i must let you know that i change this blog colour on a need-basis. this nauseating pink is courtesy of the pink sparkly heart shaped shortbread cookies i purchased for cara and i at natas today.
re: a note, it has been a turbo-bitch day. i feel my friends (not cara, who lives with me on the island of the non-whole-hearted), perplexed with my moody behaviour as of late. sometimes i think they forget i depressed and that will keep coming back inconveniently. maybe one day it won't. when i have a pony named karl.
but for the time being, its bumpy. the sparkly heart cookies didn't irk me the way valentine's normally does. almost cracked a smile, to be honest. i just don't know what to do with the heart cookies but devour the sparkly icing that my body's continence certainly doesn't know what to do with, squint really hard and hope it translates into something productive as a human citizen.
my posts lately seem sad, i think. or tragic. i don't necessarily feel sad. or tragic. maybe just separate from any sort of upward climb. nothing i do seems to really, add up to something the way we are made to feel actions should. i do things. i feel a feeling. and so it goes.
no matter how much i seem to learn the rules, there are no rules. so i suppose i've stopped caring? about rules? about what healthy is supposed to mean? about what happy is supposed to mean?
my creative writing prof told me my writing on wednesday was sarcastic and witty. he thinks i should be a comedian. he, and the subsequent chiming in of my classmates, are not the first people to tell me this.
i guess i could do that. the same prof told me once that he thought humour was a higher form of thinking. or expression. or something. sometimes there is no greater feeling for me than making people laugh. othertimes, the idea makes me feel more indifferent than anything else. its funny that way.
my aspirations at this point are few. as my birthday nears, i don't know if there is anything about 25 and who i am now that seems out of place.
right now, i'm still at natas, and i really wanna go into the bathroom and pull really hard on my hair, grabbing clumps of it - now long enough for a pony tail - in my fists. and stare at my face in the mirror. sometimes my motor self needs the release of visceral actions rather than these composted words.