the seven of clubs

maybe it's stupid, but i think i'm having an anxiety attack because a boy i barely know has decided to cut me out of his life. we've talked on two occasions. i don't know his middle name. i know it makes no sense to care, but i make no sense in general, and it just hurts. it hurts. it hurts.

i am having an anxiety attack. i am, i know i am.

and i cannot win a single game of solitaire.

the end.

full throttle

i'm no good with attachment
that is, mutual attachment

i can't deal with people who like me
i just can't

i will chase after you up until the point when you turn around to try and meet me
and then i will run away

don't ask me why
i don't know

all i can do is blame some premature diagnosis
given to me by a doctor who i will never see again

today i learned that i am nihilistic
today i realized that i may very well die alone.

(punctuate)
(.)

if only a self-fulfilling prophecy
were really that fulfilling.

merry times

shots of tequila and a lime that got me drunker than the alcohol,
and still i can only manage to reach that silly state of partial drunkenness,
and only halfway right,
if not completely left.

and in a room that reeks of vomit that looked suspiciously (predictably) like rice,
where i remained so i could monitor someone else's breathing, for once
i find myself alone.

i find myself alone.

and i'm sorry,
to the clone of the guy i already dated,
but you're too comfortable for me to really care about you.
(besides, i've only known you for a week,
and if i really managed to break your heart in that amount of time,
like you said i did,
you have a weak heart to begin with,
and it likely has a dilapidated beat.)

love can't be comfortable.
when it is, it's not exciting.

and when i say love, i mean exhilaration.

because when you walk into the room, i don't want to think
"i'm comfortable now"
i want to think
"..."
because when you're excited you don't really think about shit.

like being on a rollercoaster,
you don't think
"ahhhh"
you just say it
you just do it
you just are

sometimes you have to grab discomfort and kick it in the ass
(or kiss it on the lips)

and if you're lucky,
you'll forget how to breathe.

absolut

been at university for two weeks and i've already consumed more alcohol than i did all summer, slept around like a fucking minx, and "settled down" with a sweet guy who i guess i ought to start calling my boyfriend.

life should be good, but i still consider it the same level of blase (enter french accent) that it has been for ages. i'm starting to wonder if i'll ever feel anything again, ever.

although i know i felt something last night when a guy called me a bitch from halfway down the street and i flipped him the bird and kept walking like i didn't give a shit. then, when i was around the corner, i sat down on the curb and started to cry.

i had my girlies there to cheer me up, though. that's never happened before.

life is good, i know. i just have a hard time showing it.

time for another vodka and lime.