Turns out I really am sick.
I woke up sick. that is not a great feeling.
I said that I want to wake up happy.
I have these OLD diaries from some lady with my maiden name.
She seemes miserable.
But still sorta funny BUT MISERABLE.
everyone is fucking miserable.
and usually for good reason but whatever it is all relative i guess.
My misery could mean JACK to you but YOUR misery is well YOUR misery.
But thinking of those old diaries from some lady makes me wonder who one day will read this shit.
My mother gave me these diraries because she found them in my STEP FATHERS parents old stinky basement back in Indiana.
TRIPPYMAN.
I am some how actually related to my stepfather.
It seems like life just repeats it selfover and fucking over again.
That thought can either be comforting or frightening.
I now am going to try to eat something. I know this is very delighful to hear but at one point I had to drive and I was forced to pull over and dry heave in the desert.
That was really superduper!
But it was necessary.
I think my body just feels mad at me.
Abused.
And I choose Campbells soup.
1 comment:
I also wonder what's going to happen to my journals when I'm no longer around. I like to have them right now, since they seem more "real" than writing on the computer, but it makes me nervous sometimes wondering what would happen to them if I weren't around anymore. Do I really want people to know what I was **really** thinking on a particular day?
Post a Comment