April 27th - Long Weekend Retrospective.

Not with a scream, but with a sigh.

Listening to: Time To Pretend - MGMT.
Mood: ...

The following blog consists of journal entries I wrote over the past few days.

April 23rd.

I’m finding myself sitting here with my hands needing something to do. No notebook with me though, that was stupid. I should have brought it.
Playing my ukulele could be good, for a while. But I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated with my lack of natural talent at the damned thing. For some reason I expect to play it perfectly every time I pick it up. Which is ridiculous, really, but oh well.
It might not be boredom this time. There are things preying on my mind and I find myself needing some distraction. Difficult when you’re stuck in a house with nothing to do and pretty much no one to talk to that is in my age group.
That reminds me of my upcoming birthday. When does one truly become an adult? At 18? Earlier? Later? It might depend on the person, I guess. But I wish it was easier to tell. Like some great announcement will go off in my head.

Congratulations, you are now an adult! Have fun being responsible, and remember, spontaneity isn’t always a good thing. And get a mortgage.

I find it rather funny that people celebrate their entrance to adult life by acting childish. You know, getting completely and utterly wasted and doing the various things that one does when one is completely and utterly wasted. Not that I condemn this practice, in fact I plan on undertaking it myself. While it is childish and irresponsible and stupid, it is also incredibly fun. As long as there are no incriminating photographs.

I’m in a rut of sorts. Well, maybe rut is the wrong word. Cycle, perhaps. Pattern? Eh.
I love someone. Good ol' unrequited love.
Same old same old (same old same old same old same old same old same old same old same old...).
What to do? What to do, indeed. Life would be so much better if I possessed some kind of magical quality that would make the object/s of my attention feel the same way. Unfortunately I’m a bit flat-chested. Hah. And not that interesting or good-looking or anything. Too hard on myself, maybe, but certainly not lovable.
Love is funny. And painful. And...Well, you know the clichés. It’s different for everyone. Except for me, I know how it’ll end every time.
Hence the name of my blog.
Well, also, I just liked how it rolls off the tongue. Then I realised it rather applied to myself. Maybe that’s why it popped into my in the first place.
Unrequited love junkie.
Always going back for more no matter how often and how badly I am scorned.

There’s a drumming noise inside my head that starts when you’re around.

Too much time spent idly doing little these days. I’m finding myself becoming increasingly lazy, which is unfortunate. Although I’ve been sitting here typing for some time. Maybe my fingers are the only part of me that get any exercise? And my brain, maybe, but do we really exercise our brains? We strengthen them, certainly. And I’ve been doing too much thinking lately.

By the end of this sentence I will have written 533 words.

This is effectively curbing my boredom. Hurrah. But what to write about now? I’d ask for suggestions, but you see, I’m not actually talking to anyone.
(Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Ree, remember? And the second sign is probably arguing with yourself.)
(No it’s not.)
(Yes it is.)

When you’re surrounded by people, do you feel safe? Or do you still feel alone?I do, sometimes. There are a couple of people I let in. But for the most part no one really knows me, I think. What defines if one is crazy or not? Do we have to believe that we’re crazy to actually be so? If we do, then I am. I certainly seem crazier than a lot of people I know. Or maybe I’m just paranoid. A mental health hypochondriac? Does it make a difference if one’s problems are diagnosed or not?
(There are still some days where I’d like to carve “LIAR” into your forehead.)


April 24th.

It’s been a strange few days, full of new and interesting and scary and melancholy things. My brain feels as if it’s on fire. So does the rest of me.
It would be nice to give in to this, but I know that’s probably not a good idea.
Then again I don’t have many good ideas. Ah well. Maybe I shouldn’t trust my own judgement then.

I’m itching to do...something. I don’t know what. Nothing really all that productive in a long-term sense. As much as I’d like a job I don’t know if my current mental state will allow me to function well within one. The cash would be nice, however. I’m shallow, and possessions tend to make me feel better. At least I admit it. Not many people would.

Goddamn compulsions controlling me sometimes.

How am I so lonely when I’m surrounded by people?
How the hell does that work?
Am I so selfish that I need to be constantly engaged in some kind of contact or conversation with someone else?
I should probably stop asking questions that aren’t likely to be answered. Silly, silly Ree. Shut your mouth again. Before you go too far again.

Here I am, a rabbit-hearted girl.

I’m being cryptic, aren’t I?
Just come out and say it, woman.
(No.)
Fine.


April 25th.

Let’s dance around the issue shall we? All of them. Everyone. One biiiiig merry-go-round and it’s making me dizzy.

Maybe I want to be on the other side of the ampersand after all. How predictable, Ree.

Faster, they might catch up, and we wouldn’t want that.


April 27th.

Inside my head
There's a room where I sit
There's a place here for you
If you wanted it

And I promise I won't hog the bedsheets
And I promise that I won't fall out of line
I could leave by the sunrise if that's what you wished
Just let me stay for a little while

Inside my mind
There's a voice that keeps asking me
"You're always falling but when will you land?"

It's not likely I'll think of an answer in time
'Til my limbs are all broken
And I've nearly died
But if you'd let me stay for a little while...

I promised that I wouldn't cry

I wrote that once after I she went to sleep. I still think about her sometimes.

It seems almost relevant now, that poem.