I have nothing to say, which is why I'm sitting here alone, in the office because I'm too tired to go home, resting my swollen eyes behind glasses that cut my skin and make my ears ache, wanting it to be Wednesday and, yet, not caring whether the world makes it that far.
Every conversation with one of my co-workers these days is a tricky endeavor; she seems to be disarmed by the fact that I look at her with interest every time I think she has something to say. It wouldn't surprise me if my own personal curiosity about her is starting to bleed into how she sees me and my actions, especially considering the things I've said to her outside the context of the office.
With that said, I'm worried, because my need is beginning to control all the other parts of me, and I don't want to be defined by what I delude myself into needing any more than I already am. I sometimes scare off those who impress me with my need; Maggie is the first who comes to mind, beautiful, fucking beautiful, interesting Maggie, who I could probably have spoken to had I run into her in the past couple months, but no more, now that I'm some facsimile of the wreck I was when I met her.
The truth is--
No, fuck that, there is no truth, no grand fact for me to discover which will make all the other fragments of my problems fall into some clearer picture, no lesson for me to impart upon any reader who, for reasons I could never fathom, might be reading this looking for any insight into the nature of their life. This is a chronicle of me; I'd call it the pinnacle of my egotism but, really, that's a peak constantly pushing skyward, shit, it's beyond the sky at this point, it's drawing a new definition of altitude with every breath I draw and release.
It's dark enough for me to go out now.
Every conversation with one of my co-workers these days is a tricky endeavor; she seems to be disarmed by the fact that I look at her with interest every time I think she has something to say. It wouldn't surprise me if my own personal curiosity about her is starting to bleed into how she sees me and my actions, especially considering the things I've said to her outside the context of the office.
With that said, I'm worried, because my need is beginning to control all the other parts of me, and I don't want to be defined by what I delude myself into needing any more than I already am. I sometimes scare off those who impress me with my need; Maggie is the first who comes to mind, beautiful, fucking beautiful, interesting Maggie, who I could probably have spoken to had I run into her in the past couple months, but no more, now that I'm some facsimile of the wreck I was when I met her.
The truth is--
No, fuck that, there is no truth, no grand fact for me to discover which will make all the other fragments of my problems fall into some clearer picture, no lesson for me to impart upon any reader who, for reasons I could never fathom, might be reading this looking for any insight into the nature of their life. This is a chronicle of me; I'd call it the pinnacle of my egotism but, really, that's a peak constantly pushing skyward, shit, it's beyond the sky at this point, it's drawing a new definition of altitude with every breath I draw and release.
It's dark enough for me to go out now.
mr_ruckus:
Aaaaaaaah! A vampire!
