Woke up looking at my wardrobe. I must wake up looking at it everyday, because it's right there, but on this lucky morning I looked at it and tried to remember what the last thing I bought was. There are shirts eight years old hanging there. ick. *rolled over* It's occurred to me, again, that I have to keep changing or else I become bored to tears or restless. Today I wanted to throw away all my clothes, sell, burn, bury, give, everything else and flee to some unknown. I get so angry at myself. I've locked myself into debt, and accepting things I can't afford, I feel like I can't deny this any more, and why can't I "just be happy"? Permission slip, signed receipt. I have no control. I once was always reaching for something, now I want to give it all away. Am I going crazy? or am I crazy because of all these things. Distractions rule me, who the fuck thinks like this? I'm so in left field and please believe me, this is a recent development, but I had it coming.
fuck. You can't get blood from a turnip, fuck money, I can choose to be stressed and bound or I can imagine doing something about it. you can buy my eggs, they come in a little jar, next to the Beluga Caviar. No I haven't been myself lately, I'm not myself right now. Except for my skin, my skin moisturized trapping in the dust from today. Time for a shower.
Where's my robe.
This is just random shit, because I've been so strange for the last 8 months. You didn't sign up for occum's monthly news letter, it found you. I remember writing last year and discovering my words were even more powerful than the thoughts behind them. That's why I stopped writing like that, and I wish I hadn't. I haven't felt the endorphins run, writing was a buzz. Now I have to say a lot of shitty stuff before it comes back again. Gee that sounded something Tinkerbell would say.