HA! HA! TALCUM POWDER!

Uhff

God I want a fucking laptop.
GUESS WHERE I AMMMM.
NOT IN CLASS.

WOW I AM A GREAT PERSON
Can’t even keep up going to a fucking community college, awesome. And you know what? I wouldn’t give a shit except that I need to go to get money from my dad. I have never wanted a time machine more in my life.

I haven’t showered since Saturday. Why is my ear so cold.

Oh, ‘cause it’s got fucking tears on it, nice.

I’m just sitting in my car in the campus parking lot, bawling periodically. So cool. I hate my watercolor and am too ashamed of how I was absent to her class Monday to go today with a shitty vomit of color to turn in.

Considering skipping the other classes, but no. I will go. Speech teacher doesn’t like me anyway, why make it worse?

Apparently I had an appointment schedules with my psychiatrist, Dr. Bornstein, for yesterday. I do not remember him EVER e-mailing or calling me back, and so when he told me that I had missed an appointment I supposedly scheduled with him recently, WELL, either I’ve completely lost it or he’s a prick. Likely both, but God he’s such a little bitch. I’m totally going to stop seeing him; he’s terrible at evaluating anyway.

My mom’s like, “Please be careful driving. Promise me you won’t do anything or hurt yourself.”
“I’m not going to do anything; It’s just little thoughts of how to get out of all this, but it’s overly-dramatic. Besides, if I were to live, how lame would that be?”
“Okay, but promise.”
“Uhf.”

Man, I just really got a glimpse of myseld. I don’t feel sorry for me, I feel ANGRY. Like what, this is it? This is awesome college-going me? This is the super-fun, respectable, independent me that I can be? Great job!

GREAT FUCKING JOB.
AND YET HERE I AM
BITCHING
WHY

I HAVE A CAR
LIVE FOR FREE AT MY MOM’S
HAVE A JOB MORE LIKE ASSIGNED PLAYDATES
MY PARENTS LOVE ME
I AM NOT HANDICAPPED
EVERYTHING

And yet it seems I have chosen to fuck things up. Terribly. I can barely drag my fat ass out of bed in the morning to take an impossibly long shower, then gripe how I’m late though it’s all my fault, miss or come in late to classes with barely ever handing in homework that I had plenty of time to do, then drive home and have the gall to say I’m tired, fall asleep, and then wake up, eat dinner, decide it’s too late for homework, and go back to sleep to do it all again. That’s my life. I haven’t changed the litterbox ib a while, haven’t taken my medicine for weeks because i never bothered to refill the prescription, and life in general just sucks. I make messes I never clean. My room is impassable without steppinv on cans and plates; Hell, I haven’t changed my bedding for MONTHS. Let alone put a cover on my mattress.

And here I am, being a martyr when I’ve incurred no pains. My own stupidity has ripped my life at the seams and I hate that it’s so apparent.

Ironic that if I miss one class, I miss others with it. Why? It m
Only makes things worse. What do i think, that people will forget I’ve been so sketchy?

They don’t even care!

I’ve lost all maturity rights because of last semester and I am simply reaying things.

I keep thinking about how nice it will be when Spring Break comes around, BUT WHAT AM I TAKING A BREAK FROM.

I want to live ob my own and force myself to really deal with the consequences of my stupidity and sloth.

I don’t need a pat on the back, I need a slap in the face. But I’m the only one who can give me that punishment.

God what a waste of flesh I turned out to be. If I’d known I’d end up a 19-year-old virgin bum leeching off of my parents, I’d still have let it happen. Why?

Because I am shit.

stimulus

the lament that stirs my gut

that wrenches my core

that brings my eyes to water

is the freedom to feel

that lifts my soul

Atlas (finished)

You know, it’s ironic that I feel like there’s so much pressure on me, but in truth I have nothing I have to do. As I was saying earlier, the fact that I don’t have anything to complain about frustrates me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m being a big brat; life is good, but I don’t care about it? Illogical! I keep fluttering between “I don’t have depression, I don’t need counseling” and “What the fuck is wrong with me?” It’s when I stand still that I want to be active, but when I move, I’m tired. Not physically (though, fuck, I’m sure out of shape), but just motivationally.

I feel like Willy Loman— Always planning, never acting. For some reason, that theme in “A Death of a Salesman” has become a note in my mind. Okay, here’s the thing: If I wanted to be happier, I could saddle up and work all the time. I could get a job, work out, study relentlessly, and do random acts of samaritan kindness. Yeah, I’d have no free time, but that’s the point. I could, at the end of the day, justifiably sit back for a few moments and say, “I’m tired.” I’m sick of being tired without having done anything. I want to feel useful. But my conundrum is that I’m lazy and apprehensive to start things. Why would working so much make me happy, you ask? (what, someone’s reading this?)

