<< July 2004 >>
SunMonTueWedThuFriSat
 
1
2
3
4
56
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
+ all -

Similarly slated

Excuse me, are you lost? Perhaps you would care to visit the site map

timshel.

Composition

Would you like to comment on this entry?

"Everything counts a little more than we think..."

06 July 2004 Tuesday

I feel really sick

slated in mused at 12:13 am

...but it’s just a feeling. I’m sure it will go away, and be the only thing that does.

I’d really like to write something.. but what would I say? I don’t want to talk about how I feel.. I don’t want to talk about this week, and especially not yesterday and today.

It’s really hot in my room. Even with three fans blowing. I’m not thinking very highly of these fans.

I’ve eaten a lot of blueberries in the last few days. While on a plane ride over to Asia a few years ago (I forget where in Asia) I sat next to a gentleman (British/American..I think American..keeps an apartment in Bangkok) who was reading a magazine article about surprisingly most-healthy foods.. He and I talked about it for a while—tried to guess them and then remember them and.. I’ve forgotten most of the conversation. It was pleasant. One of the foods was blueberries.

Showers don’t make me feel better. I don’t suppose they make me feel worse, though. And my room isn’t getting any cooler and I’m still sweating as I sit here—I despise sweating indoors.

Most unhappiness and disatisfaction and hurt and disgust and … anyway, it’s mostly in one’s head, right? That is, what happens to you is what it is, and how you choose to feel about it is what you make of it.. right? Well, I guess I’m choosing to feel like this paragraph is crap.

I guess I’m feeling beaten. So this is what it feels like. To be treated with open disdain and insult, and to be told to accept it, at the pain of being told I am selfishly complaining and responsible for making everyone unhappy. Live with it, as it lives carefreely around me as if nothing was nothing and neither am I. I don’t choose to feel like this. There are few other things I feel so badly about, and nothing that feels this bad. I think this feeling is worse than heartbreak—if that isn’t combined in it to begin with. My face hurts. If I stay, this is what I stay with. If I leave, I’m accused of running away. And I didn’t want to make anyone cry.

I feel disgusting and disgusted.

I’d look more forward to tomorrow, if I didn’t remember that that’s what I was doing yesterday when today happened.

Subscribe to XML comments feed for this article

If you don't have one (and would like one), get a Gravatar.

Add your comment here:

*Must click Preview first, and your comment will NOT go through until
you hit SUBMIT after previewing. (It's a spam-prevention thing.)
From here you may like to visit the archive, go home,
or page through other journal entries: