I think I may fail
but I guess that's alright.
I sat about for hours.
I ignored days.
I drifted through the weeks.
I wasted months.
Forgot anything worth knowing
Learned all kinds of useless stuff
I think I may fail
and it's my own fault
but I guess it'll have to be alright.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Sometimes I scare myself
It's a little bit of nothing wrapped up in a whole knotted mess of rage, and it's not worth any of all that nonsense, but it sits there and it singes my composure from the inside out.
I slipped a little bit today. I got angry. I was, in fact, furious. The whole "roaring in the ears" metaphor that everyone talks about isn't a metaphor. And I slipped a little bit today. I didn't laugh it off and say, "never mind. I wasn't busy anyway," or, "it's okay, don't worry about it." I let a sentence or two get away from me about how, "no, I didn't walk all the way here. I was driven here from several miles away and I left all my studying materials at home," and, "you should have told me before I got all the way here." I was trying to induce guilt, and it worked, and when I was offered what had been denied me, I very vindictively said, "it's FINE," and I stormed off. I slipped. I said some of what I was actually thinking, and I never say what I'm actually thinking about how I'm actually feeling, especially not when I'm angry.
Fear me. I will break you down to your elements and show you just how small you are, how insignificant I can make you feel, how everything you thought you were is nothing at all.
Get out of my sight, I spit in my head. Myself in my mind is reduced to a snarl, bared teeth and a roar of rage.
and a deep breath.
and a lowered head.
spent.
I slipped a little bit today. I got angry. I was, in fact, furious. The whole "roaring in the ears" metaphor that everyone talks about isn't a metaphor. And I slipped a little bit today. I didn't laugh it off and say, "never mind. I wasn't busy anyway," or, "it's okay, don't worry about it." I let a sentence or two get away from me about how, "no, I didn't walk all the way here. I was driven here from several miles away and I left all my studying materials at home," and, "you should have told me before I got all the way here." I was trying to induce guilt, and it worked, and when I was offered what had been denied me, I very vindictively said, "it's FINE," and I stormed off. I slipped. I said some of what I was actually thinking, and I never say what I'm actually thinking about how I'm actually feeling, especially not when I'm angry.
Fear me. I will break you down to your elements and show you just how small you are, how insignificant I can make you feel, how everything you thought you were is nothing at all.
Get out of my sight, I spit in my head. Myself in my mind is reduced to a snarl, bared teeth and a roar of rage.
and a deep breath.
and a lowered head.
spent.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Answer him
Ianto Jones. Coffee-maker extraordinaire. Wearer of three-piece suits. Persistent and dependable. He loved hopelessly and helplessly and truly. He kept a mechanized girlfriend alive in the basement, trying desperately to keep her alive, to fix her, to save her. He fell for Jack, who refused to say the words, "I love you," even when Ianto lay dying in his arms. He deserved so much more than being the errand boy, the extra agent, the casual fling. Ianto Jones. He needs a song.
Worn out
It feels a lot later than it should, somehow. Perhaps getting up at six thirty this morning has something to do with that. Maybe I have done more today than I have the rest of break together. Maybe I'm still just stressed over things that are not getting done. Either way, today feels like it has been extraordinarily long.
I'm saying lots of silly things because I have nothing else flowing from me at this point in time. I'm all worn out emotionally from Torchwood, for which I wept bitterly.
I saw friends today that are still friends, but not very close friends. I don't talk to them about the most important things which shouldn't be the most important things, but they are. We talk TV, but shows that aren't tied to the center of me, my core self. We saw a daft movie, at the end of which I sat laughing until I nearly cried, it was so awful and amazing. I like retarded movies that don't mean to be retarded. If you're trying to be stupid, I'm irritated. If you think you're being cool, but failing, I laugh. What sort of person does that make me? A cynical, sarcastic, awful one, I think. I think the failure of others is more amusing than their genuine attempts to amuse me. Hmm. I liked the movie. Going to leave that thought there.
