"Bad Girl" by Devendra Banhart
June 17, 2015 Wednesday 5:44 PM
I'm tired today. I took my most important exam. Well, most important to me. I still have trig and I can never remember how logs work. Ughhh.
I feel really sick. I'm alright and stuff, just my body is being mean. I'm on my period so maybe that's why.
I looked alright today. Woke up at 6 and went to school at 7 for a review session. Test started at 8:45 AM and I spent possibly more than 3 hours on my exam.
Fifty multiple choice questions, nine documents, and two essays.
I'm dead now.
"No Cars Go" (Cover) by Maxence Cyrin
I took April to the cemetery. This song was playing in my head and I couldn't think anything else. At first, it kind of troubling. I tried talking out loud to you.
But I just kept trailing off and getting that dull look in my eyes.
Not sad. Not tired, either.
Not unfamiliar. But I wasn't used to it.
At the same time, nothing could shake me. I spent ten or fifteen minutes sitting on a limestone pillar, watching an ambulance drive up to a neighboring house. They were there for a long time before driving away.
It kind of ushered in some thoughts.
I'm going to be in an ambulance one day. On that day, on the gurney, I'll be thinking of when I tried to kill myself. I'll push it away.
It didn't hurt thinking about that, though. A little, I guess. But really, I didn't feel all that real.
It wasn't apathy. I still loved things and found them beautiful. I just felt so... spacey. I made eye contact with a stranger. He waved. After a second, I waved back too. It kind of took me a second to remember this was reality.
I get this way every day now, around this time.
My momma is being a flower. She really loves her plants. She's telling a story about how her flowers were wilting and when she watered them, they shifted like dormilonas (that's a plant but I don't know the english word for it).
The cemetery was beautiful, ughhghghg. April ran around, chasing squirrels and I moved slowly.
I think I might have been feeling peace.
I'm remembering things, lately. Mostly my childhood. Dusty memories. Things I haven't thought about for years.
Maybe it's because a couple weeks ago, I was thinking about that girl touching me when I was a very young. It wasn't quite molestation, because she was only a few years older than me, a friend of Caroline's. Plus, she hadn't meant it to be sexual. But those are private parts of me and I was small. I felt ashamed.
I got very worried because I think it may have damaged me more than I thought. It's okay, though, it's all fine.
I feel good and it smells like strawberries.
Later, friends. Maybe later, I'll get around to doing things.