Sunday, October 23, 2011

sexy, inexplicable melancholy.

I used to enjoy long bus journeys. Long car journeys. Long train/ plane/ automobile journeys. I liked having time to think. To listen to music and be on my own in my head. For my thoughts to settle. You know the way some people do all their thinking in the shower? I don’t. I think on buses. I think on the way to and from Limerick every week. I think about what I have to do, what I have done, things in general. Ideas formulate and I plan. Or I used to. Now I just remember every bad thing that’s ever happened to me. Things I thought I had forgotten. You saying that you never loved me. Things like that. I don’t like bus journeys anymore.

I am in the passionate throes of another bout of low self-esteem, and every day events just add fuel to the fire that is my mental self-flagellation. Maybe that’s a bit extreme. Maybe that’s too many metaphors. But I’ve always been melodramatic. And idiotic.

Maybe I need some retail therapy. Or maybe I need a boyfriend.

this sucks

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