Friday, November 21, 2008

If I was Alice... I probably would have stayed

Clouds are supposed to look like candyfloss and happiness, in my head they should smell of slightly burnt sugar, and sparkle like fibreglass when the light hits them.
Today’s cloud smells of old eggs, the water in a vase of dead flowers and yesterdays red wine breath, I am not even sure why I carry on, days like this where the energy has been drained from me and I’m all withered and haggard, a winter tree that should have been blown over by the wind but survived on misguided stubbornness.


This week has been rough, and for that I get a satin sash and a bunch of flowers, “Queen of the Understatement”. I don’t understand people, my life makes me unhappy and chocolate has lost its magical ability to soothe and muffle the random small paper cuts life leaves me with.
I hate depressed blogs, not that I like anything much right now, but I have never understood putting your own personal void on “paper” to infect the rest of the world with your own brand of joyless cynicism… and my writing totally sucks when I feel like this.
I feel like my relationship is being eaten from the inside out, my birthday was beautiful and special and crushingly disappointing, I don’t think I will have another one, I will just be a really old looking 25, buying depends in bulk from Makro one day. The people I trust don’t seem to feel the same, and that feels like a whole new kind of betrayal, it needs a suitable Latin name. Maybe I just don’t understand anything, or anyone. I have lost the ability to relate. Oh, and my gearbox hates me.

I want to hide and paint, I want to breakdown and cry, I don’t want to face month ends and tedium, I feel like complaining is something I have no right to do, and that makes me angrier. Why do I do this, when it all feels like a total betrayal of self, why am I the practical responsible one, why cant I kick and scream and claw, why cant I fight for what I believe any more? I hate that I shop when I’m down, creating a bigger void in an attempt to fill the current one, I want to scream, to berate the world, to stab pointlessly at the faded fabric of my life. Instead I will balance the bank, accept the status quo, and hate myself for being a spineless idiot. Life? Sorry, never had one, what does it smell like?

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