11 February 2003 - 12:29 am
please note;

tired. aggravated. bored. sick of a lot of things, including this apparent dry spell of creativity i'm in. of being detritus. of being paranoid and unsure of where my place is, currently, and where precisely it is that i belong.

i know there's many people who'd rather not be around me. this is mutual, probably. i've said it before. i hate too much, and it's wasting me from the inside out. honestly, though, i'm sick of a lot of things, and i'm going to start doing ... things.. about it. i have ideas. i'm sick of being lazy. i'm working, and i'm doing what the fuck i want to do. which right now is uncertain. ... i think.

//

on a cheerier note, my book came in the mail today. so i have something to read, and puzzle over for the fall proposal. i refuse to change my mind - unless of course it becomes absolutely necessary to do so. which i'm hoping it won't .. (soundtrack - mogwai : dial:revenge)

revenge and vengeance simmering for something that was probably my fault, creating a bigger drama than needs to be created. getting sick of the immature bullshit. the problem is, when is it my fault and when isn't it? okay. this makes little to no sense.

back to scenario. i've written about five now, and i'm keeping all of my ideas in the Bonepile, but overall, i'm going to go back to the original idea i had ... i'm just hoping it's intense enough? fuck, having second thoughts now. comparing it to other one-acts. hoping against hope it'll make it to the mainstage ... hoping i can get the SPA slot in the fall, to direct ... and even if i don't, to stage manage amy's "crimes of the heart" ...OR TO JUST FIGURE SOMETHING OUT.

i'm so tired of the vacillation, of the vagueness. is it my fault? do i isolate myself, or am i isolated? am i an afterthought, or is it just opportune that people happened to care when i had a slight breakdown the other day?

not that i give a fuck. i'm so sick of this. so sick. and i've said that so many goddamn times in this stupid entry. this diary is repetitive lately. is it my fault?

well? is it?

(soundtrack - matt nathanson: then i'll be smiling)

the best of intentions. tried to patch up every hole as he went. (digressing into poetry to cover up the wounds.)

"once i shed the whole of me / once i shed the whole of me / then i'll be smiling"

but this doesn't mean suicide. because i tried that already. a lot. and now i'm just the paper cutout of gray and white because i haven't progressed from there. NOT THAT ANY OF THIS MATTERS. i honestly feel like people don't care. is it me? it must be. i get funny looks. because i'm so aloof and i don't want people to care? or because ...

(why do fools wake me up?)

"once i shed the whole of me / once i shed the WHOLE of me / then i'll be smiling / litter me with small awarenesses / and they ask if i'm good enough / they litter me with small awarenesses / just to wake me / and they have the gall to ask if i'm good enough //" why do you fools wake me up

why do i feel out-of-place.

and why is this so ridiculous.

i could title this entry "why" but i'd kill myself. or not.

or just perpetuate in this alphabet stew of paper letters, newspaper font, gray and white, and the broth is black like ink

(is it bad of me just ... to want someone to care? or am i blind? i don't think anyone honestly does. fucking pisses me off. or maybe because i'm just not getting "attention"? i don't have a clue. BUT IT'S PISSING ME OFF.)

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