The Longer I Lay Here

There's a half-cooked meal in my kitchen right now, but I burned the fuck out of my lima beans and sliced a peach and drank a cup of coffee.

I need to finish cooking and eat more, but it's already been sitting there for a few hours.

I've been sitting here... all I've done today is bathe. All I did yesterday was sleep.

I tried to find a new layout, and that manages to take hours and hours to filter through the options. I don't mind my layout, and I'm locked up anyway, so what does it matter?

We can all agree that I'm more punk rock than Avril Lavigne, right?

I've got tattoos.

So, yeah, my scorched lima beans still sit there. I'll just fry me up some salmon cakes.

Good things I was raised poor, huh? I know how to make tasty little cheap meals.

Too bad I have a penchant for Mediterranean cuisine.

Too bad I can't stop playing "Spider" solitaire... and even worse that I've only won four times in the last two weeks.

I sent an epistle to Tylere today. Yes, a really really long email.

I just want a template that's crisp, dark, and features something implying rock'n'roll. Lyrics are always good.

The first template I had was almost perfect, until I somehow fucked it up: "Opinions were like kittens I was giving them away" it said.

I need to excercise.

Tomorrow I'm going to the Vineyard church here and checking that out. I hope it doesn't suck, really, because I just want all my days to have something that I have to do.

I need more responsibility, is all.

I knew this would happen: no one to take care of and I'd let myself go to shit.

Someone come visit me so I'll clean my room.

Someone start failing because I'm lazy.

Someone offer to love me if I had firmer abs.

Okay, that last one was just silly!

Three words I hate:

missive

minutia

modicum

I dont' know where my aversion to these words came from - perhaps the over-use they found in the vocabulary of Patrick didn't help - but if someone uses these words I feel my brain begin to close-off to them. People seldom do use them, fortunately, so I'm not required to be closed-minded for many people.

The letter I wrote to Tylere was full of how much I love to love the people I love and how creepy it feels to not be able to do that on a daily basis.

I've got a storehouse of stale hugs, you know.

Screw how I hate not being held, I miss doing the holding.

these arms of mine they are lonely and feeling blue

I am going to go read my Cognitive Neuroscience text book now, for real.

Before I piss myself off.

I don't think that the cycle of lazy to self-loathing to end-of-the-rope to salvation to insiration to lazy is going to happen.

I'm too mean and stubborn and determined to allow case-study symptoms to wreck my home.

My child hood is a case-study.

From now on I want my trauma to be freaky shit, and none of this mundane, banal, insipid sort of pulp.