I've run out of things to do.
Can't hurt myself, can't be depressed, can't be mad at people, can't put holes in doors, can't eat, drawing doesn't work, writing doesn't work, singing doesn't work, running doesn't work, cleaning doesn't work, screaming doesn't work. There's nothing left.
If I don't find something to do about everything inside of me, I feel like I'm going to explode. I can feel it building, I've been having little outbursts lately, and still I'm surpressing everything. But how do I let it out?
I need a healthy emotional outlet, but I can't find one. I don't know what to do anymore.
Any ideas?
It's ridiculously difficult to not do things that you'll regret later.
Why is this happening?
Apparently.... my nipples are the cherries on top of the yummies.
Go ahead and ask, if you dare.
Dude. Where do some men get off? I've been painting for the last few hours, and King of Queens came on the television in the background. I'm paintin' away, and the show filters in to me; the main guy character, Dug, who is probably around 300lbs, is freaking out over the fact that his 115lb wife, Carry, has gained a couple of pounds over their last few years of marriage, like, two or three. I'm sitting there like, "Where do you get off, you hunk of lard, telling her to go on a diet?". Geesh. Damn idiot men, you wonder how most of them ever get women.
So sick and tired.. so tired of this.
I guess I'm not quite willing to forsake my temperment.
Oh well.
We all have something in common.
We wait, but none of us are very patient.
And yet, we wait, for hours every day, every night. I'm so tired of it, all I ever do anymore is wait.
Stretched between the conversations is only waiting for the next one,
that next one,
then the next one,
Can't I just shoot every man in the entire world and be done with it?
The Green Mile is such a sad movie..
"Richard was sliding into his jeans. I watched him zip them up and button them into place. It was fun just to watch him dress. Love makes the smallest movements fascinating." :) Just related to this quote a lot. I'm glad I'm not the only person who feels this way.
I just punched a hole in my door.
It had to happen eventually.
Also, my throat hurts from screaming repeatedly, loud and highpitched and at nothing, alone in my room. At least it made me feel better.
But now I feel sort of empty, tired. I should punch doors in more often when I'm mad.
The movie Blood and Chocolate isn't nearly as good as the book, but.. .. but god, wolves, art, AND Bucharest, Romania. I nearly had an orgasm in my seat in the theater. The wolves and art alone would have done it for me, but add Bucharest into the equation and I'm a slobbering, happy mess of Jessie.
-angrily whipes the tears off of her cheeks- Unbelievable, completely and totally unbelievable. My grandfather, whom I've been close to all of my life, whom I love with a great big part of my heart, just told me that if I was a lesbian, he wouldn't let me live in his house. Told me that he would most likely hate me. He said this knowing that I'm not and never will be a lesbian or even bisexual, but the fact that, even knowing me like he does, loving who I am, he would become disgusted with me just because of a decision that I make that would affect my life. Not his life. Me, my life. And because of that decision, he would no longer care like he does know. After I stalked off, crying, my grandmother attacked him and yelled his ears off, I came back and yelled his ears off, he apologised for what he said but he still feels the same way. He said that he doesn't mean to hurt people, but he just can't change how he feels.
Both of my grandparents are extremely descriminatory towards homosexuals.
I am a passionate person in everything I believe in, and although I am not a homosexual, it pains my heart so much to know that people that I care about are instantly hated and disdained before they even have a chance to get to be known, by other people that I care about. It pains my heart so much to think it. The fact that my pain, that their pain, makes no difference to people like my grandfather.. the fact that he still feels such animosity towards people who can't control who they are anymore then you or I can.. the fact that there are so many people out there just like my grandparents, it makes me feel hopeless and useless, like I just want to sit here and cry for the people who have to face the pain day in and day out, because there's nothing I can do but cry. What if you were a homosexual or bisexual person, caught up in a family who would hate you for the people that you fall in love with? What if their love for you, for who you are on the inside, for what you've done all your life for them, for the person they know, suddenly changes so quickly JUST BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU FEEL. Just because of the difference in sex. Just because they think it's wrong for you to kiss in front of children. Because they think it's wrong for you to try to have a life together. What could it possibly be like for those people? This small moment of betrayal and pain is nothing compared to their lifetime dispair.
I'm sorry, but I can't continune. My mind can't decide whether it wants to break my knuckles against walls and scream into a pillow until my vocal cords give, or if it wants to hide under his sweater and weep until my eyes no longer open from the puffiness.
Hey guys - just checking in.
Having a good ol' time, hard to believe I'm in Romania. I hope all your weekends have been great.
I wont be around much.
Love you!
Holy shit. What the hell. Why do people like [ineedweed420] get to stay on elftown? Can't the guards delete people like him? What's his purpose in this community? Why can't they kick him out and direct him to fake? Wtf?!
