Stands watching the rain
and pretends she understands
other than herself.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
crappiest day ever
welcome to the world's most depressing blog, sorry folks. had a shit day but i will write about the high points
well i was at a farmers market. i knew i didnt want to go but i gave in anyway and went. why? because i like colors, simply. and at farmers markets there are always lots of interesting and new colors.
so i walk up and i have to strategically avoid a few tables with old men at them who stare at me, not because i am drenched in my own sweat and wearing close to nothing, but because i carry my little black wristlet. i stop to smell a soap and then try to move on, but i've already made my mistake and the owners of the soaps rushes over and starts talking all over me about this soap and that i decide to be completely honest, half because i want to, half to put him off, about which soaps i think smell like shit, and half of them he has me smell do. like all the incense crappy ones. i hate that smell. that is why i almost didnt go to the farmers market to begin with. he shows me a few that i really do like, and when he tells me they're six bucks i'm thinking yeah okay, but the cherry blossom one was really, really nice.
then i go to a granola table because i see she is giving out samples. i wait and wait and finally she gives me a sample, and it tastes like a butter cookie, so delicious, and i let her give me the big schpiel and i act interested but really i just want to ask her the price, and it's seven bucks and i'm like hell no lady but i smile kindly and walk away.
then i go to buy some bread or first look at it. i have just ran five miles so bread is looking pretty tasty. this guy is tall and grayish with a bristly beard and grayish bristly eyes and i dont get a great look at him because he intimidates me from all over; i think he has his hands in his pockets, he is acting all casual but its the way those people look at you that you know they are trying to ensare you and it makes me feel uncomfortable. i pick up some bread and comment on how heavy it is and how good it looks, and i guess this is my mistake, nobody understands why you should not buy anything you see, of course i have the money to buy a measly loaf of bread for five bucks, it probably will be the best i've had in a while, so i find a really teeny loaf and say i'll take this one, and it's a buck, and he shows me another whole wheat with flax that's two bucks and i say give me that and he says oh with the other? and i say no just that one and he's all aggravated and i feel both smug and horrible for denying him that dollar.
then i buy some bibb lettuce which tastes actually a little too velvety for my tastes, and some of the best fucking tomatoes i've ever had, none of those seeds in the middle which are green and look like snot, it's all meat, they are bright red and delicious with some salt. and i almost buy some cheese but i don't. i just help myself to a few, four, samples and scamper away while the dude is distracted by another customer.
a half an hour decently well spent i'd say.
well i was at a farmers market. i knew i didnt want to go but i gave in anyway and went. why? because i like colors, simply. and at farmers markets there are always lots of interesting and new colors.
so i walk up and i have to strategically avoid a few tables with old men at them who stare at me, not because i am drenched in my own sweat and wearing close to nothing, but because i carry my little black wristlet. i stop to smell a soap and then try to move on, but i've already made my mistake and the owners of the soaps rushes over and starts talking all over me about this soap and that i decide to be completely honest, half because i want to, half to put him off, about which soaps i think smell like shit, and half of them he has me smell do. like all the incense crappy ones. i hate that smell. that is why i almost didnt go to the farmers market to begin with. he shows me a few that i really do like, and when he tells me they're six bucks i'm thinking yeah okay, but the cherry blossom one was really, really nice.
then i go to a granola table because i see she is giving out samples. i wait and wait and finally she gives me a sample, and it tastes like a butter cookie, so delicious, and i let her give me the big schpiel and i act interested but really i just want to ask her the price, and it's seven bucks and i'm like hell no lady but i smile kindly and walk away.
then i go to buy some bread or first look at it. i have just ran five miles so bread is looking pretty tasty. this guy is tall and grayish with a bristly beard and grayish bristly eyes and i dont get a great look at him because he intimidates me from all over; i think he has his hands in his pockets, he is acting all casual but its the way those people look at you that you know they are trying to ensare you and it makes me feel uncomfortable. i pick up some bread and comment on how heavy it is and how good it looks, and i guess this is my mistake, nobody understands why you should not buy anything you see, of course i have the money to buy a measly loaf of bread for five bucks, it probably will be the best i've had in a while, so i find a really teeny loaf and say i'll take this one, and it's a buck, and he shows me another whole wheat with flax that's two bucks and i say give me that and he says oh with the other? and i say no just that one and he's all aggravated and i feel both smug and horrible for denying him that dollar.
