Thursday, February 17, 2011


Out of 200.

And it hasn’t sunk in yet. Maybe it never will. How can it? I avoid everything that I don’t want to feel until I can’t avoid it anymore and it all avalanches on top of me and I can’t think and I act on impulse and look where that usually gets me.

I don’t know what I feel. I want to feel something but I don’t know how.

I was so lucky. I am so lucky. Everything happens for a reason.

I don’t think I should go on the Mystery Tour – I have too much to do. It would be nice to get some of that ‘to do’ stuff done.


Sorrow drips into your heart through a pinhole,
Just like a faucet that leaks and there is comfort in the sound.
But while you debate half empty or half full,
It slowly rises: your love is going to drown.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

i don’t know.

I don’t really think much about my personality. I think about my thoughts. And they’re completely different. I think that if you didn’t know me, this blog would make me seem as though I’m introverted and insightful. I’m really not: I’m a freak. I freak people out. It’s really little wonder that I don’t have a boyfriend, the things I talk about. I tried to ‘flirt’ with a boy in one of my tutorials the other day. We, or rather, I, talked about:

  • Wearing a turban and singing Candy Shop by 50 Cent.
  • Filling GAA socks with coins and hitting people with them.
  • Vikings.
  • Hurlies.
  • Asians.

And pretty much just general nonsense.

I’m a freak. And not even nearly attractive. Or interesting. Or tolerable. I’m good for light entertainment, maybe friendship, but that’s it. That’s all. And I’m feeling a bit sorry for myself right now. And I want to go to sleep and not go to college tomorrow but I know I’ll feel ten times worse if I don’t go. So I’ll go to sleep, I’ll wake up, I’ll have a shower and I’ll go to college. And maybe I’ll feel better just ‘cause I’ve done those things. And maybe I’ll drink tea and talk about my feelings. Though I doubt it. Not the ‘talking about my feelings’ bit anyway.

Things don’t make sense right now. It’s the cider and it’s my lack of social skills. I wish I was back in that safe situation where I could judge you for not having social skills, without ever really having to demonstrate my own. Mine always seemed greater than yours anyway, purely because I was able to talk to strangers. But that doesn’t make me a socialite, that just means that I have no shame. I can talk, but I’m really not saying much. I’m making people laugh, but maybe they’re just laughing at me. And I miss you.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what would help. Would crying help? I don’t think it would. But neither does avoiding my brain, avoiding my thoughts and avoiding missing you. So I don’t know. I want someone here. No one in particular, just someone.

Friday, February 04, 2011


Life is very, very good right now. Exhausting, full of people, friendly people. Full of laughing and junk food and college. I am tired now, but happy. Really happy. There are projects and books and there is pink hair. Everything has fallen into place. And everything happens for a reason.

I’ve learned this past month. I’ve grown up. I haven’t regressed like you thought I would (and like I feared I would). I feel so alive now, I could cry. But it’s not sad crying, it’s growing up crying. It’s happy. It’s raw emotion.

Lately, I feel like feelings are gay. I feel like a sap when I talk about feelings. And Public Displays of Affection are disgusting. (Unless you’re in Trooms and you’re off your face on cider, in which case, that’s fine.) I used to talk about my feelings a lot more, but I’ve learned that it’s a boring subject. It’s repetitive. And in many ways, it’s better to play your cards close to your chest.

If I need to say something though, to get it out of my head, I write. That’s what this is. There are too many thoughts in my head after two weeks of chaos and this is cathartic.

“If you do not breathe through writing, if you do not cry out in writing, or sing in writing, then don't write, because our culture has no use for it.”

This is me breathing. And it feels nice and strange.

I wonder if you ever think about me. I think about you. Not every day, but sometimes. I think of your face and how much I loved it. It was such a waste of love. But I learned. Do you think about me? I doubt it. I doubt you’re capable. Do you not have memories though? Mine are getting blurry, I’ll admit, but I need them to: I need you out of my head. You were so destructive. You could have ruined everything, but you didn’t. I feel lucky but I know it’s my own doing; I kept me alive and sane and happy.

“Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.”

The above is everything I wanted a month ago. And I achieved it.

It is late and I will be exhausted in the morning but life is all kinds of wonderful right now. x