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| We're about to be left all alone in this dead town. | | |
| I'm a jailbird to your music,
A criminal in your prayer.
I watch you when you sleep
Even when you're not there. | | |
| It's strange to me to consider writing in this seriously again. Very few people do still read it, an even smaller amount actually posting on it, and I can probably safely say that the only ones who really might glance this over are people I haven't seen in years.
To those of you that are reading this, hey. Remember me? It's been awhile, hm? Three of you I know off hand; Justine, Tyler, Wesley. Only one of those three I've seen/spoken to since I graduated. Apologies about that, but Justine I know moved away and Wesley... well, honestly, Wesley, I don't really know what happened with us, we just never seemed to see each other anymore. Similar with Tyler, but we've hung out a few times since then... Briefly, but I'm glad to see he's happy with a really stunning girlfriend, if I might say so myself.
So, then, that leaves this. The real question is should I be honest here? To be truthful, back in the day... unless I was sprouting off random, supposedly vague lines of stream of conscious writing... That was rarely the case. I really wasn't that truthful. I was usually cheerful, yeah, gave some quick updates about my life to people I already saw every day anyway and that pretty much knew all the same stuff I did. But, really, no, I wasn't honest. I didn't ever really try to pinpoint my exact feelings, never really let all the stuff that was gathered in my head drip into the words here. This wasn't a diary for me, this was a part of high school. And, like many things about me in high school, it was very rare that it was always a 100% me.
But, now, that time's passed, right? You know I'm coming up on twenty here pretty soon. Sure, that may not sound to old to some people -- I'm dating a twenty-two year old, he thinks I'm silly when I call twenty "old" -- but, really... It is the end of my teenage years. Offically. I no longer get to carry the excuse of messing up because I'm a kid. I'm still in my inexperienced twenties, but, by definition, should be much more responsible. Less careless. So, yes... With all of that, maybe I have changed a lot. I certainly would like to think I'm more mature then I was four years back when I first started on Xanga, typing away all about my not-so-great day in a definitely not-so-great school. I'd like to think I've grown much more comfortable with myself, more confiedent... But, of course, I would be lying if I said I still don't have insecurities. I still don't have doubts.
Because I do.
But that doesn't mean I can't be honest.
Lots of things have changed for me. Lots. I'd also would be foolish to think that all of this won't change again. But, for now, I'm at a comfortable point in my life, still sort of half-balancing on this whole adulthood thing... But I think I've braced myself enough for the falls that eventually come to everyone. So maybe I'll start writing in this thing again. I never kept a real diary in high school... Never kept a real diary during any of my childhood... But I'd be glad to start, even if this is only in a semi-private area. No one really reads this anymore, anyhow. And, even if they do... I'm only being honest, right? | | |
| Compare, compare, compare. Compare to what?
Maybe I've forgotten after all of this time. There's always something better. | | |
| Sometimes, I just feel myself melting away. Into nothing, into everything... I dettach from my body, look down, and just listen. It's strange because, even if I wanted to, I could never sleep during these times. I just sit and relax and wait as life passes me by. Does that mean I'm wasting it? That I'm wasting time? This year is almost over. I feel like I've achieved nothing, have made nothing of anything. My mind is continuously submerged in this place somewhere between reality and dream and when I finally do surface enough to take things in, I smother it with things that make me lose all sensation. I'm not unhappy in my life, I'm just... at a perpetual stand still. Sometimes I feel like I've taken the longest nap... thirty some years buried beneath an old mansion contemplating my mistakes... and I awkae only to find everything has changed by me and everything but myself is still moving. I'm on pause here, in the same town, in the same places, watching my life deteriorate before me as my friends wittle away and the only thing I have to show for it is a few hours at the county college and repeative motions, early mornings driving by a lake bathed in sunlight. My eyes hurt, my body is tired and upset with me -- why haven't you gone yet, where is your life, what will you make of yourself, don't you want to taste freedom, where's your head, where's you mind, where's your thought, where are you going where are you going where are you going. And then I feel exhausted, waiting in the parking lot of a park somewhere off Matlock, counting the minutes before I go home and pass the usual charade, falling asleep under heavy blankets and waking up empty and hot and even more at loss for words. Imagination getting carried away with itself, falling under influences of things I never dreamed of giving up to before, and enjoying it, enjoying it. Sometimes I want everything to blur away like that, sometimes I don't want to take responsiblity, sometimes I'll admit that I'm useless and lazy and I'm not proud of it, but I won't stop. That's not me, that is me, this is me, this is who I am now. Running empty. Running out of inspiration.
Let me drown it out. I want to be just like everyone else my age, so what's so bad about this? Where are you going? Where are you going? Do you enjoy it? | | |
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