sooner rather than later would be nice.

It's not even a thing. I mean, it definitely totally is not any kind of a thing, so she's not allowed to feel this way . . .
but she does.

Like being queasy but higher up, somewhere in the . . . oh. That spot between and to the left of her lungs. Heartsick is the term, isn't it?

She's about to cry from wanting to know. It's none of her business, and she knows it, and she's not gonna ask because of how very much she understands that, but the nausea is still pulsing, spreading with her blood flow down her arms, into her stomach, stinging at her toes. Pouring through tear ducts onto her cheeks.

With a quick breath, she sucks it back up into the bottle where she keeps all stuff of this sort, labeled "Unacceptable for Public Display"; corks it tightly.

Shakes off the lingering tingle of despair.

panicking

ack ack ack ack ack ack

why is it so very hard to do and keep hold of things that you really really want?

I want to be in a choir group but it was so hard to start communications with the director and now I finally did but I stupidly took off for the weekend not realizing I'd be out of touch and so I finally emailed him back almost a week later but maybe now he hates me and maybe he's gotten someone else to fill the part already and maybe he is going to think I am unreliable or something and maybe now it is all ruined and I am terrified that I have lost my chance at a thing I really really want that I worked and stressed and worried so hard to even get and I'm basically a nervous wreck.

Also I have made multiple plans for today and I dunno how any of them are gonna fit. Like, 4 different plans.

I am lucid in the morning. I hate mornings.

This is what I get for getting up before noon.

I do nothing but complain. Sorry.

I want internet. I reallllllly want internet. I don't have easy access to it at the moment, but I really really really want it. Then maybe I would do more things. Write more things. If I'm being 100% honest here, play more games. Tumble more. Maybe do some more graphic stuff or drawing stuff or what have you. I dunno. It would just make me happier to have it. I think.*sigh*

Then again, it might induce me to sit down and do nothing more often. Maybe. Bleh.

Anywho, here I am again, spewing my thoughts on a keyboard. It's cathartic, in its way. :P

Familiar Frustration

We've been here before, haven't we? This isn't the first time you've done this to me, though each time I hope it's going to be the last. So far, I've been rather wrong. Ugh.

I'll never get used to it. The tingle-shock of warmth that pings in my chest and spreads as I forget that moving, or breathing, or even thinking are things that can and should be happening. Generally, those times are when I really do need all those things to be happening, so thanks for that.

It's not a thing I want to grow accustomed to, either, because I need it to stop. Please. I just need you to stop. Specifically what, I don't know, but . . . yeah.

Could you quit while I can still pretend I'm ahead?