so I'm thinking

I should probably go back to seeing somebody. Like a doctor somebody.



like a psychiatrist.

lol





this coming from the girl who would adamently refuse her mother's suggestion to see somebody (I just needed her to know that it had to be on my terms) Medication is something that frightens me (which is not to say it's bad, it's just not something I want to do) and her persistance in shoving it down my throat makes me sad and slightly angered.



but I've been on it for years.



thanks mom.





maybe seeing someone would help me get a handle on my overwhelming desire to flee EVERYTHING.



e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g.



It was the last one that pointed out, to my chagrin, that I have a fear of commitment.

It was the most odd moment when I realized she was right, despite trying to get closer to people my whole life I was afraid of commitment in certain aspects of my life.



For instance: I will never have a career.



I think my professor said once that the career is the enemy of life.

I liked that. Even thought he's sort of the department eccentric (which he wears proudly) I dig his zest. he's just this insane cat that spouts the most amazing one liners.



why can't I indulge the multiplicity that I am?

how is that not fucking beautiful? But I find his enthusiasm and his unabashed linking of rhetorical studies to life to be something I've always been looking for in academia. I need the life I live and the things I study to be connected.



This is why I think I should have gone to a technical school.





But anyways, he told us to never have a career, and I think this is something I've felt and believed in for a long time, but was never brave enough to embrace.



I'll make money somehow. Teaching, designing, I'll work my hands to the bone if I have to, serving dishes, cooking, cutting flowers, pulling espresso, smiling my customer loving smile (because, you know, if you do it right, customer service is amazing. I've made many friends working as a barista. *it only works if they acknowledge that you are just as human as they are*)



but I'll do whatever the fuck it takes to make enough to live.

so I can live

with much free time, so I can do what I love

and not feel trapped

reading and playing and creating and trying to make my little patch of the earth a better place.





I'm thinking that after I've graduated, I'll study graphic design. Maybe apply for grad school in education. Maybe just move to new york and be a waitress.

I see myself moving to new york. Or maybe I'll move into San Francisco.

work for some coffee shop in North Beach and pick up my tourist tips.

all this talk has me optimistic... for about 5 seconds.



you see what I mean?



maybe I'll stop constantly fantasizing about being somewhere else.



I've been playing my guitar a lot lately. I learned some new songs this week.

I should be happy, right?







right?

houses move (and houses speak)

I think I'm in love with the word escape and every concept that dangles from it's multiplicity of curves and unabashed lines, and this is the point when I realized that this morning. sitting on this bed,
the summer air that speaks of winter weather,

I've been escaping my whole life.




I'm experiencing this sensation that I experienced my first semester in berkeley where I'd start writing out a cohesive thought and then I'd just start writing the word nothing for every noun.


ways to defeat.


why am I so out of control?

Isimultaneously can't be alone for more than 24 hours without trying to climb up the walls and etching patterns on them as I ascend...
but I crave alone.

Fuck, let me talk about something more concrete.

Summer school is killing me. I think my professor is determined to make half the class fail. I was looking at the syllabus for the same class in the fall, and there is less work for the semester long class than there is for the summer class.

Where does this make work?
Why would you just assign a 10 page paper to your 6 week class and not your 3 month class.

fuck you prof.

(and as I write this, my brain, in it's true time sensative explosive manner, throws out "you've never actually listened to music. You're fake"
thanks brain)

but yeah, so I have a meeting for my group project in several hours, and I'm so done with the class that the only thing that's really encouraging me to go is the fact that 12 people's grade depends on this.

***
The weather today makes me miss the winter when everything was wonder and flurry and I was too caught up to stop writing


but it's summer now, despite the weather, and I've learned to shut my mouth again.
It's a pretty easy skill.

I'm really great with general. I hate specific.
specific means shit gets taking care of
and addressed
and brought to surface.
and lord knows that that is something I've never done.








so maybe I'm the one who's not worth it.

it's summer and the wind is speaking

today was so much in my brain.

today, there was a high school moment of stress reduction.

I never write anymore. I do play music though. Sometimes.
I'm writing a song.

so I think I am fucked.
(because I fucking ♥ angst)
way to go html skillz


but I'm stuck.
I don't listen to music anymore.
I don't make art anymore.


I honestly think I've gotten so used to feeling a certain kind of sadness in the form of anxiety/nostalgia/angst** that I don't feel normal if I'm not sad. I would say the feeling is like constantly being on the verge of catharsis...
it's like the plateau stage of emotional orgasm.

**which right now is being embodied by this song



I miss a lot of things. I miss missing.
I feel like I'm losing control.
i feel i feel i feel (which is something that I could never scorn)


understand/holdmyhand

and I'm off to bed.

I love writing this nonsense

don't take me for a cracked window pane

(some sad song)

in the church

one day you'll get hurt

in the school

teacher's such a fool

and if they would ever come

around here

they would ever come

blame it on my style

take a pill

don't tell me how to feel

bad news

and tunes

sing it from the high

singing some sad song

Uncle Sam

playing in the sand

understand

hold my hand

time is never going to stop

running

never going to stop

take me to the top

of the trees

don't take me for a cracked

window pane

bad news

and tunes

are shining from the high

singing some sad song

don't rehearse

this is the last verse

in the hearse

going through your purse

and if they would ever laugh

not here

they would ever laugh

blame it on my style

once again

don't take me for a ride

in the rain

bad news

and tunes

shining from the high

singing some sad song

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

three weeks ago in the car, (solana avenue midnight wanderlust, trying not to collapse) I heard this song for the first time in over two years.

I started sobbing.

I feel different and I don't like it.

I'm more irratated than anxious.

I'm worried and worried that there is more sobbing in my future.

(I just need to figure out if I can love you and love myself at the same time)

all I can promise is to try

and I'll try

and I'll fight

oh ambiguous angst blog..