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Rah. Rah. RAPUNZEL! Sorry, random moment of madness. 0712 hours in the morning, Monday, cold as fucking hell and drunk. Well, not really. More like...slightly tipsy. Anyway, finally managed to get over myself and finished one of those 20 wasted sheets of paper. Result is to be found here --> http://anrakushi.tripod.com/fanart/Far10.gif And yeah, I know I went overkill on the filters. And I am so going to buy webspace when...well, when I find the time to think about it. If only to upload this crap with a quality that doesn't have me screaming at the screen. Jpeg is a waste of space. |
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Fucking frustrated. One free day in 15, and I'm not doing shit. I tried drawing something, and gave up after I'd wasted about 20 sheets of paper. I tried writing, and each word is a struggle. I tried listening to music, and after a while I started singing so loud it could have qualified as screaming. I tried watching a movie and could've put an axe through the screen. I'm THIS fucking close to a nervous breakdown because of whatever the fuck is wrong with my life lately. What the hell am I supposed to do, pretend everything's fine? Hope it'll go away all by itself? I could fucking kill something. But okay, good old Nin will do stuff for people. Good old Nin will behave, and smile, and you will die. In my head. I'm so not making sense right now. I need a holiday from myself I think. |
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Well, I guess it's time for some messages: ...and look, a new day rises above the rooftops of the city, and I'm coming back to home and slowly getting ready to go to bed. Such is the life of us nighshift people, the sun becomes a stranger after a while, and our skin takes on that pale hue Gothers take years to perfect. Though when I look in the mirror these days, I mostly see dark circles beneath bloodshot eyes and a mean twist to my mouth that's ready to fire sarcastic comments at everything that moves. We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn, but we didn't find eternal life. What we found were hours that suck the life right out of us. But that's fine, too. Doesn't take much to rip us into pieces. Heh, and whoever knows what song these lines came from gets a kiss. *makes kissy mouth* Come on, bear with me. I'm overworked and underfed. I've lost weight, yeah. I don't think I really thought about it until Abbritti poked me in the side and asked what that knob there was, and I said that it's my hipbone. *sweatdrops* Give me life, give me pain, give me myself again. More lines from that song. I'm already hearing a distant scream. |
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Come l'altre verrem per nostre spoglie. Ma non per chulcuna si rivesta. Che non e giousto aver cio ch'om si toglie. Que le strascineremo, e per la mesta selva sarrano i nostri corpi appesi. Ciascuno al pran de l'ombra sua molesta. I make my own home be my Gallows. That thing has been sticking with me for some reason, and it's true. It's not the outer world that ultimately kills us; death begins at home, in the little catastrophes and ruins we seek shelter in each day. I've been up and awake for roughly 32 hours now, and I have to get up again in about four hours to go back to work. Joy. I'm wired; my perception of things has become more focused, and I'm seeing stuff again when I walk or take the bus. Car crashes. Fire. No water, thankfully; a flood is the last thing I need now. But maybe it wouldn't be all that bad. At least I'd have an excuse not to go to work for a couple of days. On the way to the bakery this morning, an old bum walked past me. He stepped into my way and laughed into my face and said "Running away isn't going to save you." He's wrong. When you move, they can't get you. |
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'Why are you always living your life as though you're waiting for a catastrophe?' Not much to tell, not much to show for a free day, other than a new layout and the nagging feeling that I've been forgetting something all day long. Something important that I should have remembered, that I know will come back to me four hours later in the early hours of the morning. That, and the creepy-crazy feeling that comes with the news. Floods near Dresden and Thurgau, and here it's bone-dry, hot enough to bake an egg on stone and make breathing a task you have to concentrate on. Bitter. That's what Rob from the English Bookshop called me. When I told him and Dave about what I think I'm becoming, he said straight to my face that he was trying to talk me out of it, and that I would become more bitter than I already am. It's weird in so far that I never thought of myself as bitter - pessimistic, yes, but bitter? Not really. And I'm thinking about you. About how I hated what you did. About what I did. Who pulled back first, you or me? Frankly, I don't really care anymore. If all it takes for you to pull back completely are a few days of silence, then I'm sorry, but I can't meet those expectations of yours. It wasn't me who has the chance to spend a year in a different country, it wasn't me who went someplace where she has things to see and tell, while here everything remains the same, always. Do I sound jealous? You bet I am. Who wouldn't be? But I wish you all the best in the world, never mind my jealousy and outright hatred for you at times. All things fade after a while, and I'm too comfortably numb right now to say: I care. My year 2002 up to July 9th can be summarized in a handful of meaningless words: it sucked so bad I wish it never happened. But you can't turn back time or erase what happened. And I can't turn back myself or forget. It hurt to come to the blog and find that you had erased all your entries and called what was left of mine 'stuff'. If my fears and insecurities are 'stuff' to you, then I'm better off alone. You knew what you were heading into. You can't expect the world to run the way you want it to just because you think it will work better your way. But you can shut out people who don't run how you want them to, and I think that's what you've done to me. If you want nothing to do with things or people that don't function like you want them to, then there's nothing more to say or do from my side. But don't you worry. Your CDs, manga and books are safe and sound at Tina's. I've taken care of everything you gave to me, and I've gotten rid of it just as easily as I got rid of the hurt, never mind how deep it still stings when I think about it. At least I know it's real, and not numbing like so many things are lately. And I know what you're going to say when, if, you ever read this. 'Pathetic'. Or something like that. But see...your 'pathetic' falls under the things that don't touch me anymore. I guess I'm past the point of caring, and once that happens, there's no going back. So, this is good bye from my side, and good luck in your life. I'm sure we'll cross paths again, sometime and somehow, but I'm not so sure if I will really see, and listen to, you. Heh. Bitter. I think I know what he meant. |