Moving Day

Kids, pack your things.

This is not a pipe.

Some people make their world whatever the hell sounds good to them. We're not in a fucking movie. Life isn't as dramatic as you make it--it's rather mundane, if I say so myself.

So true

"I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn't give myself. I can't make it more clear; it's only something which I am beginning to comprehend, which is revealing itself to me."

-Edna Pontellier, The Awakening

Summer

I guess I've stopped writing.

I don't know what it is, but my mind and words don't mix as well as they used to. I can no longer communicate anything, really. I feel like nothing in my life is tangible; there is nothing to back things up, nothing really exists. I live like an animal, off of feelings. I'm happy, I'm angry, I'm sad--for no reason at all. My feelings and my environment don't seem like they connect. I've become so detached from reality since I graduated from high school. I don't do anything anymore. I spend six hours wasting away, watching other people live their lives. Theresa got new bubbiez. Celina chose Jason over her parents' choice meat, because she and Jason were meant to be. And while they go on with their lives, I sit there. Waiting for something new to happen, waiting for something to write about.

Goodbye

As soon as I tear that envelope open, it's over.

So beautiful, I almost cried

9:47 p.m.

As I observe all of the greed, deception, and squalor of the world,


I smile.