i wrote this

for my creative writing class, which happens to be the biggest joke of a class in, um, the world. so i don't try very hard. guess what it's about.


At Six They Bring Breakfast

The ceiling is a battleground of electric emotion:
Greedy, encroaching CAPITAL LETTERS invade the territories of timid, fragile pleas for help,
letting no inch over my cot be spared from their conflict of obscenities and misspellings.
A pencil stub, the complacent messenger, sits inquiringly at the head of my mattress
offering his service if I feel a need to likewise join the fray -
leave my never-ending graphite smear on the icy concrete of infinity.
But for this second I am ignoring them all
to continue my staring contest with the security camera above me.
I blink first, but we're both up for another round -
We lay exercising our right to remain silent under a deafening battle overhead.

i have a lot of stuff to think about

and i have been thinking about a lot of stuff but i never reach any conclusions. i always need more info, more time, more evidence, another reason. what is this about? where did this come from?

ignore the ambiguity - this is me thinking through keys.

guess who is in a bad mood.

but does it really matter? we're all so young but feel so old and none of us have learned anything. and maybe we never do. maybe life's lesson is to quit looking and shut up for once.

i do not deal well with not getting my way.

so this weekend

was amazing. the beauty of being together still outweights the pain of being apart.

plus there was this john mayer concert, free 15th row tickets, it's no big deal or anything.

when this job is over

i never want to see soybean meal ever, ever again.

actions speak louder than words but both have kept quiet lately.

i've never been good

at missing people. it's just not something i do that often and when it happens, it isn't for long. there are too many people in too many places for me to get nostalgic so i've gotten used to moving out and moving on. i mean, yes, i find myself wishing i could see someone or wanting to hang out with a certain person, but i rarely have a sense of longing to be in the presence of a specific human being.

which is why i've had so much trouble trying to deal with missing william.

my imagination

is disgustingly overactive. i create entire conflicts based on a single piece of punctuation or likewise minute detail. it is emotionally stressful because then i cannot remember if i'm mad about something that i actually have reason to be upset over or if it is because of an imaginary situation.

also i have been having bizarre yet realistic dreams lately and keep waking up angry, which then affects how i interact with the people i dreamt about. or dreamed about.

i guess what i'm trying to say is maybe these high school girls like you so much because you act like you're still their age.