8:24 p.m. - 2005-04-12
These seasons are dragging me in familiar patterns.
The weather confuses me. I'm wearing long sleeves to block out the cold- wind, snow, and stares. It's hard to break through sleeves. I'm sneezing through the misleading season and counting backwards. Who stole my year of sweetness. Who said time could move faster then we were willing to run. "It's a marathon, not a sprint." How I despise what has always appeared to be pointless running. running for a goal I can weave around. I can hold on to and shape into a story, a plot that I can follow and manipulate. I can't seem to grasp what lacks reason. I want to give it a point. I want to know the point. I want to be able to make sense out of what is given to me. I am not above lying.
Summer is going to swallow us whole and I am not afraid to let it. I am fully willing to be completely consumed by being alone. Did no one tell you? We all have a bit of winter that lives inside of us. Mine took over. I tell the days by the seasons weaving themselves around my heart. It's always winter, now. You try to walk through me and you will fall, humiliated. You are better off staying in a sheltered area. Don't touch unless you are willing to feel the cold. My summer days are going to be a distraction. Breathing is oh so impressive when all you can feel is a grasp around your neck and an embrace from air that weighs more then it should. This moisture is for drowning in.
I always came with a warning. I did my best to display it where I thought it would be seen by all. I am the cigarettes you smoke because they are there and for no other reason. I go nowhere unless you put me there. I cling to your hair, your clothes, your life. It is your decision whether or not to live with me. I am no stalker. I go where I am placed and watch carefully for the games to begin.
I call this The Fish Bowl Effect. I'd like to see someone try to tell me I'm wrong about that. In fact, I'd love for someone to tell me i'm wrong. Sure, I'll ask for proof and an explanation. I want all the information you are willing to give up, but expect nothing less of me. I make my own rules and break them as I will. For the sake of all things pretty, make me lose for once. This is just another pointless game. Hint for winning; regulating boredom gets boring. When are you going to blow the whistle? When does it start?
hey, know what? Pronouns are degrading. Pronouns let us all know that the user thinks "hey, that person isn't worth being a proper noun." I'm sorry I was ever part of that. I'm sorry that I still am. Who wants to be a pronoun? Raise your hands! Pronouns are mostly all I know, because a name, a real birth given name, is scary, terrifying even.
"What if that person doesn't like me anymore?!!!!"
I don't care. Call it a bitchy mood or an altogether break down, but I don't care who likes me anymore. I don't need it. That is what winter does to me. That's not fair. Winter shouldn't be blamed. This is what I have done to myself.
In order to put this Pronoun Abolition into effect, I need a word. This word is what will replace every single "you" that I will use that does not refer to a real person. A majority of what I write is to no one or to myself or to anyone who is willing to listen. I used to write "you" with hopes that someone would read it one day and be reassured or perhaps even want to do something to change it. i thought, "hey, maybe I can point out the terror that we're all letting into our lives and maybe somebody else will find a way to destroy it." Here I was thinking I was going to find myself a partner in crime, or the destruction of thus. No such luck. Submit a word via a note and you shall have my utmost appreciation. If all else fails, I shall have to go with my instinct and address everything to kismet. How terribly upsetting that I'm willing to leave everything to that.
I'm sorry this is all. I'm sorry that no one can escape into stories. The end of a sentence, a paragraph, a page, a badly drawn picture with a face that no one would ever care to question; too perfect to be true, well, maybe that's what happened to us all. If it is, well, there's still a fairytale ending to look forward to.
