I hate wet socks and wet shoes.
So after watching the gush, I took my place on the stairs, with my wet socks and wet shoes. The ones who saw me gave the kind of look you give to someone who was in trouble. That kind of look without an intention to help.
But I wasn't in trouble. I was high.
The gush was beautiful and I was high.
I hated the way he said the things he said to us as if I had no idea how it feels like to be in that situation.
Because you chewed too fast and you've forgotten what it tasted like.
I don't know if it's the smoke but my thinking's really messed up right now.
I made a snarky comment and everybody laughed. It was quite demeaning. The kind that nobody is willing to say but everyone wants to laugh at.
I look at them and all I want to do is just vomit.
I have a problem. A perpetual problem.
I miss the things I was allowed to do. And the things I wasn't.
I miss being allowed to be naive. And I miss being called mature for my age.
My maturity has caught up and it's just a slow, uphill climb from now on.
Deep inhalations masking unnoticeable sighs.
I can't tell you how this feels. The weight that seems to follow me around. That disappears into imaginary mist whenever I try to catch it.
One day it would be tired of me and move on. Sooner or later it'll move on.
I feel very, very disconnected from the things they do.
I wanted to show off my bruises. I don't know what I was thinking.
I thought it was really unfair that they stared and assumed things. You can tell people are assuming something from that certain look they give you. These people can go to hell because I don't care anymore.
The useless piece of meat that I am. That you are. That we once were and we will become.
I've been standing on the side for quite some time now. Maybe it has been longer than I thought, I just wasn't thinking about it. The more I stay silent, the more they come to me. Even when I'm not, they take the place in physical beings that I've no interest in. Just because I have no interest in them, they come to me. Describing is easier, I'm not worrying anymore. I want to forget the things I've written, the things I've felt, the things I've seen, touched and heard.
With the exception of the things I taste because oh well, I guess it makes me smile.
I like sadder versions of sad songs. If it has potential to grow beyond what it is now, why shouldn't it.
I was quite disappointed at what I think he meant. Terrifies me, to think of what he was thinking.
You must've been kneeling.
Cravings -- they never really go away. Into hiding, yes. But they never truly disappear.
For flesh. For feelings. For that temporary euphoria.
For things that don't last. So we can crave it again and again.
I'm tired.
I thought you'd never say that. I thought you'd never do that. I thought you'd never.
Don't expect to stay upright when holding on to promises. I haven't enough experience but we make do. We always.
We need all the unnecessary to make us feel important.
Today I kept wondering why they didn't understand. Then it ended up in the lavatory.
I never liked writing on the whiteboard. They say you can learn a lot from someone's handwriting.
Well.
I don't think they learnt much today from mine.
I don' like it, when they think differently of me. Think better of me or otherwise. I would rather have no one think of me at all. Surprisingly, that is too much to ask for.
Well.
Birthday gifts are all right.
I drowned a spider.
We grow. We care. We grow. We give up. We grow. We get tired.
I definitely grew.
Let's all lie and cheat and steal.
I think I scared the delivery guy. Yeah this time it's a guy.
It's 8.30. It's getting late.
It's the obnoxious Blackberry Boy again. Sigh.
Sometimes, I imagine really bad things happening to people like Blackberry Boy.
I'm not well.
You're a good actress.
Yes. I know.
Writing about trivialities. It's disgusting. Not just in mere essence.
There are times when I think too fast and then afterwards feel completely useless for not being able to put a thought down on a blank screen. Just to feel my fingers again.
What's it like to turn a new leaf? Mine's recycled.
My head's going to explode. Why do we exaggerate? I don't feel a sense of enrichment or whatsoever.
But my head's going to explode.
