Thursday, July 16

I need more time. I need more time. I need more time.

I'm running out of time. Dear Universe, please don't let me run out of time.

I don't want to die. There are so many things I have to fix before I do, so many things I have to put back into place.

Please, give me more time.


It's funny. I feel myself dying and it worries me. I'm worried. I'm worried that I'm foreshadowing my own death with all of this anxiety. I'm worried that there will be things I've never said or done or felt. I'm worried that this will be my end and I'll have amounted to nothing.


Tell me I'm being silly. Tell me I'm being irrational.


Tell me that the moon and the stars and the planetary orbits promise me enough time.

Wednesday, July 15

I should actually be sleeping...

I kind of want to cry.

I'm just another mortal chasing eternal life, hoping the things I do will matter---to someone, for something, regardless of the circumstance of achieving it.

At last I am willing to admit why I write, why writing is just so damn important. I couldn't understand it before, rather, I didn't want to. I didn't want to admit to being so selfish.

I can't bare to be forgotten. Witness my existence and tell me I am real. Tell me this sac of flesh bone and water was something.

I want my life to matter, and I say it so often so that I force you to believe me; so that I force this thought so thoroughly into the Universe's stream of consciousness that it can't be overlooked. Please, do not overlook me. I am a beating body, a string of intangible thought, a shallow girl with open heart and broken hands. In my clumsy haste, I hope to win you over.

I choose love for immortality. I choose you because you're lovely, because you're lonely and broken and beautiful.

Do I love you because you're valuable, or are you valuable because I love you? Philosophers have attempted to dissect this question in every which way conceivable to man. I give you my feeble thoughts here:

You are valuable because I love you. Those intrinsic qualities and characteristics which I adore and hold to esteem would be nothing without you. Because they belong to you, you who are different from all others, these virtues are relevant. You are valuable because I've tamed you. The time and experiences we've had together, the struggle to find love over loneliness, has made you the only you there will ever be. You are valuable because you are to me, what no one else in the world could ever hope to be. You are something. You have always been something. You will always be something. Because I, too, am tamed.

-Cheers!

Wednesday, July 8

Is This a New Athia?

I'm torn between deciding to be selfish or selfless.


Typically, I'd pick being selfless, but my little gestures of martyrdom often go unnoticed by you. And fuck yeah, I want my sacrifices to be appreciated---especially when I work so hard all the freakin' time.

You are ... evil.

I'm trying not to be sad. I think I've done a pretty good job of it thus far, but things are catching up with me. I can't pretend for much longer.


But I know that you're sad, too. I know things are tough and sometimes you want to give up. Don't. We'll get through it.


Is this who I am now? Some positive, flighty creature? Where's all the angst and anger and hatred?

I spent so long being angry at everyone and everything and myself. Maybe now it's finally time to be loving and forgiving. Maybe I'm just growing up.

I'm still frustrated. I'm still stuck. I'm still in love without hope. I'm still the same frumpy, clumsy thing.

But I dunno if I've changed some...



-Cheers

Monday, July 6

Laughing, crying, what the fuck are you doing?

I should stop taking antibodies, because when I do, I slip in and out of a hallucinatory state of misery.

I should also stop taking days off, because when I do, I feel wholly unproductive and spend lots and lots of time fantasizing about impossible things.

God damn my fantasy prone personality...

It has lead my mind to wander to a beige house with blue doors and painted window shutters, a tiny vegetable garden, and a little girl with curly black hair and her father's eyelashes.

PSYCHO ALERT!

I would give anything, anything, to stop. To stop these feelings, to stop having these hopes. Honestly, we have no future together---only the kind where we have group dinners with our respective others. I can imagine the tiny Asian babies picking on the little Mexican ones, while the tall giraffe like kids flail their arms about for attention. It makes me smile to think that our future together involves not only the three of us, but three of our families. Call me crazy for hoping we don't drift apart. Call me a sentimental fool for loving you like my bloodline.



Sigh. I swear to you, it's the meds. talking.


...


Just got a call from Adriana. She definitely caught me at a bad time, 'cos I lashed out at her when she said that my not getting the books for Philosophy of Love was stupid. Yes. I know it's stupid. But I've been over-worked and over stressed for the past two months and I'm about to fucking break. I didn't get a chance to get the damn books and I don't need her to ride me for it. Geez. Isn't she suppose to be the understanding one?

I would expect that she, of all people, wouldn't judge me.

I should probably apologize for being short with her. I'm just cranky and stressed and I could name a shitload of excuse, but it wouldn't make me feel any better about it.

I just need to rant to someone, I suppose.

...


Okay. I'm going to shower. Then I've seriously got to finish my homework and studying.

-Cheers!