Writing has always been an outlet for me. Thanks to the search for the missing blower, I stumbled upon an old notebook. It was my companion for a half year when I was going through a rough period in my life. I talked to no one else about what I was going through, except to this fat little bungee book. I selected something that’s safe for work; I had R-rated stuff, a bit surprising given my relative inexperience, bwahaha. As to the style, this one’s part stream-of-consciousness, part Gollum, lol. I don’t even think it’s good writing but I enjoyed going inside my head, eight and a half years ago…
Eating ice cream at McDo. I hope it rains so hard. I don’t want to go nowhere. What does it mean to be lost? Lost among strangers… Hate. Hate because I can’t concentrate on myself anymore. If there’s anything I want it’s to be selfish, to be lost in myself. My world. And if anybody says nothing else matters, it’s true. So true. The art of never finding oneself because it was never lost. Is it possible to lose yourself in another? The way Ayn Rand put it? I don’t like the way I eat this ice cream… I don’t like being looked at. Maybe I wasn’t meant for fame, or fame wasn’t meant for me. Nonsense. Nonsense! I never really hated myself. Well, I thought I did. Oh, she will be loved! She will be. By the man by the window. I want him to stare. But I want him to go too because I can’t own him. I despise… I despise leaving. But that’s the only way I’m gonna make my mark. Die and leave a gorgeous corpse. Beautiful. Feel beautiful. This ice cream hasn’t melted for 20 mins, I’m lucky. I’m loved. Am I weird? This should be over in about 10 mins. But there’s nothing left to… he’s still here. So I won’t leave. I don’t wanna leave a mark. I want more than that. If he catches me looking furtively at him, it’s done. It’s all over with. He’ll never ever be mine. Meat stinks. So does my feet. I can’t do anything about it. He came first. I only had the ice cream which I don’t have now. Will I have it — him — again? But then I don’t really care. Goodbye. He doesn’t, too.
Odd that I find this now, when I’m in a similar disposition — loveless and jobless — and likewise in an emotional low (it’s been a month since my brother dog Dollar passed away). I still harbor the same feelings for certain people, including myself, haha. And the things that irked me then also irk me now. SSDD (same shit, different day). Dr. House is right, people don’t change.