.

well, i turned into a psycho this week.

lesson learned

halfway

everything i ever talk about, i'm not there yet; don't know if i'll ever be

-1 -2 -3

sick of not knowing what emotions come from pills and what come from myself

321

1 day = 24 hours. it's easy- we seep 4-8 of those every night, and we're up living life the rest of the time so basically 1 day = 17 hours. That's a whole lot of time. why is it then that i can't help but stereotype (just roll with it) certain hours to certain parts of the day. for example, 7am is the morning. 8am is the morning... 9am is the morning.. by lunch time it's lunch time, and anything after 3pm, the day is done. where'd the day go? i like having all classes in the morning but instead of making my days seem longer, they seem to be much shorter. it's probably good they end so early because after class and before eating dinner it's straight homework and after dinner --> sleep is usually straight homework as well.. so i guess that's where the day goes--this basically just went from a post about hours and days to a post about homework- yeah. this isn't a complaint just a realization

-

i've decided that i like the winter, but dislike the concept of the holiday season

-->

i'd like to see what other people see. is what we assume to be understood/a majority/normal accurate, or am i just left out of this loop

canadian geese flying over a quiet kenmore at 7:15 today.. something i want to remember

windows closed

i impulsively just ordered noise-cancelling headphones online

i need quiet

10/10/10

two teardrops fallen over pointing towards each other and a circle

but it's not even about that

it's everything.

i am so happy and so lucky

example of last post

everything i post something here, i go back, look over it, and don't like what i read

wish that i, had something to say

i have a lot to say about words, but not a lot of words to actually say

allow me to bulletpoint. words are:

• my favorite art form

to the point where i don't even consider it art- to me, art suggests something extraneous- something nonessential to basic survival, and something that needs a label so you know what it is you're about to deal with. this painting. this painting is art. this dance. this dance is art. this sculpture. this sculpture is art. words are past art; words are a legible reflection of thought and they shouldn't need a label; they're self-explanatory. they tell what needs to be told- and when it's concise it's the best, or so i think. maybe this explains why i love words but i can't bring myself to get through a book. it's not about the craft in which things are put together, or the style or any of the english class shit-it's about how hard it hits home. how meaningful can you make it? how natural can you make it sound? i really think this is how i got into hip hop before i got into anything else, and i haven't really left.

but now you wonder, if i like this shit so much why don't i do it?

let's bulletpoint again: when it comes to words, i am:

• a perfectionist

if i had the gift, or the patience, or the confidence, i'd do it. i want to write, and i am proud of some things i've written, but i'm only going to do it if i know i can. i want to write, but i feel that nothing i produce will ever compare to what i have already seen or heard. that's why you see me quote more than i produce.- i'll dissect someone else's words all day before i venture to go out on my own

xox

top of the line; perfect design-- never has a minute but always has time

speaks his mind and brings life to the grind- still can't believe it/but so happy he's mine