|wMar 2, 2007|
Things that were warmed just a while ago have grown cold
Some days, it feels like I don't know what to write in here. Most days, especially during the week, I feel as though I'm too exhausted to be properly coherent through the written word.
Also, and maybe even more importantly, each day seems to carry with it so much good and so much bad that I'm never sure how to feel about it, or how to put my feelings into words. Today was one of the days that contained much-more-bad-than-good. I feel a little sick to my stomach and most of me feels like lying down and not getting up again for a very long time.
Coming home for the weekend always feels so strange. Like I am in a ghost town in which many people are missing but should be here (my friends), and that I myself am a phantom visiting a place to which I no longer belong. Whenever I return home, I always find a collection of things on my bed from my mom that accumulates while I'm gone. Bank statements, random mail, money from the used clothing store (given when items of mine are sold), clippings from the newspaper she thinks I might find interesting. And I wonder, "How can it be that this is all I missed?" My bookshelves here are full of books that I either 1) haven't read yet but am eager to do so, or 2) love and have read many times. When I get my own apartment, I will either need many bookshelves or many boards and cinder blocks.
It's nights and moods like these in which I most long to be held, I think. I felt almost-cry-y a lot this week, and more-attention-seeking-than-usual toward Antoine.
I think that I could get through life a lot more easily if I could take week-long breaks at my own discretion to recover from all of the slings and arrows.
Current Music: Split - Suneohairscribbled mystickeeper at 11:08 PM
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