry was fun. We went to the computer lab and did an activity on elements. I cheated and had time to check my email.

What? It wasn’t like it was real cheating.

I don’t get headaches. Ever. Plus, I had some ice cream and a brownie after school. Almost a binge day, depending on whether or not I eat a lot at dinner.

Speaking of that. You’ve probably never heard me use that term. Binge day. Unless of course you are Sierra, in which case you have. I’m not bulimic… Somewhat due to the fact that my ‘bingeing’ involves me just indulging a bit, but mostly because I don’t really purge. Some days, I exercise a lot more than normal and get excited when I see a ‘good’ number on the scale. But weight alone – actually, I’m beginning to think at all – is not a good indicator of health or improvement. So anyway. Enough worrying. Stop.

Seriously. There actually is nothing to be worried about here. What are the statistics? Five to fifteen percent of people with bulimia are also male. What are the numbers for people who used to be male?

Also, I just had dinner. It was good. Turkey tetrazzini.

I didn’t know how to spell that. I need to learn Italian, and restart Esperanto for the third time, and kick my French teacher into sanity and action, and I also need to show her my old French book and see if we can bully the language department into giving us money for people to get them, because the book is really just an orgasm on paper. Practically a French erotica novel.

I’ve come to the conclusion that iTunes and ǝsǝǝɥɔ ǝbɐʇʇoɔ have a really bad shuffle choice when it comes to music. On the other hand, iTunes just pulled up The Message, which I have to say is some high-quality beat-juice.

Or maybe it’s just that I don’t like anything anymore.

– want to scream to the world something, anything-only worry-only-only w-worr-onl-onlywor-only worry –

It is like a jungle, sometimes. I try not to wonder how I keep from goin’ under.

Makes me wonder how strings attached to wrists stay on without providing a constant pain to the owner’s little lines, associations with dissimilar topics in fabric turns- makes me wonder about the lines themselves → makes me remember wanting a closeness, takes me back to a silliness-innocence I’ve since lost, synapses to mush, because it is that time of year again, soon it’ll all start all over → seasonal ups, makes me wish I had a beat to my life → love the repetitive nature of feet slapping the pavement, jarring every now and then extending to the same synapses, hardened, diamond-crystal → wish I could be all that I want you to want me to be, makes me wonder

How I switch this off.