no excuses this time. you have the right to feel neglected, because i have, in fact, been neglecting you.
things continue to be weird. chewing on the notion that it is never going to go back to 'normal.' thinking i might be ok with that.
i am 22 now. my joints ache and my fingers are greasy. i have recently developed an incredible fear of aneurysms and heart malfunctions. i find myself grieving the lives of those still living.
i want to go out to a bar and have drinks with friends. i live outside of a little town of about 300 people. i have no friends in the surrounding cities. this makes going out to the bar for drinks difficult.
andy left again. we were trying to see eachother once a month, but i work too much. he is living the life ive always wanted, and my jealousy is at times unbearable. he keeps telling me to make friends. that used to be very easy. nowadays it seems no one is interested. the most recent attempts to communicate my desire for fellowship with other human beings has been disastrous and embarrassing.
my mother was never able to enjoy her youth because of the choices she made. i am not enjoying my youth because thats just the way things worked out. sometimes at nite i get in her bed and lay my head on her lap and she pets my hair and sometimes i cry because of how much i love her.
i feel old and weathered and i feel guilty all the time. i feel like i havent any right to feel anything. i feel like no one really understands how incredibly lonely i am. not unhappy. just lonely.
i started making music. it is one of the most satisfying things ive ever done in my life. i even made a myspace page. its so poorly done and homemade, i love it. i dont know why it says all the songs are five minutes long. theyre not.
i couldnt decide which of these photos was more adorable, so i made them into one photo.
i start school full time again in april. the last ten months. of school. in my life.
dont worry. i am still taking an unhealthy amount of self portraits. i started a website for my photography as well. youre not allowed to see that yet.
things continue to be weird. chewing on the notion that it is never going to go back to 'normal.' thinking i might be ok with that.
i am 22 now. my joints ache and my fingers are greasy. i have recently developed an incredible fear of aneurysms and heart malfunctions. i find myself grieving the lives of those still living.
i want to go out to a bar and have drinks with friends. i live outside of a little town of about 300 people. i have no friends in the surrounding cities. this makes going out to the bar for drinks difficult.
andy left again. we were trying to see eachother once a month, but i work too much. he is living the life ive always wanted, and my jealousy is at times unbearable. he keeps telling me to make friends. that used to be very easy. nowadays it seems no one is interested. the most recent attempts to communicate my desire for fellowship with other human beings has been disastrous and embarrassing.
my mother was never able to enjoy her youth because of the choices she made. i am not enjoying my youth because thats just the way things worked out. sometimes at nite i get in her bed and lay my head on her lap and she pets my hair and sometimes i cry because of how much i love her.
i feel old and weathered and i feel guilty all the time. i feel like i havent any right to feel anything. i feel like no one really understands how incredibly lonely i am. not unhappy. just lonely.
i started making music. it is one of the most satisfying things ive ever done in my life. i even made a myspace page. its so poorly done and homemade, i love it. i dont know why it says all the songs are five minutes long. theyre not.
i couldnt decide which of these photos was more adorable, so i made them into one photo.
i start school full time again in april. the last ten months. of school. in my life.
dont worry. i am still taking an unhealthy amount of self portraits. i started a website for my photography as well. youre not allowed to see that yet.
i hear thunder
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and I love your photos.
Good work.