and as it came down near, so did a weary tear:
I thought it was a bird but it was just a paper bag

2005-06-06 - 1:56 a.m.

I bought "When the pawn..." five years ago, and usually I tire of albums, but this one every year there is reason to play.

So tonight sees me lying here, singing fiona apple songs in that deep sexy moany way that fiona does, at my ceiling.

My ceiling does not seem to appreciate my efforts. But I sing for myself.

It's 2am on a monday morning and I want to call someone. But I don't feel it's worth interrupting anyone's sleep.

Loneliness is like chocolate. If you manage to abstain from it for awhile, it's empowering - you soar, but- when you return to it, you drown in it. You never die, or at least I don't; I just drown and drown and drown.

I haven't done my essay yet.

Some things just don't change.

Sometimes I come off like such a farce.
Sometimes I come off like such a wreck.

I turn my nose up at both.

The latter particularly; I think because being just a little bit not okay seems like such a stain, so much so that being a little bit not okay seems unallowable which transforms it into being a lot not okay.

And it's crazy because I'm okay.

I don't want to die.
I don't want to starve myself.
I don't want to cut myself.
I don't want to hurt myself, or anyone.
There is no great pain that needs such numbing.
And if I cry, I never, ever struggle for breath like I used to, because I can always breathe.

The majority of my life screeches at me in wrongness...


I'm happy

because, I have clean laundry.

I just wish I could wash everything else.

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