Friday, February 4, 2011

A house is not a home, I hate that song..

I'm FUCKING antsy all the time.

I'm uncomfortable, I can't get my shit straightened out, I am tired of being homeless and couch surfing and living on other people's fragile whims. Tip-toeing around roomates and kids and dishes and music and internet and exes and classmates' sensibilities and money and the value of my body. If I'm going to go sell my pretty ass I don't to feel guilty about it.

I'm crawling crawling CRAWLING out of my skin, I don't want to live my life on one side of an ampersand, I don't want to be a victim of my own laziness and indecision. How many broken bits and pieces do I have to leave scattered behind me until I figure out how to fix this mess of a girl this mess of a life, I shouldn't damn well drag someone else into it again. How many mistakes will I make again and again and again.

Just buckle down, make your little tiny life work where you are, miss your friends, miss your life, is a half a dream half away a waste of energy? Is it better to focus all of my energy on surviving my little pocket of misery until I can build a proper life here? Can I ever rise above the guilt and dagger eyes from her? It hurts hurts hurts I feel it all from her and I still almost want to take myself out of the picture.

I miss the girls too, the girls with the other boys, both across the water. I want something impossible there.

Focusing too much on too many things. Chop chop. sacrifice. it's all too much. I am scared, I am running, but there's a realist in there too. maybe I'm just crazy. still. always. maybe it will all be better tomorrow.

or maybe i'll get hit by a bus.

1 comment:

  1. Couch-surfing does something to you, breaks away pieces, as you're having to put so much of your life and yourself away for the ones you stay with.

    Hope it gets better, or that the theoretical bus that hits you is a snazzy double-decker one. Makes the story more interesting, right?