death by diaryland
ice ice baby
2004-07-10 | 5:18 a.m.
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If you read more than one of my blogs, donít bother checking the others. This is cross-posted to all of my spots. Putting it everywhere is as close to screaming as I am going to get without raising my voice or hitting the caps lock.

I was reading some book about writing because that is pretty much as close to writing as I get these days.

Those publishers make a shit ton of money off of me and my inability (unwillingness?) to pick up a pen.

But anyway, I was reading this book and it said that we should write down the dangerous dark things we think about and see and feel, even if they arenít pretty because not everything in life is.

At first I was like, that is what I always write.

My big dark woe is me, Iím all depressed shit.

And I hate it.

That is not to say that isnít how I feel but that is just the top slice that sums it all up.

I never go any deeper and I am boring myself to death.

I realize that I do give off an air of aloofness.

I tend to have an icy veneer.

I have been accused of being an ice bitch and not feeling anything.

These things are all as true as they are not.

I do feel.

I think that my feelings donít stay all in the same place or something like that.

I feel huge but it doesnítÖ stay?

For instance, this big thing called love builds up in me and I canít take it and it disappoints me so it moves to anger or a redirected giddiness at some inanimate object that canít respond or disappoint me.

So the new obsession with my game actually started out as confusing love for you.

And now that I am talking about you and love, weíll bring up another nasty that I have been holding in my heart.

I am jealous.

(And here is where all of you who think I am talking to you gasp and say me??? and to that I say no this is my spot, this song is not about you.)

I am jealous of the loves and the togetherness that people seem to have.

Because I know that it is not for me.

I have been out all night.

I have been up all week.

And no one knows it.

(Well, you do now, but that realistically means what? riiiight. nothing.)

I also know that with my crazy feelings I would go practice the piano for hours or sit in a corner in the library and write with a million different fabulous pens to deal with my feelings for you.

And that doesnít make sense.

And then in my love, I would be upset that you were upset because my reaction is not what you expected/wanted/needed.

And why would you want to be with me knowing that in a best case scenario I would want you to live next to me and not with me because the thought of you in my space would pick at the tiny tears in my sanity until there was nothing left.

And the worst case scenario is, well, this.

Me, here, alone and lonely and yet rejecting you already because even in phantom form you stress me out.

I wish I truly was an unfeeling ice queen.

I could have you or I could not.

In having you I wouldnít be upset by your presence and in not having you, I wouldnít be devastated by your absence.






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