wasted space

is what I am.


could you please make me into something worthwhile?
I'm sort of like clay. fashion me into whatever you think will work. I will gladly fit the mold. 

my feet are so black and blue

barenaked ladies, ben folds, cake, cloud cult, cute is what we aim for, dashboard confessional, dave matthews band, dishwalla, dispatch, the dresden dolls, the early november, everclear, flobots, fun., goo goo dolls, gorillaz, grateful dead, green day, guster, gwen stefani, gym class heroes, hootie and the blowfish, iron & wine, jack johnson, jack's mannequin, jimi hendrix, joshua radin, ke$ha, kelis, the kooks, lady gaga, lil wayne, lily allen, lykke li, manchester orchestra, matchbox twenty, matt & kim, mika, mumm-ra, n.e.r.d., no doubt, o.a.r., oasis, ol' dirty bastard, panic! at the disco, passion pit, peaches, phish, playradioplay!, radiohead, regina spektor, rob pattinson, say anything, the scene aesthetic, shawn mullins, shiny toy guns, shwayze, something corporate, the spill canvas, state radio, streetlight manifesto, sublime, sufjan stevens, suzanne vega, third eye blind, wheatus.

everything you could ever want to know about me is in that list. mostly that I have no fucking idea who/what/where/when I am, but, hey, I like good music. (or all music.) I would be surprised if someone couldn't find at least one artist they liked in that list. I currently only have 100 songs in my "veryvery favorites" playlist, and these are the artist that sing them. they describe me. they are me. 

I am so unfocused. 

it seems really silly and immature to say that my music "defines" me, but it really does, metaphorically at least. I have no direction. none at all. I am all over the place. my style, my personality, my tastes, my beliefs. it is kind of frustrating not to have a destination. 

which way is east? 

I am so redundant. 

trail mix

What makes me worthwhile? As of yet, nothing. I dwell on what I can do to make it happen, but so far I haven't followed through. Sure, I've read a few books, listened to a few songs, jotted down a few notes, but I didn't follow through. Follow through with what exactly, I have no idea. I just didn't make it work. Maybe there was nothing with enough merit to stick. It makes me sick to think of how unimportant I am; how little I contribute. Even when I write, the words are only my thoughts. Who cares about that? I should be writing about things that other people thought with dashes of my own insightful musings scattered in at appropriate intervals. Maybe it's just that I think I think too much to do that effectively. My thoughts come in a blur and very quickly, and then I can't sort them out enough to figure out what's important. 

Everything's important. Or is nothing important? I can't tell. 

Other people's thoughts sometimes really intrigue me, but other times they interest me less than my own. That sounds terribly selfish. I am terribly selfish. I get lost in my own head. It's not the bad kind of lost, though. It's the kind of getting lost that let's you learn and explore before getting to your intended destination. I love being lost. Especially when it's not in a car. Either in my head or on foot is best. Will someone come get lost in the woods with me for a day or two? Or even just for a few hours. I want to lay in the sun in a place that I have never been to before and probably will never go again. I want novelty. 

I am an (oxy)moron. I live for novelty, but I thrive on routine. I want to get lost and explore, but I take the most efficient routes everywhere. I should stop that. I really do just want to get lost and fill my head with pretty thoughts. I think thoughts are pretty. 

I mull over everything. Sometimes I think about things that I don't even care about. I waste hours thinking about it, and never end up caring any more or less. I never regret getting lost in thoughts about unimportant things or people. All thoughts are worthwhile. 

I think about people, mostly. What they want. Why they do things. Everyone is selfish and has motives behind their actions. It's what the motives are that I want to know. I wish everyone knew that there is nothing wrong with being selfish. I am horribly, disgustingly selfish. Because of that,  I want to know your thoughts. I wish I could collect everyone's thoughts. I love other people's thoughts. They're fascinating. They lead me to new thoughts of my own. I just don't like to write about them too much. I wish I did. I mostly just like to pick through their brain and see where it gets me. It usually ends up coming back to me. How do I relate to this? How does this apply to me? Could I deal with that? I am so very, very selfish. I don't think I mind it though. 

