Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Such an odd and numb feeling of melancholy. I'm not feeling hide-under-the-covers-in-the-dark-cry-all-day sad. I am feeling don't get out of bed, ignore all school related responsibility and watch Amelie sad. I don't know how to interpret this. I want to take it back. Half of me knows that this is the right thing and that this won't work out right now. The other half is remembering all the nice things and the plans that never happened and..ugh, the possessiveness is taking over. I don't know. Things are weird. I was in a peak a few weeks ago, but it seems I have descended onto the valley again.

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

You already know.

Well, hello stranger. I believe it's time again for me to confront my staleness. I am so unbelievably, undeniably BORED BORED BORED. With quite literally everything. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, October, December, what's the difference? I wish I could gain in backbone what I have in cowardice. Okay, maybe that's the wrong word. Maybe it's laziness. Or maybe it's extreme insecurity. I want to be the person that I am in my head, in the quiet of 3AM.

I wrote an enormously superficial list of clothing/makeup/etc. items that I felt I was missing in my life. I haven't done that in what seems like centuries. I know it's nonsense, but it made me feel good. I miss dressing up and bringing excitement into my life through a wardrobe. There was a point where I got so caught up in not wanting to be involved in the fashion industry that I forgot why I loved it, why it's the most perfect form of self-expression.

Next on the list of becoming. How do I go about inserting myself into the world of video games? I get so anxious and antsy watching and reading other people divulge their opinions, I just want to have my voice out there too. I guess step one would be to stop writing diary entries and start an actual blog. Side note, but just as important as everything else: Not having a journal in my house at the moment is driving me insane. I have a constant itch to put pen to paper. Gah. Somebody journal me, stat. What was my point? Oh, right. Stop being such an infant and put yourself out there. Alright.

I'm also ready to go to Japan. I have absolutely (ABSOLUTELY) no desire to pick up another boring and mindless part time job, but if it will fund the number one thing that I want to do..I guess it should be worth it. God, I'm so whiny.

Existential crisis, I will defeat thee!

Well. Adieu for now. Happy trails.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Spirit Stimulants

Or, things that allow me to forget I'm human.


Songs of this genre. (This is just what my Bardot Pandora was playing at the moment.)


Most Miyzaki. Specifically Kiki and Howl.


Any and all quotes from this book.

It's just the best feeling! And so hard to describe. A sweet melancholy. Only to be experienced while laying motionless, alone, in a room. (Reserved for the day after sadness)

I wish I felt like resizing that giant image.

Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Afterthought.

All I really really really really really really truly want to do is go to Japan.

There once was a boy from Nantucket.

In the last dwindling minutes of a party, some random fellow tried to strike up a conversation with me by asking what my biggest insecurities are. He kept insisting that it was the perfect time for me to divulge this information, because I would never see him again. In his mind, I guess, it made sense to share such a giant secret with someone I didn't know because it didn't matter what he thought, or if he judged me because..it wouldn't impact my life at all. The weird thing is, I find quite the opposite to be true. What's the point of letting out tiny, intimate details of my life to someone I will never have any sort of connection or friendship with? It just seems like a waste of time, and someone needs to teach that boy how to cut out the bullshit.

In other news, I've spent the last twenty or so hours over-analyzing the word wonderful.

Anyway. I've learned lately that it's very comforting to know that when thrown into a room full of people, there's always going to be at least one person you connect with. Imagine how many people there are on this planet that you would completely and comfortably get along with.

Aside from my teenage girl musings, I officially bought a ticket to Hawaii yesterday. I don't know how magical it's going to be, but I am very excited to escape to another world for a week.

Everyone else can do really impressive things, I wish I could find my niche already and be able to bring something to the table apart from admiration.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

Oh my Lord, I do not have time to play all the games on my plate. [+read the books, do the schoolwork, live the life. Fak.]

Monday, February 11, 2013

Dear diary.

I don't know if there's a more eloquent way to say it, so I feel like a blob. I don't even have much going on, but I feel like I just need to stop and go away. It's so lame to say that you want to go 'find yourself' but for the first moment in my life I think I actually understand what it feels like to need that. How much longer can I float around in limbo until I get sick of myself [note: already happened]. I hate that I exude this wishywashyness, and I want to be grounded in who I am. [I know, I know. It's really cheesy. But just, bear with me.] I need to interact with people who know who they are, and maybe then it'll rub off on me a little bit. Too many people I know are too content with just getting by, but I cannot do it. I cannot just float through school like a ghost, not getting any joy out of it, or continue to go to this meaningless job where I don't serve any purpose and people just constantly talk down to me. I want to make things for myself. But I don't know what or how or why and I just want to explode from all this stress. I feel so stressed out. All the time. In traffic. In my house. On the computer. Waiting for class to end. Procrastinating on essays.

Ugh, and I'm so irritated by how sappy and spineless this all is. Hemingway would be very disappointed in me. I mean. I'm also not a man so he wouldn't give a shit either way. Also he's dead literary figure, so that's also irrelevant. Blah.

What to do.