i sit here and i think about the full dishwasher i need to run in the morning and i think about the emptiness inside me.

i think about how ridiculous i must look half-tired, and clad in a white shirt and navy blue shorts.

these are not normal thoughts.

i have so much to write about, but i don't know if i'll make it or lose track and drift off to sleep. hmm, maybe that's a secret phrase denoting some deeper meaning. maybe waking life is just an illusion and when we sleep we return to the cosmic ocean.

i feel as if i'm floating. (“if I had a boat…”)

i'm tired. i'm tired of caring about capitalization in deadjournal, i'm tired of quoting stupid song lyrics and forgetting the good ones. i'm tired of remembering catch phrases and losing the meat of books, losing their special phrases. i want to stop, but i seriously lack control when it comes to pop-culture.

yoda was right, there is no try, only do or do not. currently i'm not doing.

lots to do this weekend but instead i find myself typing a deadjournal entry at 2:30am. figures. who needs the AP Exam, Thespians, English, Journalism, or any of it! fah.

i had a fatherly get together on thursday. lots of shit there, but i can't really talk about it. the 30-minute uninterrupted non-guilt guilt-trip. if you think i'm bad, try having him as a father. (“it's not you that should feel guilty, it's me!” “i'm not nothing, i don't want to be nothing, don't think i was nothing” “if your house burned down tomorrow killing your mother, my doors would be wide open”)

and i'd be running in the other direction, dad. i'd be running.

he says he will always love me and wants to know me and whatever. that fatherly shit. i wanted to tell him. i wanted to say “oh, you're always open to me? well dad, i'm gay. how do you like that?”

it would never work. it will never work. i remain resigned to my stupid fate. i don't even know anymore. it doesn't really matter. i feel pity for the man more than i feel contempt. he's become a shell of who he used to be. i hope his russian bride works out. i hate that i wouldn't care less if he was out of the picture.

i miss being able to say that someone's there for me. i feel especially guilty about the hardship i've put on others. i wish everything could be alright.

now for the melodrama. my hearts cracked open and everythings flowed out. i've managed to superficially mend the wounds, but it doesn't feel whole. i try to fill it with shallow things, but it doesn't cut it. food, pants, shoes, window shopping, whatever. it's no replacement for what seemed to be there.

when is the next good phase?

“Look up at the sky. Asky yourself, 'Has the sheep eaten the flower or not?' And you'll see how everything changes…”
– The Little Prince

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