why do we need question marks.

i'm blogging. i'm depressed. i've been this way all week. it started when i felt like a purple people surrounded by all perfectly peach people. i ain't like everyone else, and i used to be proud of that one. now it. now it. now it bothers me.

and i don't want it to bother me no more. i want to be free. like butterflies. or bees. or something really wild and free. because butterflies are so fucking wild.

my life. my life. my life ain't what i want it to be and, yes, i do recognize that it is i who's running the program. i think that's starting to make it worse. i feel more and more like a failure because my life's not grand.

i was supposed to be a star. i was supposed to have stuff at my fingertips. i was supposed to be completely happy completely. all the time.

another thing is about having shite to look forward to. vacation was vacation and now it's over. i have been looking forward to summer but all it means is that i have nothing to do. and i don't like not having nothing to do. (i'm not like that trash who's no longer around.)

i just had to say that because i'm a bitch asshole. and i fucking like it. i like that about me...that i generally can say what it is that's on my fucking mind. but i want to be strong enough not to give a rat's ass about its consequences.

i need to work on that. strongness. strongivity. strongina.

i have a story to tell. i have a book to write. i have money to make. i have awards to win. why. it makes none the sense.

i think the problem is that too many (most) peple feel unloveable. we come up with compensations for that, instead of just believing that the opposite's true. we eat. we have loveless relationships. we fuck sick strangers. we buy cool cars that everyone wants. we are fashionable. our lives are wrapped up in proving to the world that we're loveable, and all we really need to do is just believe it ourselves. no one can prove it. it's inside. only i have access to my insides. only you have access to your insides. and the closest we can get to accessing another's insides is, well, you know....

i want to be happy. yeppers. and i'm not. that makes it even worse, because it's myownfault that i'm not happy.

sunday i got a taste. earlier when i was outside with the mol, i got a taste. the sunshine. the green grass. growth. that is happy. that is luff.

a wal-mart guy said to me (but plural) last week: "if you're not growing, you're dying." i squishily believe that. (because i ain't firm.)

i don't think i really know what love for another truly is. or is the problem that i don't accept the common notion of what love is. doesn't it just have to work for me. i haven't had many boundaries in my life and that's probably not a good thing, because there really are boundaries in this life. like, i can't fucking tell some parent what they need to hear because i'd lose my job and shit.

but how do i know what they need to hear. who the hell says i have all the goddamned answers.

i just want to have time spent on me. time's the most valuable thing in the whole fucking world. no one can pay you for the time you have here. you can't pay no one for the time s/he has here. i come home, i came home, and i'm sitting here buying into this complete lack of power over my life crapola. i know. i know. i know i owe myself the time. i know i have to prove to myself that i'm fucking worth the time. but knowing it and doing it are two different things. completely.

how the motherfuck do you make yourself do what you know you need to fucking do!