backyard crowing
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bits of paper
these entries are undated bits of paper I've collected and not thrown away, just so I could share them here...
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I guess if your parents don't push you hard to do well, who will?
I'm starting to think that people fear me based on my facial expression. My gosh, my academic advisor thinks I smoke pot. My eyes are tired, not drug-ridden.
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I feel like dying for saying I feel like dying.
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Einstein's Bagelry is a surprisingly apt place to think about one's place in the world. The big windows let you see everything:
-the pedestrians
-the beggars/travellers
-vehicles
-children playing at the church playground
And the music is amazing. I just heard "Big Hard Sun" by Eddie Vedder and was reminded of Into the Wild, its similarities to Grizzly Man, and how Timothy Treadwell changed my life.
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I would write a list of things I simply must do by tommorow, by the next day, and the next. But that would only overwhelm me.
I miss writing for myself.
On top of that, my grades on my news quizzes are downright awful, and I'm starting to feel like a fraud--only I don't get depressed, because there's simply too much to do. I got three hours of sleep last night, so surely part of this negativity is due to that. My meeting with Patch today probably didn't help, either.
It feels strange to drink grapefruit juice at a bar, but I'm here, nevertheless, at one of the best cafes of all time.
Kerbey Lane, I salute you!
And your little dog, too!
Aie.
It's October.
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"I am barely breathing, and I can't find the air. Don't know who I'm kidding, imagining your care."
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some postsecrets I was going to send in:
Goodbye, money.
Goodbye, college degree.
Goodbye, mom.
Goodbye, life.
I broke into another crying fit last night...
at a party, suddenly,
and with a guy.
It wasn't him.
I'm failing out of college.
I WISH I
were different,
too.
To my best friend:
I am tired.
Of talking about men.
I'm through with them.
Bye bye,
men of the world.
I deserve better.
See? That's me. HAPPY. SINGLE.
My JOURNAL
is what keeps me going sometimes.
It's a rock,
always there.
I LOVE YOU,
FRANK.
MANY
THANKS.
(Picture of my parents.)
I failed them.
But I guess they failed me, too.
I'm still sorry.
(Another picture of my parents.)
My grandma sends pictures
like this of my
parents to me. Mom
wishes she didn't.
I like them.
They make me cry,
they look so happy.
But these weren't
"simpler times."
- friday, july 04, 2008
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