11 February 2003 - 6:01 pm
fast-track down.

fast track to insanity. down.

//

went to dinner, shouldn't have. this is the small crack of a window-left-open of reality. this is all. i see you reading. trying to discern what's really in my head. what's there.

"we haven't spoken in a year," asher says at dinner. happening by. "why is that?"

"i'm not around a lot," i say. much at a loss of words.

(soundtrack. matt nathanson. then i'll be smiling.)

(once i shed the whole of me)

"neither am i," asher says. and makes some ... sort of witty comment about sleep, which i get but am too wrapped up in something else to care about.

corey is sitting nearby. josie is sitting on the other side of jill who is beside me. amy jason mark casey. all 'round the ringed table. (back and forth and back again)

fast track to insanity. i missed all my classes today. i don't care.

pain. almost-gone at the attempts jason makes to connect. i don't know why. "what're you thinking?" he asks and reminds me of winter break when matt was here. and we'd ask each other what we were thinking because it wasn't readily apparent. he took my fucking knife. jason took the other one, i can't find it. i thought about tearing the newly-cleaned room apart to find it but it's probably downstairs back in the quad. (why do fools wake me up)

"nothing."

"you're sitting there without a thought?" he asks, combing his hair or something in the mirror.

"yup." taciturn. noncommittal. (embarrassed looks / tired words) people will get tired of me eventually. they'll give up. if i just make it hard. because once no one cares (then i'll be smiling) then i'll be finally sure of what is what. it's too vague every other way. it's beginning. i get up and leave dinner quickly. without a word. button on coat. pick up tray. depart. they'd given up. let me go.

(litter me with small awarenesses)

(and they ask if i'm good enough)

fast track down. spiral. down to. why do you fools wake me up. phone rings. "are you going to drama lit today?"

"uh, yeah .. " it's 1:30p.

"oh, ok." pause. "i just wanted to call and see how you were doing."

... what?

"uh, fine?"

i think the conversation progressed but i was confused. i don't know what's happening, if things are unravelling or if i am. i wish i had that fucking knife, goddamnit. it's not so bad, the cutting, it's just me venting because i can't do anything else. it's a way out. i think. i don't know. i like to watch myself bleed.

hiatus. lacuna. (and his friends) (half full of half concerns)

fast track down. samson agonistes. once i shed

the whole

of me

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