so frustrated and so frustrated some more. i vent until i am asleep and my hair looks like medusa’s. my vision is blurred with sand and hot colors. i have emotions i don’t understand, feelings that i am numb to with incomprehension. i wish i could not see, could not hear, or could not remember. something to change the now, the starless, brightened, sleepless now. i remember too much and forget too little. i am my worst enemy, and apparently my only critic. which is not as fun as it seems, if it does at all, for those that critique me do it unknowingly causing me to be more of a silent observer, now being crippled by my subjects.
breath. stop. they are not crippling you. they mean you no harm. they are simply mindless ducklings, swimming in the pond i am a gondolier in.
only i lack the uniform and the class. i am simply the slop-feeder to the piglets.
i am tired of raising robot boys to be men. being robot is a choice, just as you choose salad dressing, and the types of food you eat. you are healthy if you choose fruit and produce, things found in nature. not plastic. never plastic. but robots choose what is natural to them, manmade, doctored versions of what is pure. they choose to live in a fake world, eventually surrounded by so much machinery they no longer look towards or remember the sky.
they live in a night world.
i am tired already, and far too exhausted to constantly be a sun and clouds, attempting to enlighten those that chose misery. for they are all in pain. act as you may that you have no emotion, you only are proving more and more that you are afraid to really live.
you’re in pain? guess what. so are we. so is all of humanity. so stop being arrogant and feeling like you are the only one to ever feel this way. someone understands, someone gets it. don’t be a baby robot, go to them. stop making her try to fix you.
because most robots, when they try to do things that aren’t in their original programing, need repair.
Well that was an awful day. I knew Tuesdays and Thursdays we going to suck, but I didn’t realize I had no time on Wednesdays either. There I was, sitting in the lobby with my roommate, contemplating whether I was too tired to eat or too hungry to sleep, which to do first if I could bring myself to do either, when another Acting major yells “Hey, you going to the theatre?”
I stared back at him with no recollection. Then it hit me. Crap. Lab. So on Wednesdays I had class from eight until eleven, work from twelve to three, and now apparently another class from four to six. So that meant no dinning halls, no going back to the dorm, no naps.
I dragged my way across campus to sit through the two-hour meeting, dragged myself back, and felt the weight of my eyelids increase as the hours ticked on. I tried to sit with friends. They were ordering pizza and we all were at a table inside our dorm.
I was uncomfortable in the chair, and so looked under the table for a moment. It looked appealing. So under the table I crawled, and there I lay down, and there I was soon asleep. Under the table above which my friends we bonding over pizza, socializing, getting to know one another, growing closer. As I slept silently and unknowingly below them.
And now I feel like those friends are different; that our dynamic has changed. And why? What did I do wrong? I was more tired than them because I had been working for a decent portion of the day and was mentally exhausted about a few more things. We didn’t swap soul stories because I fell asleep under a table.
So I would like to apologize to them for doing so. I am sorry that I have a stressful life and get tired. I am sorry that I don’t stay up until 3 am chatting with friends and then copy other people’s homework, if I even bother to do so. I am sorry that I don’t smoke, don’t wear a ton of makeup, and pride myself in not trying to have an image of a “cool kid.” I feel terrible about putting grass and leaves, feathers and flowers in my hair, and that I like leggings more than I do skinny jeans.
And mostly, I am sorry that I fell asleep under a table.
i keep running into pot holes, tripping again and again. thinking they are pretty, filled with a glorious spring, not dirty water as usual. i try to avoid them but then swirve when I see the sky reflected upon their surface; all my dreams, the ability to soar advertised on their smooth top. so i stumble into them, wrecking my shins and offsetting my soul. they are not deep, nor perfectly clean, but the moment the water touches my skin, every fiber of my being melts into them. i am lost so simply and so easily. i use them as measuring points of how far i am from chaos and how close i am to closure.
the pot holes have grown more scarce, however, and now i am unsure of what to think. i already decided to live for them, to ignore that they are not very deep and that their surfaces only reflect my dreams and actually hold nothing but dirty water. but as i grow parched and lost with no direction or relief from them, should i take to the sky and try to fly alone to solve my problems?
if only they had brains and eyes that could see truth, and not just shiny pieces of plastic. then i wouldn’t need to contemplate every time i catch one saying “i am a bird, please stay to let me bathe in you.”
weird day hay day. i wanna play and not fray. always stressing, now working. de-perky-ing. i wanna chill and spend money, and have someone to call my honey. my memory has been reduced to a fly’s; only one that too well remembers goodbyes. i want cereal and to forget, everyone on which my heart at somepoint’s been set. weird memories flash and blind me, of things behind me, and wishes that deny me, and loneliness that frightens me. i live to avoid fear, well that and starving, while everyone is partying. sleep pulls my brain and eyes, eyes that show too many huddles of intimidating guys. i miss people knowing me, i don’t need to blend in. i’d give up anonymity to have an incredible friend. i share too much, and want to too; i want someone that can say “that is so you.”
what a hopeless romantic am i; who writes on the interwebs instead of admitting goodbye. my mind lies, and so i always hope; teaching myself new ways to cope. sleep, sleep, and wish it all away. maybe i’ll be happy one day.