April 6, 2004
Foul
I'll read Mike's Valentine's Day card like it makes me feel better to be called 'Natasha' and brutally insulted for my current undertakings: that of college student.
Why is it that sometimes you wake up in the morning and though you can see the sun shining through the window, seven a.m. bleak but still shining, the blinds are suddenly shit-smeared? Why is it that when you head to class, instead of being lectured you get shit on, period after period? Why is it no one notices but you, and you seemed crazed when you're suddenly crying beneath your amber-coloured mod frames?
I feel like the things I care about won't care about me back. I feel like I waste my time, pouring my heart out on paper and keyboard. I feel like I'll never publish a novel, and if I did, it would turn to reeking stink in my hands, and no amount of soap or ink could make me clean.
If I were religious, I could say something about Golgotha, but I'm not. I took my only Bible from a hotel drawer.
astera at 3:49 p.m.