it's pretty funny/ridiculous that every time i buy cigarettes the person at the counter stares intently at my ID to see if it's both real and of me. and then skeptical resignation. seriously, you have that much doubt that i'm over 18? when will i stop looking so young? it also doesn't help that my hair is different and i've lost some weight. but still...
sorry if you were expecting some "real" writing from me. i've been trapped in a world of my thoughts and kerouac and other nonsense. i've been writing gibberish. i sit in parks for hours just reading, writing, smoking, drinking cheap coffee. that's all i've become. none of it is particularly good, but it's getting me by.
to be honest, i'm quite lonely. i've reached a roadblock. i ran into a friend today and [awkwardly?] ate lunch and walked home with him. i only say awkwardly because i know i can be so much better. i know i'm not supposed to be this distant.
i'm doing laundry now and slowly inching towards delayed homework. i want to be back in the park, though, listening to the man next to me playing guitar and singing folk songs. i want to hear his lonely, perfect story. i want someone to share stories with. and fuck. lately i've been imagining having sex with far too many people.
i think my classes are bullshit, i think my friends are bullshit. the only things that seem real, things i find myself clinging to, are momentary, like kisses and hot soup and smoke.
in summation, i feel ugly, lonely, and very lost in my own head. (i need drugs and some good music to dance to. and good people to dance with. i need too many things.)