After it's all said in done, there's a decision to be made about what you want to do with your life. Life, you know--the part before you die, which is rest. Sleep. Calm. Organize the chaos while you're breathing.
There's no place here for Anna Chron and her ism's anymore. There's nothing comforting anymore, nothing "home" about reeking of other people's cigarettes and my own perfume when I wake at 1p.m. the day after a party. There's no beauty in mediocrity or lost time or failed attempts. People will tell you that trying is the important part, but all that really matters always ends up being the final project, the grade at the end.
They say it's the "process" that makes the person real, but more and more I'm finding that people, as a whole are full of bullshit as far as what they say and do.
I need to shower. My head is exploding with unspoken words. I don't know how to write anymore. I've taken to acrylic cuneiform--takes the guesswork out. You can call it "art" and no one questions it because it's beyond the realm of "figuring it out." These words, you see...people don't know what to make of them.