Walking towards Communication class this morning, there was a group of maintenance men cutting grass and blowing the sidewalks. Right as I was parallel with them, one of the men turned right around and blew grass clippings right into my face. People found it funny. My allergy attack did not. Should've known it was just the beginning.
Took my first quiz in Communication... failed it, I'm sure.
Wandered off during my two hours off to go look for the elusive mathematics book, only to find the campus bookstore had once again sold out right before I got there. So I bought a calculator and a book for Geology and wandered back across the campus. Proceeded to find a quiet place to myself when a group of people came in and sat right under me, talking loudly. They looked offended when I packed up and left after sighing in disgust.
Arrived in Geology class... had a quiz... failed it beautifully. I got only one question right. Fortunately, I was in a majority... but I verbally lashed myself the rest of the class because natural disasters are my thing, and I completely blanked out.
Left campus and nearly got run over in the process. Was driving towards a local bookstore and nearly saw three separate wrecks... then nearly got run down by a huge truck. By the time I'd parked my car at the bookstore, I was shaking and irate. Fortunately they had the elusive math book, so I quickly purchased it and went home.
With nothing better to do, I made a lunch of pasta in a buttery garlic sauce and did some math homework while eating. I then realized I had nothing to do once again. After watching TV with Daddy for about an hour, I decided to go swimming.
I hit the water and furiously swam laps until my entire body was tight. Of course, it all locked up while I was in the deep end... strangely, I let myself linger under the water until I nearly felt my lungs explode, just listening to the water echoing and feeling the inability to breathe and the weightlessness. After an hour or so of wearing myself out, I climbed out and hobbled into a shower.
I really thought the swimming would help my downward mood... it did nothing more than leave me tired and empty. I watched more TV with Daddy, made dinner, and talked on Skype for maybe 2 hours before the other person decided to go to bed. I feel sick, I've smashed a toe into the desk three times, and I'm shuddering with loneliness.
It's been a good day.
I wish I did something interesting, like everybody I know. Everybody has something fun and exciting... everybody gets to go places and see people...
What do I do? I write. I sit in a stupid little room and write. Write poems that nobody makes sense of; stories nobody will ever read; blogs that simply whine and bitch and moan about everything I can stand to think about. My life revolves around things I can put into a written perspective... yet I write papers for school and get told "it didn't make sense" or "it was unconventional" or "needs improvement."
Why can't I be exciting? Why can't I have the life I listen about from two of my best companions? I'd love to be somebody else, just for a day... to see either how good I've got it, or how craptastic a life I really live.
I hope my better half had a better day than I did today. It's always comforting to know that someone I love has a better time than me.
Here. Another shining example of what I "do." How do I feel? Read below.
Blue-inked pen with empty stationary
She scribbles another book
Of reality... but on the contrary!
But it's simply just mistook
As another tiny fairy-tale--
A story of pure imagination.
But how can she write so well
Things that are but fabrication?
Blue-inked pen and many lines
She writes them on her arms,
All the stories that dare to define
Every single quirk and charm...
But they look at it with blinded eye
Insist it's incomplete
And when the message is left to die
She writes of another defeat.
They think she's sickly obsessed
With the twisted and the bleak
Never know that she's obsessed
For acceptance's all she seeks.
Blue-inked pen with reddened tip
She's depressed and full of doubt
The saddened whispers pass her lips,
"They'll never know what I'm about."
And so she puts away her pen
Sadly lays herself to sleep,
Waits for it to write again
About the truths she dares to keep.
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