then i buy some bibb lettuce which tastes actually a little too velvety for my tastes, and some of the best fucking tomatoes i've ever had, none of those seeds in the middle which are green and look like snot, it's all meat, they are bright red and delicious with some salt. and i almost buy some cheese but i don't. i just help myself to a few, four, samples and scamper away while the dude is distracted by another customer.
a half an hour decently well spent i'd say.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
this is a bitch whine vent
nothing to do, so i'll keep posting.
writers and publishers are crap. i dont like being a writer. all you care about is that somebody gives a shit that you're writing and what you're writing but you'll never ever get this, most likely. i should be writing for myself like salinger did at the end of his life, but i can't now, bc i'm in stupid grad school and we're bred to think that the only judge our value for our words are if some lit mag says they are good. i dont know those people, i dont trust any of their aesthetics, i only trust my own, is why i'm a writer. i konw some of the shit i wrote already is the best i'll probably ever write and i shouldnt care that nobody cares but i do, becuase i'm a fucking writer. now if i were something else, i woudl not care. if i were not in grad school, i would probably care less. i would be out helping people rather than thinking my words alone are worth more than peoples lives. because that is essentially what we're saying; i could be out physically helping bodies instead i write happy little snappy or sad emotions and hope they make someone feel something. sure they are good for the "soul" people say. my students write about souls all the time and it is the most cliche bunch of bullshit. nobody knows what or if a soul exists. why dont you leave that up to god if there is one.
and yep still im going to write. if i dont i will feel myself dying inside. but is a selfish way to live and i dont like it. and i dont want to be a narcissistic asshole but i am one anyway, by virtue of the fact that i'm writing about myself, even if it's not about me, it always is.
counterargument: writers are unselfish collecters and passers on and interpreters of societies deepest symbols it needs for the soul to move on and grow and survive and understand itself...
exactly the thing we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel so much better than anyone else. what about the man who comes and unplugs the shit from my toilet? he makes sure i can go to the bathroom and it passes cleanly through the pipes. give me one good reason why what i do is better for humanity than this guy, and i dont think you can.
writers are full of shit and i am one. hmmm
writers and publishers are crap. i dont like being a writer. all you care about is that somebody gives a shit that you're writing and what you're writing but you'll never ever get this, most likely. i should be writing for myself like salinger did at the end of his life, but i can't now, bc i'm in stupid grad school and we're bred to think that the only judge our value for our words are if some lit mag says they are good. i dont know those people, i dont trust any of their aesthetics, i only trust my own, is why i'm a writer. i konw some of the shit i wrote already is the best i'll probably ever write and i shouldnt care that nobody cares but i do, becuase i'm a fucking writer. now if i were something else, i woudl not care. if i were not in grad school, i would probably care less. i would be out helping people rather than thinking my words alone are worth more than peoples lives. because that is essentially what we're saying; i could be out physically helping bodies instead i write happy little snappy or sad emotions and hope they make someone feel something. sure they are good for the "soul" people say. my students write about souls all the time and it is the most cliche bunch of bullshit. nobody knows what or if a soul exists. why dont you leave that up to god if there is one.
and yep still im going to write. if i dont i will feel myself dying inside. but is a selfish way to live and i dont like it. and i dont want to be a narcissistic asshole but i am one anyway, by virtue of the fact that i'm writing about myself, even if it's not about me, it always is.
counterargument: writers are unselfish collecters and passers on and interpreters of societies deepest symbols it needs for the soul to move on and grow and survive and understand itself...
exactly the thing we tell ourselves to make ourselves feel so much better than anyone else. what about the man who comes and unplugs the shit from my toilet? he makes sure i can go to the bathroom and it passes cleanly through the pipes. give me one good reason why what i do is better for humanity than this guy, and i dont think you can.
