Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I crave garlic.

I always say I'll take some time off, but then I end up back here.

See, the thing is, I've gone on a couple dates with a highly intelligent man, one that was clever enough to find this, and honest enough to tell me so.

And most of what I have to say, most of what's been eating at me lately, I'm rather ashamed to write about. So I haven't. And if I have, it's been so vague, even I have a hard time understanding after a few days.

I don't even really know what it is that's been bothering me. I can't speak of it in a coherent manner, though I'm almost sure it's an undescribable loneliness. You can surround yourself with people, but it's still there. It's mixed in with a desire to be out and done with the mundane shit that just blocks any path I see to existing. I need a break. A vacation. Or just something to shake me out of this funk that's taken over.

I'm fine. And functioning. It's just the same apathy I see writen over everyone's faces feeding the anger I'm trying to get rid of. I can't find a connection to anything, and I'm moving through the motions of someone else's life. Someone with a fraction of the passion I have.

I don't really care about anything. The things and people I actually care about don't. It scares me. I feel trapped, and so I want to run. My natural state, it seems. I'm not stimulated. I'm not challenged. I simply am. And, it's not enough.

I don't know how or if I'll ever come up with an idea of what I'd like to do with my future. And my future seems like certain doom. It's just sitting there, waiting for me, and I don't know what I can do about it.

I wish for someone to take my face with both of their hands and just look into my eyes for longer than a minute, and at least pretend to know what's going on inside.

3:27 p.m. - 2003-06-03

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

previous - next