10 days, I apologize, I apologize further and I take them back when you're not looking. Everyone says it but I assure you I'm a special case: "No one understands me." Even myself. The past week and further has been unsuccesfully finding the compromise between you the reader, my significant other whom I need to post of, and myself. This is the pent up and near vomited-reorganized and retold update:
SPOILERS! (Click to view) To be honest, if you converted my life from grayscale to black & white you'd only get two kinds of days (from me):
"I don't care I don't care I don't care I don't care" (There is a Light that Never Goes Out) days
and
"I'm not happy and I'm not sad" (This Night Has Opened My Eyes) days. And I assure you in my own world the differences and implications are monumental.
The "I wear black on the outside because black is how I feel on the inside" (Unlovable) is implied of course. every day since time began.
Life of course is Grayscale though. There is no Black. No White, and a relationship between the two, there never was. Tonight was much more of the reoccurring theme "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore" anyways, a popular theme for 2006 it seems. And on a deep level of denial, "Asleep".
ANYWAYS, I stumble on, forwards and backwards. backwards and forwards. subjectively, metaphorically, physically. Its all "sideways" to me in every sence of the word. (on an intraceable, inescapable, neccessary downwards spiral
SPOILERS! (Click to view)
From here on, I personally more than philosophically continue. Daily Journal more than Memoir/Biography:
Once again. As always. Not that I
EVER think other wise (except that one time): I'd be better off dead.
God forbid life meet my reasonably extravagant demands and I assure you he has. And fuck the consequences of me saying so.
My policy has ever been "No one puts Baby in the corner" but it seems, much like Jennifer Grey, I just move from one corner to the other unable to take a seat as an extra and unwilling to storm out.
Ehh... what am I whining about? I'm still young. Nevermind. I'm cool. I need to make a plaque that reads
"Dude... You're only twenty-three, quit your shit"
...or you know... I could just get a reliable internet connection and roomates that didn't combine forces to keep me absolutely paranoid about making noise after dusk and leaving food or anything consumable in sight of anyone else
and you know... the girlfriend... well I'm sure she's begging to herself to be mentioned as she reads this, well whenever the fuck she does. For you darling, well our shit is our shit, I've had worse and we'll deal with that whenever we get to it. and for what its worth, I miss you. this very second I miss you and I deep down would like to work our shit out which is not something I say everyday.
*flexes claws, scratches the shit out of the couch and then immediatley pretends nothing happened* *curls up for a cat nap*
You might be miserable, but you do look good that way.