Sarahbellum

it's 18 after seven, I must be lonely

I don't write much. It is often disheartening to realize
how much of myself I pore out, or pretend to pore out, and
no one responds. I have someone led myself to believe that
I am writing this for my readers and not for myself. The
fault then, lies with myself. I've been trying to write
more in the assorted "hard" journals I have. The sloppy
penmenship that goes from cursive to print to some
indestiguishable place in between. When I sit down to
write, some of the words are gone. If only there was
someway to record all the thoughts that ran through my head
before they slipped away. I was thinking of a poem in my
head and I laid down to sleep yesterday or is it the day
before yesterday now? I've been up all night working.
Well sitting night desk and reading about a serial killer.
My mind has been racing the characters...who will figure it
out first? My bet is with the characters. Lately my
ability to see things if fading. Not see ojects in front
of me. My vision isn't getting worse. My reasoning
ability and the knack I once had for seeing through
things...It's probably just buried under all the crap that
seems to build and build up. I wonder if I confessed all
my sins in my journal if it would be like a conffession to
God and I'd be saved? I've been thinking about that a lot
lately. It seems like everything is a sin. How can you
escape from it? How can you be sorry for it? Loving is
the most beautiful thing and yet some call it a sin if you
don't have someone with an insignificant word like judge or
minister or multiple others before their name, pronounce
you to be married. When will the confusion end? I don't
think it does. I think I will live life a confused and
mixed up soul. Does that mean I'm alone? Does anyone else
feel like this? I can't imagine that I am so completely
special that no one else has ever felt like they do nothing
for the world. I can't decide what I want to do with my
life...but I can pretend. Everyone is always pretending
really. Today one of the sweetest things I saw was a young
boy drinking his babysitter's coke in the lobby of my
dorm. I don't know how often it is that I notice the sweet
things. I sit up on my pedastool thinking I am so much
more generous than other people...that I am above sinking
to their level, and yet I am just as petty and selfish as
everyone. More confusion. My back hurts. i've been
sitting here for 7 and a half hours. In 31 minutes I'll be
able to go to bed. Yay for me. I told myself I would do
homework, I did. Not much. I worked for several hours
reading the intro to the Canturberry Tales, written in
Middle English. That can drive a person to a distraction!
So I'm finished with Honors and English...due Tuesday. I
have the amazing knack for doing things that are not the
most pressing first. Priority smiority. Today I suck.
Tomorrow I'll probably Suck too. And I don't want to think
about yesterday. I want to read someone and see if I can
pin the murders on someone else. My list of suspects is
growing. Then again...I can think of no one. Confusion.