fuck tha weatherman

There's a sea of time between now and anything I have to look forward to.

Life right now feels a lot emptier than it has in a while. I haven't had REAL EXCITING LAUGHTER-INDUCING FUN in what seems like years.
I know why her writing's not any good: she's never suffered. Not once. She hasn't lost best friends or struggled with her identity. She hasn't felt everything around her change and shift. She hasn't experienced anything meaningful.
I popped a pimple, and it shot onto the mirror.
I think I have things to say worth saying. I just can't find anyone who wants to hear.

Right now, I'm thinking about reading literature from a different country every two weeks.
SPAIN: Jose Saramago, Gabriel Garcia Marquez
RUSSIA: Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
FRANCE: Arthur Rimbaud
Fuck, they're all men, and I've dedicated myself to this woman-only life. But Jose Saramago is brilliant! Women's music is better than I imagined.

I feel like I have twenty things, maybe, but this is the wrong blog for writing about such trivial interpersonal problems. Everything feels fucking out of place, like it shifted one position over, but it's upside down in a way that I don't know how to put it back. And I can't be PMSing, which makes it worse. I don't know what to blame this fucking unhappiness on if it's not hormones. I feel like I'm trapping myself in isolation. In fact, I know I am, because all I want is some damned company.

I'm fucking lonely. I feel bored and restless and useless and used up and tired and lonely. I'm discontented and melancholy and all the things I shouldn't have to be, now that AP tests are over and all my stress should be gone.

Why can't I put myself in better relationships? As soon as one of them starts to work out, I fuck it up by trying to make them jealous, or ignoring them. I shouldn't have to fight against myself to be happy. ALL parts of my being should be going toward better relationships and less negativity. I keep feeling like I'm finally on track, I've finally realized what's been wrong all along. But I keep falling off and finding the way back to despair again. I'm so tired of this worn-out pattern of manipulation and jealousy. I'm so tired of making choices I know will piss me off. I'm so tired of being me, this unpleasable, unplacatable person who tricks herself into believing she doesn't have a choice.

50 Books Re-Attempted

1. What We Talk About When We Talk About Love by Raymond Carver

2. Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman
3. Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood
4. Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw
5. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
6. Please Don't Kill the Freshman by Zoe Trope
7. Girl Meets Boy by Ali Smith
8. No one belongs here more than you. Stories by Miranda July
9. Bitchfest: Ten Years of Cultural Criticism from the Pages of Bitch Magazine edited by Lisa Jervis and Andi Zeisler
10. Fiela's Child by Dalene Matthee
11. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Steven Chbosky
12. Sula by Toni Morrison
13. Oedipus Rex by Sophocles
14. Annie on My Mind by Nancy Garden
15. Medea by Euripides
16. Reasons to Live by Amy Hempel
17. Grendel by John Gardner
18. Hamlet by William Shakespeare
19. A Doll's House by Henrik Ibsen
20. Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett
21. The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel
22. White Teeth by Zadie Smith
23. Candide by Voltaire
24. The Chelsea Whistle by Michelle Tea

Writer's Block: Warning:

 Warning:

If you came with a warning label, what would it say?

 I AM NOT DEFINED, and I REFUSE TO TAKE RESPONSIBILITY FOR MY ACTIONS.

You're the human thing.

95% of my life has been torn from me.

I want to tell Hannah that letters are gifts- that I appreciate how much she writes to me when everyone else just says they're "too busy"- but I can't read her letter, because held up to the light through the envelope it looks short.
It looks like she's running out of things to say to me.
It looks like I'm running out of people to tell.
(Not about this thing.
Or that thing.
Just about my life.)
I would keep these parentheses open, but that nonsense is for e-mails and this is Livejournal!: Serious Business!
So, that harp player from Bryn Mawr seems like who I want to be- independent and strong. Not, some girl whose parents won't let her be near boiz (boiz because I mean "men", but men just sounds so officious.)
I'm so scared to visit! What if it's not right, when I've already made it everything I want in a college.
Now I'm tired. Now I want to go to bed.
P.S. I miss Family Unit, well more the kid they let me be.
I don't think I'll get that back. I don't think I'll ever be close to being their real true friend again.
I miss!
Fridays = longing.

All that's known is what's debatable

Our sins aren't as flavorful.

Keep them quiet, she said,
Keep them quiet.
Our sins aren't as flagrant,
Don't sing them out from your balcony.
Keep them quiet,
She said.
I didn't know the rule.
I didn't know some sins were more sinful.
Our sins aren't significant, she said,
Keep them quiet.

This love-left life

 

If you want to know who I am- look here.

If you want to see what I miss- look here.

If you want to know what she meant- look here.

If you want to see my all- look here.

If you want to know why I'm sad- look here.

If you want to see the girl I love more than I ever will again

Look.

There she is.

There she is, permanently afixed in my heart, captured in photograph.

And she is gone, miles away, at a distance I'll never diminish.

We walked together with wheelbarrows full of weeds.

My heart is sitting on the grass with her.

My heart is in all that we were, together.

My heart belongs to you.

With a heart full of wishes and despair,

-K.

Tears are not apologies.

 old dog
so prone
to sleeping
sprawling off
my bed
my feet
glance your
big dog
body and
you barely
seem to
register the
touch. old
dog you
once ran
gaily through
the playground
chasing sunshine
frightening children
you so
big energetic
alive. old
dog now
close to
dying far
from running
always sleeping
old dog
i remember
you and
celebrate.