I'll be waiting for my rocket to come
September 14, 2003 @ 7:05 p.m.
Here I sit, trying to duck my roommate, trying to duck the toga-themed house picture my hallmates want to take. Hiding, hiding. Hiding from the speech that's due in a week -- a speech of tribute; I don't know what to say about my mother, or anyone else, or anything. Hiding from the reading I have to do for class -- how uninteresting. Hiding from the papers that are piling up faster than I can take them in my English course -- I can't write fast on a computer and writing them longhand is too tedious.
Time, time. Time I don't have.
Time I don't want to have. Because none of this is really important to me. What's important to me is still unclear, but I can determine what is not. It's not papers and typing out tedious lines, and it never has been. I don't enjoy writing papers -- perhaps as an English major I should, but I don't. Analyzing other peoples's works seems silly. I know that when I write, I don't normally think "This should be a metaphor for..." or something of that nature.
Maybe that's why I'm not published, or even successful. Because I don't mean anything by it.
I'm just very tired. The sandpaper of live is grinding away at me and rubbing my emotions away, smooth. Soon I will get drunk and have sex and not care, like the rest of these coeds. Soon I will give everything away because I have nothing to give. I will stop hoarding my virginity; I will stop pretending to be good because I am not good.
I will stop waiting for Prince Charming, soon. I will settle for the guy who manages a smile and an invite.
Soon.
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006