7:42 pm - Saturday, Sept. 21, 2002
Song:
Reading The Bell Jar and I so want to be someone I'm not. Not faking, but not myself.
I'd choose New York over most anywhere.
I need to move, and walk and travel and go. I need connect various ideas with �and� as my mind zooms with a purpose past my still body.
I don�t adapt other�s personalities. I fear I will adapt their writing style, as my negativity keeps me from believing mine holds any purpose or power.
Very few moments I stop my maddening keyboard dance to feed a salt addiction with David�s sunflower seeds, or poke at the next buttons at top of my keyboard. No matter what song it is, I�ve grown wary of listening to it.
I�m basing my life online, placing it all out there. Using my precious computer for so many hours and taping away incessantly. The things I love the most are those I mistreat. Thought of this as I unstuck my wires and wiped two-month-old apple juice off the top and back of my computer case.
After three reminders in an hour by my mother, my room is no longer a jumbled pile of belongings and rotting dishes.
I hate to think I�m a slob, but I learn a few things when I actually absorb my surroundings and realize: my mother�s right. This room can be a scary place.
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