Didn't realize I was so angry...

I may have said this before, but. Saying it again because it is relevant. Again.

Don't you ever. Ever. Assume you know me. Don't do it.

Don't act like you can predict what I am doing or thinking or feeling.

"I am so proud of you. I know that was really hard for you to do."

No. It wasn't. If it was hard, I wouldn't have bothered. You are not in any way a person whose approval I want; I do nothing for you. It has nothing to do with you.

You don't know me. Don't presume.

Surprise, sucker...

It was one of those flashbang grenades, and it went off somewhere behind my nose. My mind couldn't see straight or make sense of anything it was hearing. I mean, I heard him and saw him, but processing? Nah.

I said the right things, I think, and made the right faces and was generally how I needed to be right then. You couldn't tell by looking at me how hard I was shaken up inside, neat boxes of feelings and thinkings and paradigms in my head tossed around like an earthquake had hit, epicenter: me.

Putting everything back in its place was a chore for later. It was like cleaning your room, a journey of discovery and recovery all in one. How long has this been hiding here? I thought I had thrown it away. This should go in a different place, and this one I want to try on and see how it fits me now.

I'm repackaged, but not everything fit right. Guess we'll see how it goes.

sorry for gibberish

i'm on an edge
about something
about several things
so i guess i am balanced on blades

i'm waiting all tense for something? anything? to happen
but it's up to me to make it happen
or it's inevitable and bearing down
compressing my gut into an anxious knot

i also feel guilty
and alone
and jealous
and angry
and bored
and tired

one more makes it perfect, so . . .

i feel
afraid

maybe i'm being defeatist but

I think I begin to see why stuff in the New Yorker is so depressing. It's mostly by the young, "up and coming" writers of today, right? People like me. 

Apparently we're all depressed. I know I am, and telling a happy story requires so much more effort when you've forgotten just what happiness feels like. There's no hope, is there? We don't see a brighter or better future. Everything's bleak and awful.

I don't see a victory. No happy ending. We won't win.

So I can't write the novel I've been meaning to, or the poem, or the story. It'll just be another of those depressing New Yorker type pieces. I refuse to perpetuate misery.

what have i been up to?

seems impossible to me that it's been a month already, but it has. odd.

i keep hoping to have experiences about which to write, but nothing much happens to me, you know? i work and i complain about work and i work more and i complain more and then i sing a bit and it's better for a bit. until i go back to work.

we had thanksgiving and i worked for all of it. came home to the ruins of a feast and relatives lazing in chairs too stiff for supination. cried in the bathroom with rage for missing the only family holiday that is happening this year.

we had christmas the next day and i shopped all day and decorated all afternoon and wrapped presents including all the ones i bought myself because no one else got me anything. that's okay, really. i'm 24. mum is paying for a new jacket that i helped her order. surprises on christmas are overrated.

i baked cookies all day for a reception, then sang in a concert tonight with magnify and the dude quartet. i was pretty proud of it, but silvie just wanted to go home and mom was unimpressed/less than effusive with praise. i had fun, so that's what matters, isn't it? gonna say yes.

so yeah. not much happening, but lots happening, but it's not too much after all.

The Eve of All Hallows Eve

So I was pondering Halloween costumes tonight, and I can't decide on anything. 

Should I be a pirate? Easy, and I have most of the stuff to make it passable. It's boring, though, apparently. Every time I told someone I was gonna be a pirate for Halloween, they looked disappointed. Pirate is a no go.

A tall hobbit? I did that last year, for one. For another, it'd be something I have to explain, probably. Because tall hobbit. Also a no.

Gypsy and geisha strike me as vaguely offensive.

Elf too generic. Also used that one before.

I considered being a rabid Directioner, but I'm afraid someone will just be like, "And this is different from normal you how, exactly?"

Also thought about being Queen Bass. That's a choir inside joke. Hence, non-choir people won't get it and more explaining will be required. And it seems a bit...self-aggrandizing? Nah.

I'm not clever enough for a pun or lame enough to copy something "clever" from the internet.

I may, and this is a huge MAY, be WCW. Just need a red wheelbarrow, some white chickens, and a spray bottle of rainwater for glazing. If anyone asks what I am, I'm just going to spritz my wheelbarrow, look them dead in the eye, and say: 

so much depends

upon

. . . . you know the rest, and I'm not a plagiarist.

here we go again

my lack of self control is still in full effect, it would seem. 

the internet is not my friend.

good night.