Saturday, March 13, 2004
faceless paper
well. this has been one shitty day, to be perfectly honest.
i gave an oral presentation in british lit which was a seriously stressful event for me, and it shouldn't have been because i'm supposed to be well-groomed in this area. i pulled it off well, but with little satisfaction. i feel sick with the pressure of my future that isnt nearly at arms length but feels shoved down my throat. i then went to the dining hall to get sustenance and there was nothing i could eat on my trendy lowcarb diet so i ended up in my room alone eating really gross tuna for lunch and spilling an entire salad over the tv. i don't know how this happened. after that i had to pack to come back here after break. i hate packing. in doing so i lost my cell phone and spent a half hour tearing the room apart looking for it and listening for its vibrations and calling myself before i found the fucking thing. it was in the drawer under my bed. came home, went to eat n' park with my mother, had a really gross omelet, ate half of it. came home again, watched bad tv. masturbated and could not orgasm because i'm overly analytical and i'm at the end of something or somehow or nothing or here. whatever.
also, you IMed me last night and it's okay i think. but awful all the same. i remembered why i don't call you anymore within the first 5 minutes of our conversation. your words and people of reference are daunting and i'm sort of or terribly exhausted of all of this which is really a problem because i worry about you and i'm glad i know where you moved now and i'd very much like to offer these kind condolences but i can't because that means you'll step on me and i'll be this pathetic holden caulfield-esque character with less cynicism and more alcohol. and i know you wouldn't understand that if you read it... because you never read shitty trite books like that and you would never make reference to them. when you patronize me, i want to hate you and fuck you against the wall. i promise that i'll call soon or at least soon in my time frame which i'm still unfamiliar with. you don't read this so you won't know. but let me tell you, apple of my fucking eye, that it is not a matter of me feeling like contacting you as you have presumed, but a matter of me not being obliterated by you and your harsh harsh words and wears and stares in the process. tulips need water, and girls need time like grieving things, and matters. but really, i promise i'll call. it's better late than never.
---48 hours and i'll multiply the zip codes and paved roads. i'll count the peach trees in georgia. i won't anaylze a smile or the hair that slips past your face or the things that i say. not a goddamn thing.
i gave an oral presentation in british lit which was a seriously stressful event for me, and it shouldn't have been because i'm supposed to be well-groomed in this area. i pulled it off well, but with little satisfaction. i feel sick with the pressure of my future that isnt nearly at arms length but feels shoved down my throat. i then went to the dining hall to get sustenance and there was nothing i could eat on my trendy lowcarb diet so i ended up in my room alone eating really gross tuna for lunch and spilling an entire salad over the tv. i don't know how this happened. after that i had to pack to come back here after break. i hate packing. in doing so i lost my cell phone and spent a half hour tearing the room apart looking for it and listening for its vibrations and calling myself before i found the fucking thing. it was in the drawer under my bed. came home, went to eat n' park with my mother, had a really gross omelet, ate half of it. came home again, watched bad tv. masturbated and could not orgasm because i'm overly analytical and i'm at the end of something or somehow or nothing or here. whatever.
also, you IMed me last night and it's okay i think. but awful all the same. i remembered why i don't call you anymore within the first 5 minutes of our conversation. your words and people of reference are daunting and i'm sort of or terribly exhausted of all of this which is really a problem because i worry about you and i'm glad i know where you moved now and i'd very much like to offer these kind condolences but i can't because that means you'll step on me and i'll be this pathetic holden caulfield-esque character with less cynicism and more alcohol. and i know you wouldn't understand that if you read it... because you never read shitty trite books like that and you would never make reference to them. when you patronize me, i want to hate you and fuck you against the wall. i promise that i'll call soon or at least soon in my time frame which i'm still unfamiliar with. you don't read this so you won't know. but let me tell you, apple of my fucking eye, that it is not a matter of me feeling like contacting you as you have presumed, but a matter of me not being obliterated by you and your harsh harsh words and wears and stares in the process. tulips need water, and girls need time like grieving things, and matters. but really, i promise i'll call. it's better late than never.
---48 hours and i'll multiply the zip codes and paved roads. i'll count the peach trees in georgia. i won't anaylze a smile or the hair that slips past your face or the things that i say. not a goddamn thing.
