Fireflies, Fleeting Feelings

And here I am again, restless.

I now sit where I fell asleep last night: the couch. This evil piece of IKEA shit has me in its clutches like whoa. LIKE WHOA. Dave woke me up when he came home this morning around 7 and we went to bed. I was super pissed when the alarm I set went off at 10:03am. I came straight to the couch and fell asleep almost immediately only to wake up at 1:20 pissed that I had 25 mins to take a shower and get ready for work.

Then I realized I don't work today. God how this shit has consumed my life. I've been told this is normal for someone my age, but I refuse to accept. It's also fucking raining outside so WHATEVER it's ok that it's now after 4 and I haven't done shit. Shit, except read my journal entries from the last year, which was interesting. I was at my parents' house in Miami for Christmas last year when I was told remove all my belongings haha and found some stuff I wrote one summer in Wisconsin. It was a lot of very precise, descriptive chronicling of the quotidian from one teenage summer written on dot matrix paper and paper-clipped together. Without even reading for content, I made my New Year's Resolution; I used fucking dot matrix paper. I used whatever I could find then bound it together as an afterthought. So I said I'd write like that this year. Every day. Just to remember what was going on in my life, 2013.

 I did a decent job. I never missed a month, but I wrote far from every day. I say 'decent' because while reading the shit today I realized how much changes even when you could swear you're in the same goddamn place you were a year ago. Plus, any time I forget that I had a dream in which I gave up on making a salad after realizing I was sans bacon, I have this gem to remind me.

It really is remarkable, though. I get so frustrated that I haven't done enough and with how stagnant my life is, when all I have to do is look back at my little words and see how different things are. What I was going through a year ago, how strongly I felt about certain things that don't even exist in my life today, the amazing difference the seasons make! I've never had a tattoo, never had a baby, but just about a year ago I experienced the most painful thing I ever have in all senses of the word. That's my '10' on a scale of 1-10, and I've broken an ankle, a thumb, had stitches, still get occasionally get migraines so bad I puke, had butt sex, umm what else. Pretty amateur list, but more importantly, there are things I didn't include that most people would complain about because I just deal with them because I'm THAT HARDCORE. Also I just slipped one in there to shock/disgust you, which is what ...he said, and I was only talking about the first time...SO, I'm talking a lot. The last two are what are what really interest me.

This is what the M15 looks like at 4am Christmas morning coming home from the bar. So - seasons! How they change things - how I feel, the way I get to work, (the way I see it) my ability (or desire) to go outside and enjoy the world..

ok i got distracted with dumb bullshit...it's better because this was getting too long to hold anyone's attention - I'll finish this later. No, I won't.

Life cray.

I've got no direction without her little fingers
    I want you to say
The admission of weakness I have great admiration for.

I'm a Wanderer

Not working is not working for me.

Being confined to my home all day is giving my mind a chance to remind itself that it is, in fact, CRAZY! Keeping busy at work helps me forget this and I am able to function as a normal equation. I don't even know math anymore.

I do nothing with my spare time. I wander the streets taking pictures with my goddamn iPhone and hope people will like them on Instagram. How far have I fallen? Where is rock bottom? Is there a reason it's called rock bottom? Like maybe I won't know until it hurts so bad I need other people to get me up? Fucking nightmare. The last thing I want is to become other peoples' problems. I am an explicit function of my own dysfunction.

I wander the streets of Chinatown and buy weird things that I only use maybe 1/3 of because the function of the rest truly escapes me. Maybe I should scale that back even further because I made a stir fry using some greens that looked safe to eat (though I cannot say this with confidence) and some chilis that while they may have been safe to eat should be used in EXTREME moderation...not just regular moderation. You know that red chili they print on Chinese menus to signify 'spicy?' This is the very pepper whose picture adorns all those fair papers. I love spicy food, but I do not enjoy coughing like a sprayed pepper spray and was not harmlessly cooking for my boyfriend and I.

I wander the streets of SoHo and buy stuff from the stores I can afford apparently just so I can feel guilty. I come home and lie about when I bought the stuff, then end up returning most of it. It gives me another reason to wander. I go into Ricky's and think 'this store is the fucking best' and sometimes buy something.

I wander by the bridges and river and look into the murky waters and wonder about the eels and think to myself that SOMEDAY I will live somewhere where I can catch my own fish and grow my own food and have a piano in my house and be able to lay on the floor and look at the ceiling and not feel as if the walls might squeeze me if I eat too much. Then I think, 'I will catch and eat these fish, and I might die, but I will be cool as fuck.' I have always cared more about being cool as fuck than anything practical. 

Sometimes I sit in the park on Forsyth or in a Chinese bakery and drink milk tea and eat some sort of Chinese pastry with red bean paste or something similar. I wonder if I annoy the Chinese people but decide they don't really give a shit, yet they mean everything to me.

I am almost completely convinced that if I keep writing my insanity will either dissipate or double.

So today I did no wandering. Yesterday I did not wander. I don't remember what it was yesterday, but today I decided that 65 was too cold to venture outside and fell asleep on the couch listening to Nirvana. What the fuck, you say? Indeed, love.

I am beginning to think that I might have reached the root of my square....aghhaha. How about this - I am being stifled by practicality. I AM TWENTY-SIX YEARS OLD AND I FEEL OLD AND RESPONSIBLE AND I DON'T EVEN HAVE A DOG. I forced myself into this; I said I'll show you, I'll fucking show all of you and I was just acting. It was all an act to prove my worth that I failed to show through conventional means such as...college. I have tried to write recently. I have, but it's the next step that I am terrified and completely unprepared for that will be my GOLIATH.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta. I'm back.