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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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Overcast
I am here in the library, in the basement of the library, killing time until my next class begins. I began a letter to Sophistica, which sits unsent in my draft folder as it was even more loose and rambling than usual and will need some trimming before being sent so as to keep her from thinking that I am the lunatic that I am. I haven't written a real entry in a while, and so I feel very rusty. I feel very empty and lonely and I don't want to say that. I also don't want to say that I'm having a hard time staying focused on success as always. I don't want to say this because I don't want it to be true and because I don't want to have to face it and do anything about it and I don't want to have to suffer the consequences of it. I want to say that the weather today is beautifully depressing: overcast, spitting rain. And I want to be at home, under the covers, reading some junk or petting a cat. But I am in school, killing time until my math class begins forty-five minutes from now, and I'm tired because I couldn't sleep last night. I don't know why I couldn't sleep, only I just lay awake fantasizing about my latest crush and masturbating to the fantasy finally, which would normally put me to sleep but which last night didn't. I got up and ate an orange. I tried to read some junk. Still couldn't sleep. I want to be done with school so bad. I want to be done but I keep tripping up so that I won't have to move forward. I keep planting these little landmines that blow me off track. And I know that all it takes at this point is a little slip up to add yet another semester to my EGT, and I manage to pull these little slip ups off with amazing dexterity and regularity that I even amaze myself. I don't want sympathy.
More lies:
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