the year of the dumbass, the day after sushi and fuck all else
what I have I done to feel what you do, know what you want you away from me to be happy and alone and not alone because lonely and fuck life I don’t want to die but death is scary and so is life and why am I not a rock that would be easy and maybe I don’t deserve that because life is a struggle after all and we all feel things we would rather not and I would not be able to cope if I couldn’t recognize the micro-emotions in your every muscle twitch it’s why I’m terrible on the phone because phones are distance and for that I don’t need survival I just need the decision to press down the receiver and unwind my fingers from the phone wire throw my cell phone across the room to hit concrete boundaries are needed but do not exist
someone is crying outside in the hallway. during quiet hours. on a Wednesday. if you are aware enough to acknowledge that your roommate is sleeping and would prefer not to be disturbed, can’t you extend that courtesy to the rest of the hall?
Of course he reappears, you didn’t think it was over, did you? Actually, we’ll hail the end of the influence of the shithead. I’ll hardly hail some filth from the street. Younger, I thought I could manipulate. Older, I found it not worth the effort or annoyance. Cut losses where you can. Always.
Please do not belittle this letter. If you’ve looked without my permission, know it was not without my knowledge. Who the hell would leave a schizophrenic mess where it lay? Maybe me. Doubtfully. Have some more paranoia future-me, if this is what happened.
I feel out of practice. It’s like not remembering the best way to breathe. How do I gasp this out without being betrayed? How do I know what I want to say? I never know what I want, more pity to me. Lack of direction is worse than wanting what you cannot have. At least fantasy will hold /you/. Not me, not for me. What will? If I were to will it, something boring. It seems that I like to be challenged on occasion. Too far beyond the proximal zone and I’m gone. I’m too into the proximal, maybe that’s my problem. Theoretically, I think I can do it, and so I won’t.
Too cold, too warm. Never the happy medium. There’s always the medium, your body wants it. And you never notice it because you’re just too damn busy doing what?
When I wake, I will be corpse cold, whitish, hair a mess. Every morning that’s the way it is. What the fuck do I do? I always have dreams while I’m awake.
Daydreams, on the value of my sanity. I should so swear. Sometimes I doubt that I am real, that I could be real. Why don’t I remember anything? I might as well be a character existing for the benefit of someone else. And I don’t quite exist yet.
No wonder he recommended the book he did. He’d make an excellent librarian. He’s been exposed to a vast variety, and has judgment to act on it.
Do I have judgment or knowledge? Can I have both? Or neither. I might not want them. I haven’t decided yet. I don’t decide. The ice in my mind does. It decides, and I forget the entire incident.
What the fuck do I do when I feel I’ve failed? I’m bothered, but not because it becomes an outcome. It means I wasn’t a success. And I hate being success. I make it so I might have made it. If I try. I didn’t. I fucking bombed my ACT deliberately. Just one point below being of notice for notability. It’s always just good enough to be better, but not quite enough to be the best. Deliberate, deliberation. If success brings me no joy, I won’t bother striving for it. What the fuck is it? Nothing, delusion. When awarded an entire education, I could only be numb. Made dumb by the process.
Sentences fragment and so do I. There are days when I’m not even real. Not really real. I feel hollow, just following along with line that present-me might like, points that she would make. Triangulation of all memories and incidents. Let’s play pretend. I’ll star myself.
Maybe that’s why I dislike those that pretend to be what they are not. I can’t even feel that this skin is my own, and they dare to desecrate self to assuage loneliness.
I must admit, there are days when I am so myself that I could not separate if I tried. Would I bother? Never. It makes it worse, to be so passionate. And then to be pretend to believe that I am still me, that I still care, weeks later. I am foul then, dancing in someone else’s skin. I bring back past-me, stealing her soul for the purpose. She did the same. It’s strange, to be in a body that has always been yours, and yet you’re reading from a script inside your head. On those days I don’t say much, there is the disconnect to contend with. I have to make myself get off the bus, eat, bathe, breathe.
Not apathy then. Just an inability to feel as though I fully exist. But when you play pretend, and doing so was unintentional, it is difficult to care. Imagine if you will, a phone connection. You can hear everyone on one end, though distantly. You no longer care for the conversation. Sometimes I forget that it’s even a factor. Of course I am myself. The shimmer of heat waves on the paved road going up hill is /not/ the digital generation of a program responsible for producing the entire world around me.
I am insane. No. Disassociation disorder is a thing. I am disordered. My mind is a mess. What will we do with ourselves future-me? Shall we fuck it all up? Might as well. No. Might as well not. Why don’t you flip a coin and decide? I’m not up to it. Can’t find a coin, myself in this skin. I’ll trip. Time hiccups and I know where the hell I am. But when and why did I get here? How long have I been?
I wish I could bring myself to care.