I also care about people. I guess it doesn't really sound like it, but I do. I care a whole lot. Maybe too much. It's just that my thoughts end up back on me most of the time while I am caring. I am confusing and rambling. I do care about you though, even though I am a selfish bitch. 

double standards

I feel so stupid. There used to be something there. I didn't imagine that, did I?
I probably did. I'm stupid like that.
I just want to know what changed.
That's all.
I don't care about it, really.
I just want to know what happened.
I didn't want it. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that. I didn't want it. I don't know why I didn't. I still don't want it.
I'm sorry I didn't.
I'm sorry you don't.
Why don't you?
Can't things just go back to how they were?
Did that part even change? I can't tell. I can never tell. Maybe that's why I care at all.
I liked that part. That part worked. That part could still work. That part worked well. It could work even better. Or at least more.
Or the other part. That part changed. But that part could still work, too. They didn't work together. It's a shame they never worked together. It's a shame I didn't want them to.
I know it's stupid to think about this. It isn't anything. I didn't want anything. I don't want anything. So why do I care? I really, really don't want anything.
You probably think that's a lie. It's not.
Maybe that's why.
I wish I made sense.
I think I think too much.
I think I need too much.
I think I need more.
Sorry.

Why can't you be like my computer?
One-sided expectations.





I am going to regret this. It will be taken to mean just what I tried to say it didn't. It really doesn't mean that at all. Oh well.
Honestly, I don't think about this anymore. It's just late and I am bored. My mind wanders to weird places. Sorry.

things are falling down on me, heavy things I could not see.

I feel so awful; stressed to the brink of insanity.
that should not be a reason to not write.
that should be a reason to write.
just I don't want to complain on here.
if I complain, it's real. I'm different. people will throw me pity parties. I don't do pity parties. I keep up the facade and paint on a smile. cheese.

I won't talk about that.
                                                                               

am I really special? I think I am. I deal with my shit and still keep up appearances. I still am a real person despite dealing with my shit. that can be hard. being a real person. I usually forget I am one. actually, I don't really think I am. I know I am, but I don't think I am. my friends tell me I have specific mannerisms that they have picked up and I am bewildered by that thought. I probably got them from other people.

me? I don't have any unique, definable qualities. I'm just a body. a chameleon who doesn't know who she is. a stupid chameleon. adapting to the current situation in the best way she can. you like sports? me too. you like art? me too. music? same. the thing is, it's never a lie. I really do like everything. it makes things confusing and convenient. I can get along with most people. I only have one real dislike:  militant religion. especially christianity. it skeeves me out. keep your god to yourself, please. you can like him all you want. just leave me out of it. other than the super religious, I like everyone. the sluts. the prudes. the stoners. hippie. preppy. frat boy. anarchist. they all have qualities that I can identify with and love. some of the other stuff that I don't identify with (though there isn't much), I find fascinating. I'm not a real person. they are. if I learn enough about them enough, maybe I'll be a real person, too. that's my goal. to become real. to have someone recognize that I have my own qualities (even though I don't) and to like them. I want to be a worthwhile real person. though, I think everyone is worthwhile. (other than those crazy catholics.) I guess a real person would be enough. I would settle for being real. being real would be very nice.

spinning

I am actually dizzy from thinking too much.  That does not seem normal.  oops.

Slippery Snake

My grip on reality and my sanity is usually tenuous at best.  I am not very strong (I really should work out more), and it feels like it is covered in grease.  Someone needs to distract me for just a second, and I forget I am supposed to be holding on tightly, and it slips away rather quickly.  whoosh.  And it’s gone.  whoops.  It keeps sliding further and further away until I remember that I need to grab it.  Sometimes it’s a far reach and I need help getting it back. 

I am easily distracted which doesn’t help matters.  I get fixated on stupid things that really don’t matter.  The small things that push the right (wrong) buttons do it the best (worst).  Logic says I do not care.  But, if I think about it too hard, this stupid little unimportant thing could be interpreted to mean that I am not worthwhile.  whoosh.  And that I am not pretty enough.  whoosh.  And also probably fat.  whoosh.  And stupid.  whoosh.  And boring.  whoosh.  Then it’s gone.

Oops. 

I didn’t mean for it to happen.  It just does.  If someone could throw it back to me, I might be able to catch it and be okay again.  I have fairly decent catching skills.  And throwing skills. 

But really, could you please toss it back to me?  You distracted me and made it slide away, so it’s really the least you could do.  You could try just telling me that I’m wrong.  It wouldn't be very hard for you, and it would probably do the trick.  It might even make it less slippery and easier to hold on to. 

I would give anything for it to be less slick.  I could get distracted and still hold on.  That would be lovely.