writers are full of shit and i am one. hmmm
bored
yes i'm posting again wow so many words out of me recently... i am just bored and just woke up and need a quick distraction and it's too early to take a shot of vodka. so instead i'm waiting for my clothes to dry so i can go to the gym. and after that i will grade papers. and after that.?? maybe go for a walk. the weather is lovely this time of year in tallahassee warm and crisp like a honey crisp apple. i love apples.
my room is an absolute shithole, yes, i step over some of my nicest dresses as I make my way to the bathroom, no i do not care, they are just clothes. i need new clothes but i dont really like clothes. they make me a greedier and vainer person so i don't like them. however it's fun to look at the colors and shapes and cuts and whatnot but in terms of what i can afford, it's none of the fun stuff. which reminds me i have to check out lauren conrad's line in khols. but even khols is expensive.
things are happening in my life right now, things are changing. it's quite scary and i'm sure at any moment this huge gaping black hole earthquake is going to open up beneath me and i will fall fall fall... hopefully that doesn't happen, but it's the fear. i always feel unsteady unstable and this is just me. i wonder if it will ever change.
but when i work out i feel powerful and in control and i love it. and i love to eat. and i love laughing and making jokes. i love people. i love the sky. there are lots of things i love, almost as much as things i fear.
i wonder if love and fear are connected. it seems fear and hate are and i think hate and love are sorta connected, maybe in the same way anxiety and depression are, the separate sides of the same coin or some bullshit like that. here is me just spouting off theories, it's not supposed to be correct, it's supposed to be fun, don't take it too seriously. it is hard to love something you are afraid of, that is all i can come up with for now.
it's sunday; someone made a really good joke about sundays always sucking because they are spent anticipating the whole goddamn week, and i think that's only partially true. ps i dug out an old cd that i love; it is full of get up kids and old jimmy eat world and lotsa other cool crap and i can't stop listening to it. i remember being in like eighth grade and loving that shit. and so because i listened to it i had the most wacked out dreams last night. so crazy and vivid and full of interlocking or just overlapping narratives. in one i was on a vacation with some people and we were listening to this guy talk to us about science... right down the sand was a bar where people were going at noon to get drunk for the rest of the day... i was more concerned with finding lunch... i ate two bowls of a really delish mac and cheese... then i went into my room and shoved some stuffed animals into a suitcase and called my mom crying bc i said i hated it there.. (reminds me a lot of now haha) and then after that we watched another video and a boy was like fondling my sides...?? waist area. this boy was a boy i dated when i was in fifth grade. very very strange.
the second part of the dream involved me being on a boat of something in a big room that was filling up with water... actually it started out as a classroom, first i was teaching and then i was the student.. but some big crisis happened and it turned into like a water world and then my roommate was there and i got some notice that said i was her only family and had to take care of her? and then we were on a train and she was very sad and I was trying to make her feel better bc she had no family.. and i swear it had this like war time feel to it very gray and depressing....
and then i was at this rally and i shook obamas hand. and my dad was there and he made some rude comment about why would i shake his hand only it wasn't that overt it was like something else, referring to his clothing? no clue. and then i woke up tired as fuck and made myself a bowl of cereal and went back to bed for a dreamless one hour sleep.
my room is an absolute shithole, yes, i step over some of my nicest dresses as I make my way to the bathroom, no i do not care, they are just clothes. i need new clothes but i dont really like clothes. they make me a greedier and vainer person so i don't like them. however it's fun to look at the colors and shapes and cuts and whatnot but in terms of what i can afford, it's none of the fun stuff. which reminds me i have to check out lauren conrad's line in khols. but even khols is expensive.
things are happening in my life right now, things are changing. it's quite scary and i'm sure at any moment this huge gaping black hole earthquake is going to open up beneath me and i will fall fall fall... hopefully that doesn't happen, but it's the fear. i always feel unsteady unstable and this is just me. i wonder if it will ever change.
