| Dementia |
[09 Dec 2009|03:21pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 confused |
] |
I wrote...something today. As there is a clear tune in my head I am willing to concede that it might be I almost feel guilty about it. Written word is not my medium, not like it was when I was in school, and I have only ever been just barely musically inclined, so I cannot help but feel that I no longer have any claim to them. Regardless, while I was on the bus after work today, on my way home, I just set my pen to paper in my sketchbook and kept writing. I missed my stop four times. For posterity's sake I have decided to post it here. It is somewhat terrible, and the lyrics look positively decrepit without a tune, but I do not wish to lose it.
( Hidden for sake of space. )
In other news, I did some extra work at the university so I have a little bit of extra cash at my disposal. Would anyone like to go with me to the museum tonight or tomorrow? My treat. We could perhaps grab coffee or supper afterward?
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| Catatonic |
[25 Nov 2009|05:04pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 annoyed |
] |
Well, father called again to try to get me to come home for Thanksgiving. He still has no idea that I am back in Lyric. He called me selfish and screamed at me when I told him that I would not. He said that I have no right to act like such a spoiled princess, that we are a family and that we should be thankful to all still be alive. Oh, Father, if you only knew the half of it.
Leon also called me to see if I would come home for Thanksgiving. I told him, also, that I would not. He asked if I would stop by his place for dessert. I told him that I might, but I will not do that, either. They cannot call me to come home, or to come over, at any other time of the year. Why would I want to see them on the day that I am supposed to be thankful for what I have?
I am thankful for my job at the university. I am thankful for four walls and a roof with minimal leaks. Above all, I am thankful for wine, both white and red.
What are you thankful for?
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| Broken |
[12 Nov 2009|02:44pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 depressed |
] |
My CD tower fell over today. People think that glass is the worst thing to try and clean up out of carpet. I respectfully disagree. That plastic that they make CD cases out of is sharp. The whole thing fell over on the tile and it just...smashed to pieces.
It was not just the cases, either. Most of the discs broke, too. I had not gotten around to ripping them onto my computer. It is more than a little bit disappointing, for I do not have the money to replace them, and some of them had sentimental value that cannot be replaced like my Somewhat Damaged collection and my mother's favorites. I feel...very sad. The record of many of my purchases from the time I was given a significant allowance ceases to exist.
I must have music in order to work. It is not fair. I am resigned to listening to Youtube, though most of my playlist is gone due to those stupid companies taking down perfectly good music. I guess this all means no paintings until I save up enough to re-buy my favorite album.
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| Asphyxia |
[10 Nov 2009|01:35am] |
| [ |
mood |
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morose |
] |
If I had a single friend in this town I would ask that friend to drown me.
It is moments like this that I come to appreciate my lack of true friendship in this place. There is something to be said for being a new resident. But by the names of every angel in heaven, I do not think that I can take this. I cannot do it.
I am not this. This is not me. This is Hell, and it is swallowing me. I want to end it. I want the agony to stop. I want someone to fix it all for me, to end this Hell. I would do anything to make the thousand raging demons stop tearing away at my insides. What, God, have I done to deserve all of this torture? It would be easier if something were to rip off my fingernails or gouge out my eyes. The pain of those are temporary, and after the hurt comes healing.
For me there is no healing. I thought that this would end it. It won't. Who would have thought that the real torture hid not in being left but in being found? Why is it that the agony is living?
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