but i havent taken my meds yet. so im still awake.
watched the oscars. natalie portman is just…yes :)
i love her.
anyway, i was gonna bleach my hair today. but im too tired. im too tired to do anything yet im so incredibly bored and just…wrapped up in my head. its time to take my meds for sure. i really don’t want to eat before i go to bed though.
i think what im gonna do, is just take my meds and have a cigarette and brush my teeth and hope for sleep. which definitely will not happen. so….what now?
If you had a time machine, what date would you travel to?
None. I would sell the time machine for a ton of $ yo. i don’t want to know about my future and i don’t need to dwell on the past. i’ve seen too many movies to know that it only fucks shit up in the long run.
my hearts being ripped around in my veins. I’m trying to be smart, and to no what’s right and to not take anything seriously, but at the same time it’s preventing me from expressing anything, letting anyone know they’re truly killing me, and buries me lower and lower and lower.
i don’t think we’re in love anymore. if we were, i wouldn’t be so low on the list. we would both come first for eachother. perhaps he will always come first for me, but i do not come first for him.
I’m trying so hard to be mellow, so hard to be smart, so hard to be a good girlfriend, that im dismissing all the things that cause me pain. so much pain.
i want to cry so bad, i hate it all.
i hate the way it ended and the truth.
but instead of confronting it, im just gonna ignore the hurt, take my pills and watch a movie until i fall asleep.
“There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born there, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size, its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter—the city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something. Of these trembling cities the greatest is the last—the city of final destination, the city that is a goal. It is this third city that accounts for New York’s high strung disposition, its poetical deportment, its dedication to the arts, and its incomparable achievements. Commuters give the city its tidal restlessness, natives give it solidity and continuity, but the settlers give it passion. And whether it is a farmer arriving from a small town in Mississippi to escape the indignity of being observed by her neighbors, or a boy arriving from the Corn Belt with a manuscript in his suitcase and a pain in his heart, it makes no difference: each embraces New York with the intense excitement of first love, each absorbs New York with the fresh yes of an adventurer, each generates heat and light to dwarf the Consolidated Edison Company… .”—E.B White “Here is New York” from Essays of E.B White, which I am presently devouring. (via minusmanhattan)