but when i work out i feel powerful and in control and i love it. and i love to eat. and i love laughing and making jokes. i love people. i love the sky. there are lots of things i love, almost as much as things i fear.
i wonder if love and fear are connected. it seems fear and hate are and i think hate and love are sorta connected, maybe in the same way anxiety and depression are, the separate sides of the same coin or some bullshit like that. here is me just spouting off theories, it's not supposed to be correct, it's supposed to be fun, don't take it too seriously. it is hard to love something you are afraid of, that is all i can come up with for now.
it's sunday; someone made a really good joke about sundays always sucking because they are spent anticipating the whole goddamn week, and i think that's only partially true. ps i dug out an old cd that i love; it is full of get up kids and old jimmy eat world and lotsa other cool crap and i can't stop listening to it. i remember being in like eighth grade and loving that shit. and so because i listened to it i had the most wacked out dreams last night. so crazy and vivid and full of interlocking or just overlapping narratives. in one i was on a vacation with some people and we were listening to this guy talk to us about science... right down the sand was a bar where people were going at noon to get drunk for the rest of the day... i was more concerned with finding lunch... i ate two bowls of a really delish mac and cheese... then i went into my room and shoved some stuffed animals into a suitcase and called my mom crying bc i said i hated it there.. (reminds me a lot of now haha) and then after that we watched another video and a boy was like fondling my sides...?? waist area. this boy was a boy i dated when i was in fifth grade. very very strange.
the second part of the dream involved me being on a boat of something in a big room that was filling up with water... actually it started out as a classroom, first i was teaching and then i was the student.. but some big crisis happened and it turned into like a water world and then my roommate was there and i got some notice that said i was her only family and had to take care of her? and then we were on a train and she was very sad and I was trying to make her feel better bc she had no family.. and i swear it had this like war time feel to it very gray and depressing....
and then i was at this rally and i shook obamas hand. and my dad was there and he made some rude comment about why would i shake his hand only it wasn't that overt it was like something else, referring to his clothing? no clue. and then i woke up tired as fuck and made myself a bowl of cereal and went back to bed for a dreamless one hour sleep.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
GMORN
just woke up. it's not even super early but it feelz it. i am awake. awake awake.
had a party last night. twas chillin. we had cornhole. it is a dirty vulgar sexual game. involving bean bags.
and we had lotsa southern food. i stuffed my fat face. was quite pleasurable.
it is too early for real sentences. FUCK YOU PHONE ALARM SILENCE!!!
things i miss right now:
my old lifeguarding job. the smell of chlorine in the morning. little kiddies asking me to watch them swim the deep end test. god my hearts about to burst.
and... well i just had a memory that is about it.
things i don't miss: my current situation. bc it's crap to the nth power. oh well. gotta finish the damn degree.
wanna write wanna write wanna write wanna wanna wanna
i wish i knew more spanish. this is the beauty and ugliness of life: you get to know about all the lovely things you could do and then not do them. you know how capable you are and then you get to promptly put knowledge of that away and do something else. you know what you love and then you say see ya!
maybe this is depressing. i love florida for it's regionality. and not making sense. for it's rugged wholeness. for its. ... ability to cross section any mood i am having and make me feel like a little kid again. florida is this thing i can't reach out to and it makes me feel small small small. i guess when i leave florida i will miss it too.
had a party last night. twas chillin. we had cornhole. it is a dirty vulgar sexual game. involving bean bags.
and we had lotsa southern food. i stuffed my fat face. was quite pleasurable.
it is too early for real sentences. FUCK YOU PHONE ALARM SILENCE!!!
things i miss right now:
my old lifeguarding job. the smell of chlorine in the morning. little kiddies asking me to watch them swim the deep end test. god my hearts about to burst.
and... well i just had a memory that is about it.
things i don't miss: my current situation. bc it's crap to the nth power. oh well. gotta finish the damn degree.
wanna write wanna write wanna write wanna wanna wanna
i wish i knew more spanish. this is the beauty and ugliness of life: you get to know about all the lovely things you could do and then not do them. you know how capable you are and then you get to promptly put knowledge of that away and do something else. you know what you love and then you say see ya!
