Adrian (Yo, I Gotta Crush)
January 23, 2014 Friday 5:15 PM
I developed a crush on Adrian. GREAT. THAT'S GREAT. NICE.
HOW MANY TIMES? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I SAID "romantic feelings make me uncomfortable" WELL GET READY FOR SEVERAL DAYS OF BITCHING.
LOOK, WHEN I HAVE A CRUSH, I JUST GET REALLY DISTRACTED AND I YELL AT MYSELF A LOT. MOSTLY BECAUSE I GET AN URGE TO WRITE BEAUTIFUL THINGS ABOUT MY CRUSH BUT I DON'T WANT TO BE CHEESY OR CREEPY OR ANNOYING, SO I JUST DON'T.
ANYWAY, IT'S PAINFUL AND IT SUCKS.
FUCK THIS, FUCK THAT, FUCK, FUCCCCKCKKKKKKCKCKCKCKCK. (sorry?????)
Stupid pretty fucking boys with pretty fucking smiles and their nice personalities, like goddamn. A lot of them are really stupid and they suck, but of course (like with everything), not all of them are that way.
God, why can't things be straightforward and easy? Why can't stereotypes just determine who you are in advance so people stop being politically incorrect? Better yet, why can't everyone just stop assuming they know anything at all???
Why can't people be HAPPY when someone mentions that they're pretty?
Why can't they be HAPPIER when someone says they're good at something? And happiest when they are satisfied with themselves???
why is everything so weird?
I try to say things in the least awkward way possible, but of course it never comes out that way. The words are big and barely make their way off my tongue in one piece. The sentences are angular, blocky.
It's never right.
Hm. I'd like to hug him. I still might like his hair more than I like him (I avoid saying his fake name because it somehow makes everything more personal and way too specific), but he's so cute and so interesting and he said he understood when I said, "I can feel the sadness in my teeth."
To be honest, I meant that the cookie I had just ate tasted really bad but I think he thought I was being deep or some shit. At least, I hope he thought I was being deep. I wasn't. I literally meant, that fucking cookie tasted bad and it made me sad and it was stuck in my teeth.
Okay, well, I'll stop talking about him now. I won't stop thinking about him since my brain has decided I have no control over that but... whatever.
I cut out the heart of a pig today. It was cool. I expected the heart to look different when cut in half vertically. Also, I spent a good two minutes trying to find the trachea. I was looking at the split heart. I soon realized that the trachea goes to the lungs and I am an idiot.
This week, I have hesitantly eaten pork (it was the same day I took out the pig's intestine so I wasn't particularly hungry. I mean, I got fucking shit on my hands) and I ate bacon a couple hours ago. I am going to pig hell.
At least I wasn't one of the people who gave their pigs vasectomies. One girl ripped out the tongue of her pig and then twisted his head off. Jesus. Popular kids are unnecessarily violent.
OH! I have done nothing artsy for days. I suck. I've been trying, but I am just not??? I don't know. I needed another picture for my self-portrait. Yesterday, Adrian (sorry, he's part of the story, I had to mention him) took pictures of me for the thingy.
I probably look really bad in them. He's really good at taking sly pictures of people. Like, he kind of got me to relax (not completely though since I was very on-edge and anxious at the time) and snapped pictures in split seconds. I couldn't even tell that he moved. That's awesome.
Ughhhhhhhh god those pictures are probably gross, since I stopped trying to look good yesterday.
I want to cry and stop being so cold and anxious. I'd like the burning in my stomach to calm down and I want to just be creative again.
Every word I type sounds wrong to me.
PS: so far, Bukowski reminds me of J.D. Salinger's Catcher In The Rye. Both main characters are kind of brutally honest in their descriptions of people and they tend to like anyone who doesn't come across as phony or oblivious. I like it.
They're both kind of assholes, but maybe I like that too.