Saturday, June 30, 2012
I'm an Owl. Hear me Hoot.
You know, I really need to knock my sleeping schedule into whack. Just kidding. I have all summer for that. Why wake up before noon? What greatness goes on before then? I can eat breakfast whenever the hell I want. I can brush my teeth and shower whenever the hell I wake up. Who gives a hoot?
Seriously though, it's the beginning of summer and I'm already nocturnal. I fall asleep at 5 in the morning, and wake up at three P.M. Imagine me a month from now. I'll be sleeping at 11 and waking up at 8 P.M. I actually like sleeping at 5 in the morning. The sounds of birds waking up outside my window has become a lullaby. The sun slipping through the trees outside and into my room is a lot more comforting than pitch black. Anywhere else, that soft green wouldn't make sense. What.
You know, I feel like I should make this blogging a daily habit. It's weird how I go all day with these emotions and opinions bottled up in my head, but the second I have a chance to set them free I can't think of anything. I suppose I'm too afraid of them. Because if I say things, that makes them harder to avoid. I could think about missing someone all day and be fine, but the second that thought is released, it becomes painful.
It's June 30th, and my bedroom is an icebox.
Seriously though, it's the beginning of summer and I'm already nocturnal. I fall asleep at 5 in the morning, and wake up at three P.M. Imagine me a month from now. I'll be sleeping at 11 and waking up at 8 P.M. I actually like sleeping at 5 in the morning. The sounds of birds waking up outside my window has become a lullaby. The sun slipping through the trees outside and into my room is a lot more comforting than pitch black. Anywhere else, that soft green wouldn't make sense. What.
You know, I feel like I should make this blogging a daily habit. It's weird how I go all day with these emotions and opinions bottled up in my head, but the second I have a chance to set them free I can't think of anything. I suppose I'm too afraid of them. Because if I say things, that makes them harder to avoid. I could think about missing someone all day and be fine, but the second that thought is released, it becomes painful.
It's June 30th, and my bedroom is an icebox.
But you didn't have to cut me off. Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing. . .
If you could just never speak to me again, that'd be great.
And while you're at it, don't fucking look at me.
Or be in the same room as me.
Or smile at me.
Or talk about me.
Don't even think about me.
Because, you know what?
It really hurts.
And while you're at it, don't fucking look at me.
Or be in the same room as me.
Or smile at me.
Or talk about me.
Don't even think about me.
Because, you know what?
It really hurts.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
This world keeps testin' me.
I have plans tomorrow which means I probably should have gone to bed two hours ago. Fancy fancy font. Alliteration, how brilliant on my part. I have crazy dreams. When I say this to people, they think they can relate to me. Maybe they can't, but I don't think they have dreams THIS fucking weird. I'd keep a dream journal, but that's for people who's dreams actually mean something. Mine are about eyelashes and toilets. Things normal people don't even think about, let alone DREAM about. Most of the time, though, I don't remember the dream. I know I have weird dreams because my first thought upon waking up is "What the FUCK was that?" Then I go back to sleep.
I have the worst headache. I think it's caused by this pimple I have on my temple, but I don't think that's actually possible. Probably a lack of sleep headache.
This world keeps TESTIN' ME TESTIN' MEEEEEEE.
I think that's how the song goes. I haven't heard it enough times, nor do I love it enough to know the lyrics. But it's stuck in my head. Vultures - John Mayer. A good song. A genuinely good song.
Why does my head hurt so fucking bad. Good god. As my pain increases, so does my usage of the word fuck.
I feel bad for whoever reads this far. Hopefully no one reads this. I like the thought of putting words out there in the open, knowing ANYONE could read it. I like knowing anyone could read it, but no one really will. No one but me, that is. I just spent some time reading old posts on here. I wrote a lot of poems. I write terrible poems now... I can't remember the last poem I wrote.
WAIT. I take that back. I do remember the last poem I wrote. I wrote it in the margins of my Border Studies notebook. Something about seeing eye to eye and finding we're all blind. And then grass being greener on the other side..? No, that's not it.
I'm glad we didn't turn our notebooks in at the end of the year. Mr. Williams would have been grading a lot more than just Border Studies. Since he hardly ever required notebook work, my notebook for his class doubled as one for just about every other class. Math notes, science notes, plans for Drama next year... pretty much everything. Except for health. I never gave a single fuck about health class
I always (well, almost always) drink a glass of water before I go to bed. Tonight, I was in the kitchen and decided lemon water sounded far more tasty than regular water. Long story short, my pants and my bed are lemon watery. Guess I'm sleeping pretty much almost halfway naked tonight. Oooh, so rebellious.
I think my head is going to fall off. :(
I should take some medicine.
I watched bridezilla today. How does one's life get so low?
I have the worst headache. I think it's caused by this pimple I have on my temple, but I don't think that's actually possible. Probably a lack of sleep headache.
This world keeps TESTIN' ME TESTIN' MEEEEEEE.
I think that's how the song goes. I haven't heard it enough times, nor do I love it enough to know the lyrics. But it's stuck in my head. Vultures - John Mayer. A good song. A genuinely good song.
Why does my head hurt so fucking bad. Good god. As my pain increases, so does my usage of the word fuck.
I feel bad for whoever reads this far. Hopefully no one reads this. I like the thought of putting words out there in the open, knowing ANYONE could read it. I like knowing anyone could read it, but no one really will. No one but me, that is. I just spent some time reading old posts on here. I wrote a lot of poems. I write terrible poems now... I can't remember the last poem I wrote.
WAIT. I take that back. I do remember the last poem I wrote. I wrote it in the margins of my Border Studies notebook. Something about seeing eye to eye and finding we're all blind. And then grass being greener on the other side..? No, that's not it.
I'm glad we didn't turn our notebooks in at the end of the year. Mr. Williams would have been grading a lot more than just Border Studies. Since he hardly ever required notebook work, my notebook for his class doubled as one for just about every other class. Math notes, science notes, plans for Drama next year... pretty much everything. Except for health. I never gave a single fuck about health class
I always (well, almost always) drink a glass of water before I go to bed. Tonight, I was in the kitchen and decided lemon water sounded far more tasty than regular water. Long story short, my pants and my bed are lemon watery. Guess I'm sleeping pretty much almost halfway naked tonight. Oooh, so rebellious.
I think my head is going to fall off. :(
I should take some medicine.
I watched bridezilla today. How does one's life get so low?
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