Ignore my Sniveling

It's almost eleven and I don't know what I've done since dinner. Laid down for a bit, but other than that, suddenly I find the hours ticking by and nothing's getting done, nothing's happening. It's like I'm frozen, waiting for what to do to come to me. I have a couple options but nothing seems quite right, and here I am staring at photographs of my life and nicknacks from childhood. There are things to do, there are things I must do, but I can't seem to do them. I feel like sleeping would be better, I feel like junk food would be good, too, but that requires getting up and going across the street, that requires spending money I don't have to spend. God, money, what a pain in my ass. If I had money, oh the things I would do. But I guess that's what separates people. Have the will to make what you want happen. I feel I'm in a rut, a bad bad rut I can't pull out of. The Nothing is getting to me, swallowing me whole and mostly I don't even care. I don't really talk to anyone anymore, I'm bored with the internet- yet at the same time, I still don't read, I guess I've been writing a bit more, taking some pretty pictures but my depths are not being reached. Everything's skimming the surface and I'm just laying here, watching time pass, breathing through my sufferings. I want to talk but I don't know the words, I don't have the right ears, nothing comes out most of the time. Fragments, then, when they do. Fragments of stories, fragments of feelings, fragments of my life and I'm wondering if I've totally cracked this time... I wish I knew the answers, I wish I knew what to do for once.

Detaching

Self Portrait printed in the darkroom... buy one at my etsy store

It's nine thirty at night and I'm considering going to bed, that's how bored I am. That, and I'm anxious, I'm not sure if it's out of lack of people to talk to, things to do, not smoking cigarettes, not drinking... Probably everything. The internet seems incredibly boring but it could be that I'm just boring. Someone pointed that out to me the other day, that I am indeed boring. Thus, I am bored. In my desire to step things down a big notch and gather my whits, I've actually become boring. Excuse me, I think I'm insulted by myself.

Wow, I just realized that I am absolutely surrounded by all the things I miss when I'm not here. So many books it's unreal, unreasonable amounts of writing mediums- three typewriters, multi coloured and designed paper and envelopes, every color pen and pencils, crayons, shit loads of pictures, scrap books, construction paper... All these things to do and I'm bored?

I'm becoming obsessed with the idea of ditching my iphone and getting some piece of shit thing. I keep thinking about leaving with the least amount of stuff possible. Wondering what I can sell to make a little money but not finding the drive to actually photograph it, and thinking- fuck it all, fuck it all I just gotta get the hell out of here, let go of all my attachment to everything. Just pack up my photo shit, minimal clothes and get goin to NYC...

bored, bored, bored

Sometimes I just want to scream, I want someone to really hear me and it seems no matter what I do, every work that comes out of my mouth or fingers falls on deaf ears- am I not saying the right thing? Are my words falling together incoherent and desperate? Why is it so hard to find someone to hear me? God, I know it's not just that- I want someone who I want to listen to just as much, I want someone who holds my attention. I could scream at people I care about to listen because I feel like they are lacking, my phone lies unused day after day, facebook is dead, email is dead, everything is fucking dead and I went from 100 to zero and I'm left trying to concentrate on my limbo, of my putting shit together one day at a time, and it's hard- I work better in a wreck, a chaos and I'm stranded among my own thoughts and few possessions, memories haunting and emotions licking like fire across my chest where it feels so heavy with addiction and not of cigarettes and booze like I'd think, but of inspiration and love and passion and stimulation. I am bored, I am so bored and mostly I sit here in my room thinking about all the things I have to do to become unbored, to move forward, yet I let my heartbreak lead my days into nights, wasting away with dream tortured sleep and the never ending flow of unanswered questions- questions upon myself and everything and everyone I know. Why is life so difficult? that is what I've found to be true above all else, it is difficult. And am I as self centered and terrible as some people think I am? Christ, I hope not, but if I am I suppose it's time to consider that an option and adjust accordingly.... Ever fixing myself. Ever bettering myself. I am confused, constantly.

Shit, I think I just need therapy.