There’s a saying that is along the lines of “idle hands are the Devil’s playthings.” I’m not into turn-of-phrases, but this one is applicable here. While I’m not saying that being bored fosters bad behavior, I am saying that it gives your mind time to think. And thinking’s good, right? Not always. I don’t understand people who, when they do have time to space out, continue to think about nothing but what’s happening in their lives or what they saw on television. Doesn’t anyone ever ponder the unanswerable, consider social customs, something? I’m not putting myself on a pedestal here, but I always hate it when people say stuff like, “people just don’t think about more philosophical matters anymore, it’s all trivial.” I do! Philosophical thinking doesn’t have to be scholar-grade, it could just be rooting around in your mind, trying to sort out something as huge as how the afterlife works (for example) with the limited information you have! But it is in this, also, that while we are stretching our minds in more positive ways, that we are susceptible to darker topics. Death, mortality, immobility, morality, personal frustrations. We need something to bring us back to the surface every so often before we plunge into the abyssmal depths of our negativity. That’s why being busy is a God send for people— It dulls us to a routine. We’re too busy with tasks to consider grim topics. I stand behind the idea that the happiest examples of mankind are the ones living just above survival. The ones who live in agricultural or hunting communities, where their accomplishments satisfy the bottom of Maslo’s hierarchy of needs. And yet another flaw: Do we want to be happy? If happiness is only achieved

-edit-

through the continual grinding of the depressing prongs growing out from our minds, what does that mean? Dulling, numbing…

Numbing? Are busy people numb to themselves? And is this numbing an insult to our intelligence?

I’ve heard that Plato and other philosophers (Socrates, Aristotle, Bill Cosby [the messiah incarnate]) were paid to do nothing. Literally. They were paid so they could afford to not have a job and spend their free time thinking. We regard these lazy people as geniuses. Provided, I believe they were scholars in actual fields besides abstract thought, but still, they are known for being some of the closest to reaching the epiphany of wisdom.

And yet, whenver people are left without priorities for an extent of time, they become hermits and utterly depressed. So the question is:

Blissful ignorance or debilitating apathy?

Yes Indeedy

Ahhhfff, I love that I spend most of my time at home sleeping. Productivity? What’s that?

We had breakfast for dinner tonight. I like it, no problem, but I don’t like scrambled eggs hwaaarrr.

D: GOD DAMN THAT YOMI, I’m going to have to show up at her place one day and just be like FUCK YOU YOU’RE AWESOME.

Apparently the poor thing’s been consoling a girl she doesn’t even know and trying to convince her not to off herself.
For the past two hours. When she’s not even feeling good herself. That woman’s a humanitarian, she is.

Eh, all this talk about suicide and depression and my own weird emotions has got me thinking about really  abstract shit.

When I was around seven or so, I’d feign being suicidal to get out of school. Yes, I was a bitch. And of course, my mom, half-dead and her blood practically replaced by steroids didn’t question it. Not to mention, how do you question actual intent in these cases?
“Are you sure you’re not faking it?”
”What!?”

Doesn’t work too well. But what I’m saying is that I realize it wasn’t real. And at the time, I was too young to understand just how grave a situation people who are honestly considering suicide are in. I don’t really know what it feels like. I’ve known a few people (around five) who tried explaining what was in their heads when they came close to doing so. It sounds horrifying. Like, half of the time they said they realize that it’s not a good idea, but the idea perpetually nags at them until it actually grows into a considerable option. What scares me the most is that you can’t seem to trust your own mind.

As it is, when something weird happens, I already question myself. When my car got broken into, I was like, “Did I… Rip out my stereo? And break the console? I don’t think so, but I better be sure I’m not just forgetting this before I report it.” So to feel like this with suicide? Beyond thought, really.

Of course suicide isn’t a good option. I mean, okay, if you’re in a pit filled with snakes who will slowly eat you alive over time and create a prolonged agony that, should you survive,  leave you drained and devoid of a soul AND surviving means going back to an even worse or just as worse situation, I could see some validity in that. And I’m not talking about medical suicide, come on. That’s like, entirely unto itself. But yeah.

Once or twice  I’ve been like, “Wonder what’d happen if I killed myself.” Just ‘cause I know I’m a nuisance financially and that I’m not going to really end up being a productive person. But then I think, “eh, then I won’t get to eat delicious food,” or something ridiculously stupid like that. It’s the fact that the pros of living outweigh the cons for me that I keep at least alive. Even though my lifestyle can’t really  be called a living. SLEEP EAT SHOWER SCHOOL INNERNETS SLEEP. Healthy.

