i don't want to leave my bedroom. i'm not 'depressed', at least not in the traditionally way. i don't feel 'depressed', i probably never really was before. i just do not trust myself. i'll do something wrong if i don't do what i'm told, so if i'm not told anything, i'll do nothing.
what a stupid fucking way to think. i'm probably wrong, anyway. M-- would tell me i'm wrong. i even think that myself. i'll get over this in a week, or never, depending on how you look at it.
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i watched this video about Community and how the reason Troy and Abed's friendshop works is because "they let each other be who they want to be". people talk sometimes about how me and M-- work together really well as friends, and after i watched that video, i started thinking about how i would describe us, why i think we get alone. i wanted us to be like Troy and Abed in that we let each other be who we want to be, but that never felt right because i don't think that's it. i think we let each other be who we are. maybe that's really no different.
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i need to take a break from the Internet at some point. maybe take a full month off, with the exception of a Wattpad post once a week or something like that just so i don't lose touch with you for too long. it's become more bad than benign to me. i have begun to want the convenience of pulling in and out of conversations via text than than the weight of having someone speaking and being with me. i need to get back to the right way of doing things, if i ever did things right at all.
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i don't like that my neighborhood is surrounded by fracking sites. i'm surprised i forget that's the case. i guess you can get used to anything.
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the UPS guy was very Lynchian. he was distrustfully upbeat and neighborly. he suspiciously lacked edge, both in the way his voice sounded and in what he said. he floated just above tired in the uncanny valley between it and plain enthusiasm.
"here you go!"
"thanks."i wasn't wearing pants before i got outside. i wasn't planning on going outside for anything but Maddie. i don't think i hid that in how my face looked.
"is this your dog? she seems like an old girl. she's moving like one."
"not really. she's just laying about, y'know, waiting for her mum."
i thought he was now gonna leave, so i called for Maddie, but the UPS guy already started petting her without asking, which i took note of. it's custom not to let anyone pet her even if they ask. we'll tell them that "she is actually really mean", but this time i didn't say anything. i didn't feel i should, or what i really mean is that i was frozen, i don't know what to think. i watched his hands. they looked kind of dirty, like they were covered in pencil lead, but that might have been his skin. he left after almost too long.
"see ya!", he said quietly, which almost seemed intentional, nevermind that he was walking away from me.
"yeah."
i got Maddie to go into the garage with me. i said "that guy rubbed me the wrong way, let's get the fuck inside" to her as if she could ever understand me. i then realized the irony in saying "rubbed me the wrong way", because i felt like a coward for not telling him off. that's why i don't want to leave my bedroom.
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police sirens, cars driving by, and the phone ringing usually make me slightly anxious, like something is on the verge of being revealed.
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i'm glad you had a good day with J------. you of all people need more days like that. how you got along reminds me of how me and M-- first got along. we were from the same circle, but were on receding ends of it, so we experienced the same things but saw them from different points of view. again, you of all people need someone who understands you.
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i wonder what will happen with the IDF people at summer camp. that's a super interesting premise.
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i have been coming up with story ideas since i was extremely young, and i don't mean just daydreaming, i mean actively jotting and doodling and writing it all out. ever since i was like 6, i have had boxes and folders and documents full of them. i used to shit them out rapid-fire, i easily had a thousand. it's changed since then, i may have thought about stopping altogether at the worst of times, but i haven't really let up at all. i cannot imagine processing or interacting with the world without the thought that one day i will write about it. it's been like this before you, before C----, before middle school, even before the first grade. this is just who i am. i don't think i could ever stop it even if i wanted to, which i would never really, even if i thought it was pointless. i can't switch it off. i'll have to do something with it eventually, that's the whole point.
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i could write two full posts about everything that happened with that drunk guy, and i inevitably will even if i tell you all about it in the meantime, but i just don't feel like thinking about it at the moment.
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i think i had a dream last night that i was a girl who bad short hair with bangs and glasses. i resembled Sarah from Sounds Good, who i suspect is trans as if that should matter to me. in the dream, i think i was MTF, too. i was looking into the mirror on the driver seat's sun visor in my car, which was superimposed over everything i saw. the fabric of the interior was grey instead of beige. i was parked outside somewhere. i said nothing to myself and my expression was blank to the point of discomfort.
oh no, is it happening to me?? am i hatching?!?!
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i think you know what i mean by this, but you know when you're reluctantly attracted to someone? like, it's embarrassing or kind of weird to be attracted to them because they're too old or something, but you are anyway, you can't really help it. it's weird in itself. i felt that way about my grade 10 science teacher and Tina Fey in 30 Rock. it's not all that interesting of an anecdote, i guess. gotta get to that 1000 words, though.
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i keep a mental list of records, groups, and musicians that have influenced me throughout my life, starting when i was a newborn and kind of ending in middle school, because it became hard to keep track of then as i started draining the art of all its worth habitually. recently, i have been thinking a lot about Beck Hansen.
Beck was my David Bowie. he was the first singular musician to really shift the way i interact with music, way before James Murphy and LCD, before i could even think of noise, and before i needed punk rock. he was the first outfit that i remember looking for what else they've done, which solidified what an 'album' is to me. i think i learned what the word "discography" meant though reading about him. he was also the first person to show me that you can get weird with words before i ever started reading really anyone. his music tried things i didn't know could be tried. i guess he made me who i am today.