maybe this is depressing. i love florida for it's regionality. and not making sense. for it's rugged wholeness. for its. ... ability to cross section any mood i am having and make me feel like a little kid again. florida is this thing i can't reach out to and it makes me feel small small small. i guess when i leave florida i will miss it too.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
new post
new post:
i love the kathy griffin show. are blogs pointless?
yes they are pointless. are dogs pointless? are dates jobless? are skies truthful? what? you?
anyway... i want to be as unrandom as possible so i will list things:
sugary purple pink gum
and pink fingernails that are getting in my WAY
and a glass
and a salt shaker
this is a poem, btw
a five pound weight
or three
and some papers n shit
a pen and a knife
some old crappy carnations
my ass on a couch
stuff and like eyebrows
and this is folks what j's apt looks like on a thursday evening, not to quiet not too unpleasant. i am all alone but i am okay tonight. last night i was all alone and i felt like dying. tonight i feel... like hanging out. with all my objects. me and my objects and their colors and shapes and sizes. also i ate a really delicious cookie that probably has way too much to do with my mood.
was talking to my one roommate about how i dont want to be on this medicine bc it will make me fat and how shallow i feel bc of this and she said why does it have to be shallow? why shouldnt we care if we are fat? of course we should. americans make everything wrong. she didnt say that but i do. i love classifying in big ginormous groups. no but seriously--why should i feel guilty for not wanting to put on weight? am i that transcendental that i have to pretend that it is only all of our spirit souls flying around that concern me and not the material everyday, like how much of my ass i feel squishes out when i sit down? i say you are better off concerning yourself with the latter, not so much the former, which you dont have too much control over anyway.
i love the kathy griffin show. are blogs pointless?
yes they are pointless. are dogs pointless? are dates jobless? are skies truthful? what? you?
anyway... i want to be as unrandom as possible so i will list things:
sugary purple pink gum
and pink fingernails that are getting in my WAY
and a glass
and a salt shaker
this is a poem, btw
a five pound weight
or three
and some papers n shit
a pen and a knife
some old crappy carnations
my ass on a couch
stuff and like eyebrows
and this is folks what j's apt looks like on a thursday evening, not to quiet not too unpleasant. i am all alone but i am okay tonight. last night i was all alone and i felt like dying. tonight i feel... like hanging out. with all my objects. me and my objects and their colors and shapes and sizes. also i ate a really delicious cookie that probably has way too much to do with my mood.
was talking to my one roommate about how i dont want to be on this medicine bc it will make me fat and how shallow i feel bc of this and she said why does it have to be shallow? why shouldnt we care if we are fat? of course we should. americans make everything wrong. she didnt say that but i do. i love classifying in big ginormous groups. no but seriously--why should i feel guilty for not wanting to put on weight? am i that transcendental that i have to pretend that it is only all of our spirit souls flying around that concern me and not the material everyday, like how much of my ass i feel squishes out when i sit down? i say you are better off concerning yourself with the latter, not so much the former, which you dont have too much control over anyway.
it's been a while
wow two people read my blog! i am a huge success.
but now i dont know what to write.
perhaps it was better when i just wrote for me. yes, it was.
today i was driving and i was having conversations with myself. (partially aloud, mostly in head). and in my (jonathan just came out of the bathroom with his hair all slicked back and he said, "hey" and i said you look like you belong in the movie "american grafitti." remember that chick with the huge buck teeth? she was awesome). head i was saying how i dont like to be called a writer but just a person who writes. why do i have all these negative attachments with the word writer? but i do. i dont know.
but now i dont know what to write.
perhaps it was better when i just wrote for me. yes, it was.
today i was driving and i was having conversations with myself. (partially aloud, mostly in head). and in my (jonathan just came out of the bathroom with his hair all slicked back and he said, "hey" and i said you look like you belong in the movie "american grafitti." remember that chick with the huge buck teeth? she was awesome). head i was saying how i dont like to be called a writer but just a person who writes. why do i have all these negative attachments with the word writer? but i do. i dont know.
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