when i get scared i go to sleep. i'm scared of everything, a lot, all the time.
the major questions i had on the way home were: why does only one of my earphones work, why do my socks fall off when i walk, and when did life become such a habit.
i keep saying i'm going to live, but when i say that i mean i'm going to live tomorrow. like everything i'm doing now is so that i can live later. but then it's friday night and i'm still at home and it's saturday and i'm at home and it's sunday and i've slept all day. the thing is that
i'm so stuck inside my head that i can't do anything ever.
then i think that i don't want to do anything anyways and that's so sad. i got so existential on the bus. i got so city girl on you, i went so crazy i didn't know what to do. i thought that there was nothing in life that i wanted to do, so maybe i should hide or something and what does that even mean.
people assume that you want to do something when they ask what do you want to do. nobody ever seems to know what they want to do, just that they want to do something. i'm scared because i don't want to do anything. i don't want to do anything because i'm scared.
my dad told me that i could live at home for the rest of my life and he would cook me dinner every night. i said that maybe i would do that, maybe i would just hide. but we both know i'd never do that. except it's so tempting, like eating that second french fry.
but sometimes it just seems so silly, like, sarah palin wrote a book and she's gonna make more money off her book than i'm ever going to make in my whole life and at least i write my own words. even if sometimes my words don't make sense i think that's okay because the world often doesn't make sense so it's just a reflection of my/the world. i realize i hate writing academically because it feels so fake and well sometimes i just want to shout at my paper. sometimes i just want to write "jdghjhgifsiugiu AND THEN THIS HAPPENED..."
it just feels very weird that sarah palin wrote a book and it's weird that i'm thinking about this. after i read 'shoplifting from american apparel' i really wanted to write a book because tao lin made it look so easy, but then i thought that he went to college and his professors were like "tao lin is so great" and my professors don't say that about me. they write "AWK" all over my pages, like awkward, so awkward, so stylistically awkward what a weirdo. so how could i write about shoplifting from american apparel if someone already did it. i'd be so embarrassed if i was sarah palin's ghostwriter but then maybe she actually likes sarah palin, or maybe she just got paid a lot. how the hell did sarah palin write a book, like how did that actually happen.
also tao lin googles himself a lot, hi tao lin.
sometimes i feel like i'm not living right. is this what life is, is it preparing yourself for life in the future. why don't we just throw up our arms and throw our papers out the window and run naked through the streets.
i don't know why we have to be naked.
no really, should i be doing drugs or something, should i be sleeping less and drinking more redbull. redbull is so expensive. should i be like stephen king and do so much cocaine that my nose bleeds all over my keyboard while i write stories that i won't remember i wrote and somehow they'll just become bestsellers.
if sarah palin can become a politician maybe i should. i feel like it's this scene where there is a mob of people jostling in suits and shouting words and i could just jump in there and shout things. ha ha ha ha ha ha that is so dumb. i could shout that. i spelled my name wrong on my mcgill application and now it's finalized and i can't change it.
i really ought to recognize when i'm talking crazy. two days after i press 'publish post' i'll read this over and be like oh what crazy craziness, what a terrible adjective.
how long before i'm famous
how long until i write a book
how long until i'm alone, i mean really, how long until i let myself go
how long until i write a better poem
can i do better than this shit right here. do smarter words come out of my fingertips. is that where words come from. how long until i learn proper punctuation.
how long until i learn to spell my name.
anyways, what if there's nothing that i want to do. how did this happen that everywhere i look inside my life all i can think is "i don't want to do that". no, that's not really what i think. i think blah blah. whatever.
i might be running out of stories because i never go outside. that's stupid. emily dickinson never went outside. i thought emily dickinson died when she was 27 like everybody else except that's not true. it's kind of like that time i thought helen keller died when she was 13. helen keller died when she was 87. i made that up. but she was old. helen keller is katrina's hero.
"long story, no point," as dan sullivan would say, "at any rate..."
there actually was no point to this.
