Sgt. Baker is my name, Gonna teach you how to play the Game of Warfare!
Saint Louise Was Listening On
10:18 p.m. || 2004-02-12
Ah, now see, feeling moody and low again, and back to normal, whatever the fuck normal is supposed to be.
How about I just be vulgar and irritbale? This it seems would be an excellent choice on how to spend my evening. I think I want to hit the tub, maybe shave, maybe light some candles, and then turn on my fountain and lie still with my hands over my belly, and hope for a dream like I had last night... I don't care what anyone says anymore. I think I should live solely on how my hormones want me to live, it seems fucking fine for every other person out there. Maybe if I dictated a little more of my life on these grounds I wouldn't be so unhappy. Everyone else seems to be getting along fine. Maybe I have poor perception. Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe I think too much. Or not about the right things.
I've read Brian's most recent entries about a place of grey. I understand. There has to be a place I got to between the too high highs and the way too low lows that is perfectly grey, perfectly devoid of me feeling anything. There is a fine line between my dream and my situation, and perhaps it is better that there is a line there. I might not like what would happen if there wasn't... if you could see what is between all the lines you write, you wouldn't need to write at all. Everyone is free to make their own inferences here, about who I love, what I want, what I divine, what I move through from day to day. Some days I want a family, some days I want to take bets on who would find my body... Sometimes I think I would be foolish to think anything relevent with my irreverent attitude towards the sanctity of life. Searching for the internal grey then, to hope I make all the right decisions between today and tomorrow. All the moments I have that are almost perfect, ruined by the moments that follow. I refuse to turn the stereo down to be polite. No one has paid me a kindness like that yet.
Two days until Valentine's Day. Still waiting for my halo, still waiting to see if it's a night where I experience calm, or if it's just another night that I have moved through. What could possibly be the point? Might I get to the point where I don't feel anything anymore? And could I sacrafice the good I feel along with the wretchedness? If they were both to go forever, would I be able to survive on nothing? Am I surviving on nothing now? This is why I cut. Maybe that can help everyone. When you're bleeding all over your own hands it's kind of hard to not feel anything at all. Reminders of life are fleeting, but help to keep me here.
Listening to: The Police. "Roxanne" overandoverandoverandover. Savvy.