I drink a couple of glasses of wine and watch infomercials on the
TV guide station.
Sarah McLaughlin is on talking about dying animals. you could not look up and know that's what it was. her music is only played if a dog is dying or a child is starving in Africa.
I'm staring at a piece of paper unable to think of anything. I want to write. I want to read. I want to take pictures and make a collage. I want to use my free time wisely and be creative. Why can't I just be naturally talented? Why do I always have to force this shit? Maybe if I left the house, I could feel better? But it's raining and I hear there's a storm coming.
I know this because for the last 4 days
I've been watching the news.
Did you know I never watch the news? It's true.
I'm rather
uneducated in the ways of current events.
she said this is a solution not a problem.
she is obviously right.
she is always right. she is one of the rare people that actually know me.
But despite that, i can not, for the life of me, see beyond "problem".
I feel
paralyzed and lost. And although I realize my
constant complaining and self
deprecation is enough to make anyone ill with annoyance...I don't fucking care.
I don't. I absolutely, positively don't care. Screw it. I feel sorry for myself.
No matter how hard I try and logically look at things, pull myself up by the boot straps if you will, I just can't. What's worse is that I can't seem to move. I can't move at all let alone move forward.
The sometimes pathetic traits in my somewhat
sensitive personality, have a tendency to throw me into unsolvable crisis mode. Into the "depths of
despair".
You see, I have not lost a loved one. I am not in a real crisis. I am just stuck in crisis mode anyway.
The kind in which you can't even remember what was wrong. You just hyper ventilate anyway because you think to yourself..hell, what else is there to do. Certainly not to actually DO something about it. Certainly not.
i have another glass of wine. i then watch a couple of witty episodes of some
HBO show. doesn't really matter which one, whatever get's the ball rolling again. and yet nothing. nothing but word
diarrhea that sounds like a diary or a
whiny and spoiled 16 year old girl.
opps, i did it again.
Ah what the hell, one more glass of wine, one more cookie and i'll call the little shit i refer to as my pet."
Here kitty kitty" (i don't know why i bother. he never comes, i just go pick him up and put him on the bed anyway)
Now I rest my head on my cat's sleeping belly. This is the only time he doesn't swat at me. The only time I can pretend this animal, this feline that
See's me as a food supplier and key holder to the outside world, actually gives a damn about me.
Never the less, these moments freeze time.
I'm sure to get sleepy from the time lapse combined with the wine and
I'll go to sleep with some jack
lemon movie in the back ground.
I'll wear earplugs so I can't hear it. but I sleep better because I know if I can't sleep....it'll still be there, still playing when I turn around.
dear diary, jesus christ, am i actually going to publish this post?! this bullshit?
yes...yes i am.