Your emotions, my awareness of, is ever present and stifling. It is how I manipulate you. Your presence annoys present-me, she, I, will provoke you. And then there is no problem. I am a bitch, but not yours. You will leave me be. Go kick someone else’s kennel.
“The speaker may fail to resolve their feelings of grief, but within the space of fourteen lines they are unable to regain the ability to recover from grief. This sentence inspires so many moments in which I question my own literacy.”—
I believe that requiring first drafts to be turned in is slightly bullshit. I also believe that when I have to submit a second draft, I will burn the first and not even consult it. That said, I will probably be slightly less sleep deprived when I rewrite the “actual” version. And the second revised version is always better.
But it still makes me cringe inside that I’m going to have to whittle ten full pages down to five to seven. Even if three and a half pages of this first draft are verbose and unnecessary. Because. I. Am. Still. A. Teenager. Damn it.
I didn't completely stand my ground. I didn't admit I was wrong for what I said either. If this is being an adult, it's shit.
Unfortunately, I must diasgree with you about the clarity of the instructions. If I had fully understood them, I wouldn’t have asked any questions.
My complaint about going to A was uncalled for, I’ll assume in the future that anything detailed on the syllabus will be done whether or not it is mentioned in class.
Upon further consideration of my previous e-mails, I will admit that the way in which I wrote them was unecessarily rude. I was not intentionally being antagonistic.
As for the “if you don’t responde in a timely fashion, I won’t submit it in a timely fashion” line, I simply meant that if there was no response before the deadline on how to submit the material, I would be unable to submit the material. You have always responded in a timely fashion to all previous e-mails and I did not mean to imply that I expected you to reply immediately.
And now my instructor is pissed off. Go ahead and be pissed off.
Now, I didn’t actually have to explain the latter part above. I find the tone of your emails to be completely unacceptable. You are welcome to ask questions at any time, but when you start to question your instructors in such a way that is antagonistic, and frankly, rude, it becomes an issue. It would be common courtesy to write your instructors name at the top, sign all emails with a complimentary closing, and refrain from phrases like “if you do not do this, I don’t do this,” or pretty much the last paragraph of your email. I feel these emails have a huge lack of respect, and I would appreciate it if you showed me respect in further correspondence.
Explanation time. He “didn’t actually have to explain” why we were required to buy something or when/what use it would have in class. As for the “if you do not do this, I don’t do this” tone, I e-mailed him saying if he didn’t explain how/where to submit my piece in a timely fashion (as in before the deadline) then I wouldn’t submit it befiore the deadline. My tone was antagonistic, yes, but I’ve pulled two all-nighters to get his shit done. I don’t have respect for him, and unfortunately that reflects in how I write the e-mails. I don’t do kiss-ass.
There went my grade. I sent an e-mail to my instructor that was literally like
"because fo you, I had to miss a class so I could submit this on time" because I didn’t have a good enough gap later in the day to both prompt him to open the submissions by e-mail and actually submit it. Jackass.
And as life goes on, I become passive-agressive. (It's the new nice girl.)
It would be beneficial to me if you wrote unamibiguous directions so as to eliminate even the faintest possibility of confusion. I honestly do not have time to e-mail you every time an assignment is not written clearly, and I’m sure that you would appreciate not having to respond to my e-mails every week.
“Look closely at the beginning 10-20 pages of each course text…Please respond in at least 750 words, typed." -Me
What do you mean by each course text? Are you referring to every story we’ve read in the class thus far? Or are you referring to the works we haven’t covered yet? Is there one in particular?
Also, I would greatly appreciate it in the future if you refrained from marking on the syllabus that the class is required to go to A to purchase something if you have no intention of us using whatever material we’ve obtained. If we were only going to use one postcard, that’s all we needed to buy. As for the photographs, will those be used in class? If not, I wasted my time and energy and walked through half a mile of snow for no reason. It would be common courtesy to notify us via e-mail if you’ve changed your mind.
No, my friend’s coming… today(?) later xD that’s good (: I’m trying to keep writing a fan fiction I started but… who knows. where you from?
My bad, I misunderstood. I’m just a little bit loopy from staying awake so long. For the fanfiction, keep on writing. I’m going to let you in on a secret: in five years your fanfiction will mortify you. I think they’re great for sharpening your writing skills, but along the way you improve so much that whatever you started out with is embarrassing. I am from Missouri, currently residing Iowa to attend college.
Insomnia is awful. :( I’m pretty lucky in that I can sleep late in the morning. I’m kinda bad at conversation. Heh.
Well compared to the two hours a night I used to get, I’m glad I get seven hours at all. Even if I do wake up all the time. I don’t think you’re bad at conversation though this will have to continue another day, I’m going to bed shortly.
I usually go to sleep around one or two and it’s only midnight. Now is around when I try to get the baby to bed.
That makes sense. I have mild insomnia, so I try to turn in as early as I can. My philosophy is to get as much low quality sleep as my body will let me. You’re in a different time zone than I am though…by two hours.