kjpepper | Words vs. Pictures museum (Reply)

Some disjointed 3 am thoughts.

So I've been thinking (read, brooding) on the use of words, just how many I use as my days wax and wane... And somehow they never seem to really help anything.

I've been thinking that instead of using words as a bridge to further my path, I instead weave them around me until they wall me in several feet deep.

I once read a story about Mozart as a child, where his father said that he didn't see, but was not blind - everything simply came to him through his ears. I feel like that sometimes - I don't experience things, I simply absorb through words, voice and pictures.

I'm starting to see rather alarming paralells between myself and my mother. I'm afraid that if I don't do something about it soon, I'm going to end up just like her, fairly agoraphobic, walled up in a dark house with all the windows tightly shuttered, never leaving except to other havens of family, only letting my own frustrations with life eat away at me until my life imitates my art and my own body literally starts eating away at me in the forms of various weird cancers.

I really need to learn to drive, I'm so trapped by my inability to do so. Of course there's the problem of not having a car to actually drive once the license is procured, but never mind.

I hate emotional paralysis.

I don't much like chronic depression either.

chocolate is bad in excess.

I think I'm done with the delicately pale, introspective geekboys for now. Three is quite enough to burn candles for. One is still my best friend, one is utterly lost until whatever day he wants to be found again (and that's always been the way, even when I used to see him almost every day), the last... here's hoping he doesn't get himself killed. I mean really. a) I've got a relationship, how greedy can I get? b) *sigh* fuck it. I'm not the sort of gal they download vids of off the internet and wank to. And I'm never gonna be. Someone once told me to do them a favor, curl up next to sundart, pull her close enough to me that I can feel her skin and smell her hair, and just hold her...

Maybe true happiness is not a realistic goal for me.

Another frustration of not being vehicularly mobile - can't indulge the urge to just take to the road and drive in the middle of the night. Somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it's just the huge 24 hour KMart in Meriden CT. Or the waterfront in New Haven, watching the sun rise. (need to go to New Haven at some point anyways, pick up new copies of my birth certificate.) Or maybe I'll wind up like Forrest gump and just keep going and going and going until there's nowhere left to go, because the longer you go, the longer it will take to get back home so you just might as well keep going. Fitting metaphor for someone whose primary mode of dealing is running as hard and as far away as possible.

How soon is now?

I don't want to stay in the house. I don't want to go outside. No happy in between state, except the dead, dreamless sleep of the discontent.

I'm tired of my own words. I'm tired of talking just for the sake of hearing myself talk. I've been tired of it for a long ass while. And I'm tired of waiting for other's words to drift by me, to entertain me, motivate me, jumpstart my engine. I need to escape my own head before I trap myself in it. It's not too late.

peeper frogs are loud little buggers.

I need a shower.

I need school to be over one way or another.

Excuse me, I must going now. I'll be back when something actually exciting happens.