scattered thoughts

i don't like being home alone.

the first few days were nice, but once the novelty wore off, i didn't really know what to do. i mean, i guess i could have done laundry (even though it feels like i am already constantly having to wash clothes) or done some intense cleaning. something usually gets in the way, though, or i get in some sort of mood that prevents any work from getting done.

i talk to myself altogether too much when i'm home alone.
well, not really to myself. i talk to whoever will listen, like those moments when you're in a conversation with a large group of people and you want to say something but you never know to whom. except i'm alone, so i sound pathetic and lonely.

it surprises me what i say, though.

i don't want to go to school.
not really.

i don't know what the fuck i want to do and i just want somebody to help me sort through all this baggage.

look, i will go to school, find some unsuspecting rich boy, and we will elope and travel the world for the rest of our lives. because i couldn't ever settle down; not really; and i don't want to have to work any bullshit jobs, so i'll be a sort of freelance writer, which will still be bullshit, but at least a little less bullshit than other jobs; he will like to kiss me and we will have pictures of ourselves swordfighting with french bread in paris.


it's not really going to happen.

(there are people that make me so happy
and yet
they are the same that make me the saddest i have ever been)

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