"For one thing, learning to sleep in proximity to another person is an acquired skill. You learn what to do with the arm that always seems to get stuck between you and where to put your feet and whether they mind having a leg draped over theirs and who can use whose arm as a pillow without nerve damage or a sore neck. Then there’s the whole complex negotiation of blanket treaties and sheets and who gets what and who needs layers and who has to stick their feet out." I just liked this. ^_^
Why is it an insult to be called a vagina?
I understand if you say that a man has a vagina instead of what he should have, a penis, that could be insulting, although I'd say it might be an improvement for their ego to get to try on a woman's shoes and perhaps walk a mile, but why call the man an actually vagina? Like a walking talking labido? Who came up with that? That's like calling someone a penis! We don't call people 'penis'. We call them 'dick', but that just means they're a jerk. So does being called a pussy mean that you're weenie? But isn't a weenie mistaken for a weener and therefor is infact a penis? So are you actually calling the man a penis? Wouldn't that boost and stroke his ego, instead of deflating it? So why call him 'pussy' to begin with?
I think that the man who first called another man a penis has got to be the most stupid person in the world.
You know those times, when you're in the showering, fiddling away with the soap, and suddenly a story hits you like a ten ton elephant with a nasty temper. So you're standing there, half your mind concentrating on washing and the other half a million miles away, writing this story 50 words per minute, picturing all these yummy ideas and words and situations, and then, as the shower comes to an end, you realize that you'd forgotten the first few things that you thought. And they were brilliant! Dissappointmen
Ah, what a pity.
I think that writers are those people who can scramble out of the shower fast enough to write down all their brilliant first ideas that turn into brilliant second and third ideas, concluding in a mesh of wonderful ideas that happened to spew out of their mind while in the shower..
So we get to do really awesome song for Dettes this year, well, scratch that, two of the songs that we're doing so far are really awesome, and although I can't give them justice without the actual music, seeing how completely beautiful the melody and everything else about the pieces are awesome, I thought I might say the lyrics because they're so cool. Both are in minor cords, in fact all three songs we're singing are, so they're going to sound all melo-dramatic and depressed even though they're ..awesome. Yea.
Who Shall Sing
By Andrea S. Klouse.
Who shall sing of red leaf Autumn?
Who shall sing of lacey moon skies?
Who shall sing of whistling willow branches bending to her lullaby?
Who shall sing of human kindness?
Who shall sing of merry jubilee?
None, from all imagined corners were the breath of song to cease.
Were this Ol' World fimrly held in place,
with her song would surely us a lign!
Spinning ever wisely 'round in space,
she'd hush the sigh of human kind!
Have you heard the song she's singing?
Can you hear her gently call you?
If you listen from your silent aching soul,
you will hear her song surround you.
Do you know the sound of Autumn?
Do you know the sound of Winter skies?
If you heard the whistling wind upon the lea then you've heard her lullaby.
-lots of ahs-
Who shall sing of red leaf Autumn?
Who shall sing of lacey moon skies?
Who will raise a voice in her unending song?
I will sing, I will sing,
(major cord)
I will sing!
-end-
She's Like The Swallow
Arranged by Eleanor Daley.
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry,
She's like the sunshine on the lee shore,
She loves her love but she'll love no more.
Twas down in the meadow this fair maid bent, picking the primrose just as she went.
The more she picked and the more she pulled, until she gathered her apron full.
She climbed on yonder hill above to give a rose unto her love.
She gave him one, she gave him three, she gave her heart for company.
And as they sat on yonder his heart grew hard, so harder still.
He has two hearts instead of one. She says, "Young man, what have you done?"
How foolish, foolish you must be to think I love no one but thee.
The world's not made for one alone, I take delight in ev'ry one.
She took her roses and made a bed.
A stony pillow for her head.
She lay her down, no more did she say,
But let her roses fade away.
She's like the swallow that flies so high,
She's like the river that never runs dry,
She's like the sunshine on the lee shore,
She loves her love but she'll love no more.
I hate spiders. I HATE them. I don't care who says what about killing bugs and keeping homes free of flies, they're liars, spiders are bugs and they're disgusting.
Our house is currently being over run by the nasty shits. Only 10 minutes ago I jumped up in the middle of reading the 6th Harry Potter book, in shock, to fantically swipe the inside my pantleg because I swear I felt something crawling up my leg. When I did so, I looked down and saw a huge furry brown stripped spider crawling over my blanket that had been thrown onto the floor. I actually screamed and started to cry, sinking on to my bed, shaking. My screaming brought in Natali, my Uncle Victor's wife, who squished it with her shoe.
This morning I woke up to another huge furry brown stripped spider crawling along my bed towards my bare leg.
Maybe it's the stress from reading this emmensly sad book plus obviously my extremely emotional attitude seeing how I'm likely to start soon, but my god I could just sit here and cry because there are too many spiders in this house. Everytime my hair brushes against my neck, or my blanket shifts slightly, I shudder and very quickly throw my hand at what I know isn't a spider, but what my body is positive that is.
I hate spiders.