Thursday, January 27, 2011

drinking.

“Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”

Charles Bukowski

i feel like this.

sleep.

People say, ‘I’m going to sleep now,’ as if it were nothing. But it’s really a bizarre activity. ‘For the next several hours, while the sun is gone, I’m going to become unconscious, temporarily losing command over everything I know and understand. When the sun returns, I will resume my life.’

If you didn’t know what sleep was, and you had only seen it in a science fiction movie, you would think it was weird and tell all your friends about the movie you’d seen.

‘They had these people, you know? And they would walk around all day and be OK? And then, once a day, usually after dark, they would lie down on these special platforms and become unconscious. They would stop functioning almost completely, except deep in their minds they would have adventures and experiences that were completely impossible in real life. As they lay there, completely vulnerable to their enemies, their only movements were to occasionally shift from one position to another; or, if one of the ‘mind adventures’ got too real, they would sit up and scream and be glad they weren’t unconscious anymore. Then they would drink a lot of coffee.’

So, next time you see someone sleeping, make believe you’re in a science fiction movie. And whisper, ‘The creature is regenerating itself.’

George Carlin

Monday, January 24, 2011

arfdfgujkl.

The worst part of being hungover is not the tiredness, the headache, the upset stomach and the general ache of the entire body. The worst part is this. Feeling like this. Feeling so lonely. There are lovely people in this house. But my bed is only half full and I want to be hugged or held or something. Taken care of. Get in my bed, someone, and we’ll lie there in silence and it will be lovely.

I hate this feeling. I don’t know how to fix it, how to fix me. I have to wait it out. But it is so horrible and I feel so vulnerable.

On a much more mundane note, I need to buy a bin.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

fdfhjknkjl.

I’m trying to think of distractions. Things to take my mind off this horrible nothingness.

1. Paint my finger nails.
2. And toenails.
3. Walk.

I want to be back in Limerick. I want to be somewhere else.

dfcvhbj.

This isn’t happening. It isn’t supposed to be happening. A month ago, everything was perfect. I thought we’d last. I feel lonely. This ended too soon. I’d give my right arm to have you back in my life.

Friday, January 07, 2011

srdfghj.

And now I am sentimental and emotional and nostalgic and I want you here.

the beauty of love as it was made to be.

It Sucks

And that is the really tragic part. I have to start all over again. Things were awful, then they were okay, then good, then wonderful. And now this. And this is the worst. I keep thinking about it, keep going over it in my mind, trying to make sense of it. But I can’t. It’s like trying to get two and two to add up to three – frustrating and futile.

But I haven’t lost my faith in love and I don’t want meaningless kisses. I want something real and I am prepared to wait, albeit grudgingly. I wonder is it really possible to love someone and for them to love you in the exact same way, or at least the exact same quantity, not less or more? I don’t know which is worse, when someone loves you too much or not enough. Or not at all. Yes, that’s the worst one – when your heart is completely and inexorably wrapped around someone else’s and they’re oblivious or indifferent. That’s the very worst. That’s like a knife to the stomach. It’s throbbing and acidic and you can feel everything fading away and draining away. And what can you do? Nothing. It’s too late.

Depression is a funny thing. A queer thing. And maybe it should be a private thing. Because it’s not the most agreeable thing. And I would give anything to erase all the times depression reared its ugly head in the past four months. It’s not fair. It never crossed my mind that it would affect anyone else. Just me. And that’s the way it should be. But, sadly, it’s not. We are all only human.

I wonder will it matter to everyone else? I am so naive.

I want to kick myself for these last few months.

fwsctvfybgh.

I'm Sad and I Will Make You Sad

And sadly, that is my life.

yfbjgnmk.

An Exquisite Waste of Time 

Back in Your Head

Basically

Dear You

Every Atom of Me

Explanation

I Am Not

I Miss You, It's Undeniable

Tuesday, January 04, 2011

rsdhgj.

I am so much better than this. And I am strong. Stronger now because you think I can’t be. I am better than this, and I am better than you. Depression is an illness, not a choice. And I never left you in any doubt what my life was like.

Those were not your words. I just can’t believe that they were, that you were capable of throwing everything back in my face like that.

Monday, January 03, 2011

dsxyhgikjn.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

I have rainbow nails, cider, Black Books, and unwanted freedom.