I keep on fucking things up.
I want to go outside.
...No, I want to sleep.
Fuck, no, outside. A walk. A long walk, where I can think, and my thoughts won't be reverberated back to me, bouncing off of my loud colored, memory-splattered walls. A walk in the opening, where it's not chilly, and I can look up and
seefeelenjoy the sun and the rays and the light and the clouds and the big, blue, open, impending, never-ending sky. I want to find something, something interesting, that will have others interested, that will keep my friends, and Chris and the friends I wish I had and the people I text and the people I love and the people I'm afraid to love and the everybody else that I don't mind much, interested and wanting to hear every sentence and breath and pause and thought-that-travels-down-to-the-mouth, so they can imagine they were there; next to me, with me, walkin' right along beside me, leaning on me while I secretly clutch to their hands for dear life, and we have a good time making inside jokes and jokes that aren't really funny and stories to tell forever and never because they will only annoy and cause jealousy for the people that weren't there. It would be fun and grand and horrible at the same time, because I would get my hopes up and I would think that '
everyday should be just like this' but that's not exactly how it works because everyday just has to be different because the flow we are all supposed to be following and not swimming against changes every second and we just.can't.stop.it, so the next day or later I will be disappointed that the walk is gone and so is the person and I am all alone again, and I can't just go back in time and start it all over again. Then, even later, this shitty-always-and-occasionally-nice climate I live in will find disaster in my hoping and seeingfeelingenjoying and will call in the fat, gray, thunderhead, it looks like rain clouds; the sun will be covered, the rays have to try harder to push and push and push through the ugly, drab coverage, and the entire time the Minnesota-esque climate will be giggling, snickering, and whispering negativites and you-can't-do-it-so-just-stop-trying, so they do stop after a while. And it gets cold. I can't go outside, because I do not like colds and jackets that make me look bulky and like a boy and I only have a boy's coat and I don't want people to think I'm weird anymore, so all the hopes for another day like that one day with that person and that walk and that hope just disappears. I turn to other things for comfort, and it probably becomes what the thousands and millions and exceedingly-large-number-of professionals would call emotional eating, even though I don't seefeelenjoyTHINK while I'm doing it. And then I hate it, and I hate myself, and I can't keep a conversation going, and I blame it on everybody else, because I can't put my own blame into words, and I turn to outlets that don't return the hope and love that I'm looking for, which is my own fault anyways because I'm not giving them the hope and love that they're looking for. Soon everything is a big cul-de-sac and I'm confused while I walk in it, not quite sure how I got there and just as unsure as how the Hell I'm supposed to get out, so I just guess and keep on truckin' and I don't think anything's wrong because nothing IS wrong but at the same time I know all these things but I can't say them ANYWHERE because I can't call attention to the fact that I want attention because that will only make me into one of the things that I complain about on a maybe-more-/-maybe-less-than daily basis.
And all I want is a walk with sunlight and rays and warmth and a place to get rid of all of these long sentences.
WORD VOMIT.
Laterz, loveliez.
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