Having a style is one thing, but reusing words or phrases bothers me. I can't even reuse a distinctive word in an entirely separate post. I remember that I used it somewhere else, and it's no good. Been used; goes in the trash bin. I have no recycling bin for words.
That was a random rant, and I haven't the foggiest idea where it came from. Oh well.
I'm saying lots of silly things because I have nothing else flowing from me at this point in time. I'm all worn out emotionally from Torchwood, for which I wept bitterly.
I saw friends today that are still friends, but not very close friends. I don't talk to them about the most important things which shouldn't be the most important things, but they are. We talk TV, but shows that aren't tied to the center of me, my core self. We saw a daft movie, at the end of which I sat laughing until I nearly cried, it was so awful and amazing. I like retarded movies that don't mean to be retarded. If you're trying to be stupid, I'm irritated. If you think you're being cool, but failing, I laugh. What sort of person does that make me? A cynical, sarcastic, awful one, I think. I think the failure of others is more amusing than their genuine attempts to amuse me. Hmm. I liked the movie. Going to leave that thought there.
Having a style is one thing, but reusing words or phrases bothers me. I can't even reuse a distinctive word in an entirely separate post. I remember that I used it somewhere else, and it's no good. Been used; goes in the trash bin. I have no recycling bin for words.
That was a random rant, and I haven't the foggiest idea where it came from. Oh well.
Black Friday
Standing in line.
Read a magazine. Investigate sale fliers. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Text a friend. Pick up useless items. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Check phone for texts. Read an article online. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Grab a candy bar. Check phone again. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Put down useless items. Change ringtone. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Answer text. Hide the candy bar. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Look for Mom. Choose wrapping paper. Get to the front.
Let people pass.
Let people pass.
Let people pass.
Let people pass.
Standing in line.
Wait for Mom. Wish for coffee. Still in front.
Mom's here.
Checkout.
Read a magazine. Investigate sale fliers. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Text a friend. Pick up useless items. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Check phone for texts. Read an article online. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Grab a candy bar. Check phone again. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Put down useless items. Change ringtone. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Answer text. Hide the candy bar. Get to the front.
Go to the back.
Standing in line.
Look for Mom. Choose wrapping paper. Get to the front.
Let people pass.
Let people pass.
Let people pass.
Let people pass.
Standing in line.
Wait for Mom. Wish for coffee. Still in front.
Mom's here.
Checkout.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Impotent tears
Why would you do this to us
You offer them up
Make them breathe
Teach us their names
Tell us their stories
Expose their souls
Let us love them
We build them homes in our hearts
Accept their flaws
Cry for their pains
Fear for their safety
Laugh when they tease
Yearn for their happiness
Then you take them back.
Why would you do this to us?
You offer them up
Make them breathe
Teach us their names
Tell us their stories
Expose their souls
Let us love them
We build them homes in our hearts
Accept their flaws
Cry for their pains
Fear for their safety
Laugh when they tease
Yearn for their happiness
Then you take them back.
Why would you do this to us?
Accepting what I can't change
I like my family.
I carry on as though they are heinous and ridiculous and sometimes they are, don't get me wrong, but I do like them.
Things get awkward when they ask me about my future or my cousin treats me like I'm 15 instead of 21, but I guess if I want to be taken seriously as an adult, I need to answer their questions and lose the acne.
We are a strange bunch. Dry, almost undetectable humor is the order of the day, and most of the time it could be mistaken for outright stupidity . . . and I am considered a bit slow on the uptake because I don't understand when my uncles are trying to be amusing. Am I supposed to 'get it' when they act like they've lost their minds? . . . oh well.
My younger cousins are brats to the last child, except for one, and I find him more corrupt each time I see them. His transformation saddens me.
Aunts are more demanding than uncles. They want opportunities to brag about their own children to each other, so they grill me on my future plans, hoping to trip me up with something they can use against my mum. I hide in a corner with my phone. They can think what they like.
I like my family. We are judgmental, arrogant, selfish, and irritating. We are intelligent, amusing, sarcastic, and strong.
I think I'm okay being one of us.
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