• GRAAARRG. That is all.
• I'm listening to Doug Stanhope: 12 - Tits & Buttfucking are Il

October 01, 2008

Don't Mind Me, I'm Just Lost

If I had a fucking dollar for every time someone looked at me over the past few days and asked what was wrong, I'd be able to buy my own small island off of the coast and declare it to be my own country.

I can't concentrate. Every new task is only going through the motions. Sleep is just waiting for the brain to pause. I keep getting the feeling that I'm going to throw up. I don't smile much. Not that I did in the first place, but I've got even less of a reason to do so now.

I'm stuck in my mind. It's what I wanted, it's what I needed, but it doesn't make it any less difficult. Things that I had tucked away for a rainy day come flooding back. Feelings crash into each other like kamikaze fighters, and the explosions are less than stellar.

I've been doing a lot of walking. It helps take my mind off of stuff, if only for a bit. I walk these streets and soak in everything. Everything soaks me in. It's this harrowing presence that has sort of a lean beauty. When you throw yourself out there, you have to deal with Everything. Everything has to deal with you.

I haven't been very social. People try to talk to me, and I just acknowledge them and crawl back inside myself. Part of me hates them. Part of me needs them. Part of me just wants to be left alone, and then part of me wants to scream everything out and break everything I can get my hands on. Divided into quarters that are completely at odds with each other, so it's all I can do to keep it in. Don't shatter the windows. Punch out walls. Bash everything into a small ashen brick and throw it right at their faces. Because that wouldn't be nice.

I stepped outside yesterday and breathed the scorching twilight air. The acrid stench of bum piss, car exhaust, and human confusion sucked me right back in again.

I walked.