But what must it be like to actually see it that the cons outweigh the pros? Where they really, logically deduce that it’s just easier to die? I don’t know. There’s not going to be a revolution I can come to on that.

Another thing that kept me from being serious is that

1.) My life is pretty good in general. My parents love me, I’ve got a car, am not utterly unattractive, a roof over my head (which is a stupid phrase— where the fuck else would it be) but this is also a source of constant frustration to me.

2.) Despite not being Catholic (Unitarian— “SOMETHIN’S OUT THERE, BUT I DON’T KNOW WHAT”), I’d be worried for my very soul if I did so. So it’s like, a threat.

…MMKAH TAMA’S CALLIN’ ME AND I CAN’T TYPE AND SPEAK TO HIM COHERENTLY AT THE SAME TIME

Damned purple cat man.

Slackin’

Mrm, I’m feelin’ pretty crappy about how lethargic I’m getting with my schoolwork. I failed to turn in my time sheet for the second week in a row, but that’s not horrible to anyone except myself. See, in newspaper production, the only time I really feel badly is if I don’t do something and it affects the paper or the other students. I’M A NICE PERSON NOT LOLOLOL. But for serials. Anyway, class is about to start, I’m just posting because it’s a moment in my life that it feels appropriate to waste by blogging about something nobody will find interesting. I’m getting very sleepy. I guess I’m working on the illustrations for some upcoming article about international students, which is funny ‘cause that’s also my beat to cover. We’re all assigned a topic to report or give story ideas about weekly. That’s fine and all, but it’s more an annoyance than you’d imagine. I have no clue about international students, and unlike the original health beat I was assigned (was asked to swap with another classmate because they were too closely involved in international student affairs to be seen as unbiased or something), it’s not like there’s a main e-mail I can write to and just be like, “SO WHAT’S UP, ANYTHING HAPPENIN’ WITH YOU FOREIGN FOLK?” …Not that that’d get me very far in the first place. Offensive plox. Don’t know if I already wrote about it, but that guy wrote back and was like, “I am sorry elise i did not no you had a boyfriend.” It’s like, okay. That’s fine. It’s no big deal to flirt with someone and try your luck (and don’t get me wrong, I find it flattering), but since when does offering to send a person a shirtless photo of yourself fall under the “okay” category? I don’t know, the guy might have an impressive set of pecs or abs under his baggy clothes, but it doesn’t matter. NOT TO SAY I WOULDN’T BE SLIGHTLY SWAYED, but yeah. No. I’m not exactly the definition of “prim and proper”, but I do have SOME social tact to me. And don’t give me that “DURR HURR IF IT WERE A WOMAN SENDING TO A GUY IT’D BE OKAY” crap. It is not. It is worse. Because women have breasts that are considered part of nudity. COME TO THINK OF IT, why are people in my age range SO intent on providing photos of themselves that could make them a laughing stock or give them an unwanted title? FOREPLANNING, PEOPLE. SHOULD I SEND PICTURES OF ME COPULATING TO THIS DUDE I LIKE? MMM MAYBE NOT. Mmkah, class time now.

Rain Breeds Lethargy

Mrm. Don’t wanna’ go to classes today. Already late to Geology; She doesn’t take roll, so fuck it. Only reason I sort of wish I would go is to see what I got on my test.
I’ll get it later, whatever. So now I’m just sitting in my car, listening to my iPod through the stereo. I could sit like this forever, I tell you. BUT, today I also have my newspaper classes, and those are important. Not academically, but personally. Murr.

“Oh love me
Oh kiss me
I’m laying on, western under the snow”

Ffff, feeling lonely suddenly. I cleared my system of meds for a week or so. Going back on ‘em starting today— Must have woken up three times last night. Weiiiiird dreams, but in the bad way.

It occurs to me that I have no socks for my shoes, which have multiple holes in them. But either I go commando in those or wear my sandals, which would make me look like even more of an idiot. Thinkin’ I’ll end up in the shoes. Maybe I’ll go to the mall after school and grab a pair of jeans and some undies. I am sick of having two wearable pairs of pants and digging through semi-dirty laundry like a skunk for the rest of my outfit. I should have more respect for myself than to wear unclean clothing. And, yeah. I need shoes without rips in them.

Man I feel anxious.

Maybe I’ll do those reference sketches for Yoko for our trade. It’s Vice, and God KNOWS how he ends up wedged in my notes anyway. XD Iunno’, he’s good for being a bitch. YAY DOODLING.

Mmmm, “Death Song”, nice and lamenty.