I can't write, draw, paint, sculpt, fold, sing, play, invent or anything. What can I do? I'm really good at complaining. I'm excellent and procrastination. I'm the queen of yawns.
Hobbies? I'm not entirely sure what those are. I don't have one. Free time? Oh yeah, I have that. I, uh, watch tv, sleep. I feel so. . .unfulfilled.
I have no motivation. I'm not sure why. Today is worse than other days. But I'm also so tired. But restless. And my heart is swelling with every. Word. I. Type. Like the more I type, the worse it gets. Isn't it supposed to be the opposite?
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Art.
Form.
Creativity.
Words.
Words.
Words.
Sep 26, 2010
Sep 25, 2010
Owww
hurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurthurt
I don't know why when I close my eyes I see his face.
I don't know why when I read his name my stomach turns.
I don't know why I can't get over him even though I know it's hopeless.
I don't know why I can't play hard to get.
I don't know why I don't quite get the rules of this stupid game.
I don't know why I always lose.
I don't know why it doesn't matter that I always lose, I just wanted to win this once.
I don't know why I can't get over it.
I don't know why.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know why when I close my eyes I see his face.
I don't know why when I read his name my stomach turns.
I don't know why I can't get over him even though I know it's hopeless.
I don't know why I can't play hard to get.
I don't know why I don't quite get the rules of this stupid game.
I don't know why I always lose.
I don't know why it doesn't matter that I always lose, I just wanted to win this once.
I don't know why I can't get over it.
I don't know why.
I don't know.
I don't know.
Sep 18, 2010
The Outsiders? Maybe on crack.
I don't own The Outsiders or any of it's characters. I'm merely a girl caught up in a super weird fantasy-type world and needs a place to let it out, because I'm starting to see re-runs in my head before I go to sleep.
I was sure I could get out of this. I'm always confident in my ability to get out of things, even headlocks. Even if it's a muscle-y, older brother that's got you in a headlock. I can beat up my younger brother, so I'm always sure that I can do anything. However, my eagerness to be right and tough and amazing failed, and left my head stuck underneath the armpit of a boy who just got home from his work where he does manual labor all day. Smelly? Yes. Yes, it was.
"Holler 'Uncle' kiddo."
I hollered something, but "fuck you" wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear.
He slapped my mouth. Not too hard, but hard enough to make an impression. "Don't cuss," was his reasoning, "You're a lady. Now holler!"
"Okay, okay. Uncle!" I groaned. He loosened his grip and I wiggled out from underneath his arm.
He grinned and shook his head, "Shoulda known."
I looked at my reflection in the window. I sure didn't look like any lady I'd ever seen. Torn up jeans that were about three times my size, and a red tank top covered with a bluem plaid overshirt. Real classy.
My hair wasn't done in any special way, either. Just sort of ran a brush through it and called it good. I mean, I washed it. I wasn't a redneck. Just a tomboy.
And I guess I could put on makeup. Well, sorta, anyways. It never turned out like the girl on the front of the box, but shoot, I didn't really look much like the girl on the front of the box to start with, I guess. It always looked alright. I supposed it was an improvement.
Have you ever seen Hairspray? I was a little heavier set, like the main girl in that movie. You see pictures of people from the sixties, and they're always super thin and beautiful, with those cute skirts that go in at the waist and then puff out real nice around. I owned one of those skirts. It was from when I was twelve and didn't care what no one thought of me. Now I only pretended not to care.
I could feel Darry's eyes on me. Watching me watch myself. So I spun around twice and fell on the floor. He sighed and retreated into the bathroom to try and make himself not smell like he was roofing houses all day. It never really worked, but I couldn't break his heart and tell him that.
I could hear Two-Bit before I actually saw him. That was the case most of the time, though. I even felt him before I saw him.
"Ow."
"It's not my fault! Why're you on the floor?!"
Of course he steps on me. He couldn't tell me he loves me, so he covers it up with pain.
Or something.
I could just accept the fact that Two-Bit thinks I'm like a little sister. Or I could just pretend he really loves me and is just ashamed of the fact.
However, when I asked him out, the resounding "No way" I got was getting harder and harder to forget.
But you can't blame a girl for trying, right?
I was sure I could get out of this. I'm always confident in my ability to get out of things, even headlocks. Even if it's a muscle-y, older brother that's got you in a headlock. I can beat up my younger brother, so I'm always sure that I can do anything. However, my eagerness to be right and tough and amazing failed, and left my head stuck underneath the armpit of a boy who just got home from his work where he does manual labor all day. Smelly? Yes. Yes, it was.
"Holler 'Uncle' kiddo."
I hollered something, but "fuck you" wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear.
He slapped my mouth. Not too hard, but hard enough to make an impression. "Don't cuss," was his reasoning, "You're a lady. Now holler!"
"Okay, okay. Uncle!" I groaned. He loosened his grip and I wiggled out from underneath his arm.
He grinned and shook his head, "Shoulda known."
I looked at my reflection in the window. I sure didn't look like any lady I'd ever seen. Torn up jeans that were about three times my size, and a red tank top covered with a bluem plaid overshirt. Real classy.
My hair wasn't done in any special way, either. Just sort of ran a brush through it and called it good. I mean, I washed it. I wasn't a redneck. Just a tomboy.
And I guess I could put on makeup. Well, sorta, anyways. It never turned out like the girl on the front of the box, but shoot, I didn't really look much like the girl on the front of the box to start with, I guess. It always looked alright. I supposed it was an improvement.
Have you ever seen Hairspray? I was a little heavier set, like the main girl in that movie. You see pictures of people from the sixties, and they're always super thin and beautiful, with those cute skirts that go in at the waist and then puff out real nice around. I owned one of those skirts. It was from when I was twelve and didn't care what no one thought of me. Now I only pretended not to care.
I could feel Darry's eyes on me. Watching me watch myself. So I spun around twice and fell on the floor. He sighed and retreated into the bathroom to try and make himself not smell like he was roofing houses all day. It never really worked, but I couldn't break his heart and tell him that.
I could hear Two-Bit before I actually saw him. That was the case most of the time, though. I even felt him before I saw him.
"Ow."
"It's not my fault! Why're you on the floor?!"
Of course he steps on me. He couldn't tell me he loves me, so he covers it up with pain.
Or something.
I could just accept the fact that Two-Bit thinks I'm like a little sister. Or I could just pretend he really loves me and is just ashamed of the fact.
However, when I asked him out, the resounding "No way" I got was getting harder and harder to forget.
But you can't blame a girl for trying, right?
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