2019-06-06 21:20:05 (UTC)

desperation is the name of the game

"Call Yourself Renee" by Okkervil River [the song is good; the music video is not]

Don't look back until you realize you're pointedly not trying to look back
And then reconsider, try for a clearer mind, try for a grace of some kind
Leave your house and walk into autumn light
Imagine a river, massive and galloping beneath your feet
Or you can call yourself Renee again and you can move back to Rapid City

June 6, 2019 Thursday 9:20 PM

What is this, how have I not written for so long. As usual, I am writing now because I am kind of anxious and I wasn't before. Well, I was—I had finals and all that. But then those were over and everything was fine. I worked commencement, I developed a healthy crush on a guy, which then faded, and then I developed a less healthy crush on a different guy, which has just begun and is already annoying me because I kind of hate the guy—but he just has just big eyes that are very nice and he smells really good. Anyway, that's not what I'm anxious about.

Generally I don't want to talk about why I'm anxious, because it is very mundane and also kind of stupid. I am basically afraid of being useless and unproductive; and I think I'm bad at my job and I'm desperate to do well and frustrated that I don't have the skill or the interest to do so. I wonder if I should just rip off my skin from below my knees, like cut around and roll it down like a sock or something. And it will get caught on my toenails, and I'll have to dig something thin and sharp between my nail beds and the keratin until I can detach them and then I can throw my skin aside and then I'll just have nice naked fat-muscle-bone-blood from the knees down and I won't have to worry about anything ever again.

Are my thoughts on that stress.

Like clockwork, I wanna say. My family feels completely fake from this distance and I am tired and my head hurts and I've been reading these German Romantic-era short stories and they're all vaguely horrifying in the sense that everyone gets punished for nothing. Or it feels like that. And they live in uncaring worlds. The only ones that seem to care about anything are the protagonists. I really liked "The Runenberg (Der Runenberg)" by Ludwig Tieck. Read through my modern eyes as this man's inevitable descent into madness. He was born wrong and he was happy for a bit and then he went back to being wrong, lmao.

I am not talking about myself here. I am going to be a well-adjusted adult, even if I don't exactly believe that at this second.

Last night I rewatched Beetlejuice with Greg and Sophie and it was very nice. Greg appreciated the animation in the movie, which made me preen, because I think he has pretty good taste in movies. Beetlejuice is one of my all time favorite movies. I watched it all the time when I was younger. I used to love the goofy little horror aesthetic. Well, I still do. I feel both calypso scenes are weird and long, but whatever, it's part of the movie's charm. And I love Winona Ryder. I've always thought she was the prettiest person in the world.

Oh. I've also been very into Heathers lately. I re-watched the movie and, a couple weeks ago, spent about 4 hours (2 am to 6 am) just watching clips of the musical. The original World Premier cast is my favorite—especially Ryan McCartan. Nothing quite like the emotion he channels into his words, you know?

I saw him as Brad Major in Rocky Horror today. It was okay. I've never been a big Rocky Horror fan, to be honest. I think it's fun and all, but the songs are not that interesting to me. However, I did like McCartan's Brad Majors. Victoria Justice's Janet Weiss was okay??? I mean, I can't remember the original portrayals to really say one way or another. It's been about two years since I last saw the movie. I think I just have a soft spot for Ryan McCartan. He's so preeetttyy.

I also have a soft spot for the character of JD in Heathers?? And I'm like: why??? He's a murderer??? But apparently a lot of people feel similarly. I'm reading all these fanfictions in which his murderous tendencies are solved by love, or Veronica decides to just go along with it. Some fics are actually good, but generally I have a hard time believing in them unless the ending is unhappy. It's not that angst is the only thing that makes a fanfiction believable or good, I want to clarify. But in the case of JD it helps. I just think it's very hard to cleanly reshape JD's character into one that deserves forgiveness, you know?

Okay. I'm tired of writing. I feel sort of okay. I don't want to feel my feelings. They are so useless. But the less I try to figure them out—the less I stress about what is happening in my head—the more I feel blind to what's happening. Unless I just always feel blind. I can feel myself drifting towards normal, which is good, but I wonder if that's, like.... if I'm... if I'm worth anything at that point? I don't have much to offer. Not saying mental illness is my currency or anything, but it at least is a more digestible excuse for my being pretty lonesome as a human.

But if I'm only somewhat discontented with loneliness, then that just makes me every other semi-sad person in the world that doesn't slip over the threshold into mentally ill. And we will keep trying to get less lonely, and with what? Not with our looks or our charms or our talents, 'cause we have none. Ugh, this is weirdly narcissistic of me. I feel blind. People love normal people. Normal people love normal people? Well, it doesn't matter, I don't know—point is, it doesn't really matter who you are. Someone loves you at some point somewhere. Almost always. Probably actually always.

That's not what I'm saying, self. I'm not talking about the times someone loves you, I'm talking about when you love each other.

Does that even need to exist for me? Yes. No! Yes. No. Yes. Not right now. You always say that, "not right now." I say wait until it happens. I think you have to make it happen. I think that's vague. It's really not that vague, you're just scared. I wouldn't say I'm scared, I'd say I'm kind of lazy and full of self-loathing. If someone tried to profess their love to me right now I'd probably piss on them. Because I just drank a lot of water, but also because I don't give a fuck. Yeah, right, you give so many fucks. You'd say, "Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom. Awkward timing, I know, aahhhahahhaa, sorry... Um... I'll be right back," That's what you'd say and then you'd throw yourself out the window. No. Yeah, okay, not that last bit. You'd pee and then you'd go back into that room and then what? Well, depends on who it is. Does it matter? In the end, you're not into anyone that you actually wanna be around. LMAO. I hate this conversation.

Well, so do I. Anyway, I don't care about it. I just think about it excessively.... is all. Hahaha. I'm just lonely and I think I'm missing something and I'm desperate to entertain myself with my interest-of-the-month.

Coo, glad we've cleared that up. What even the fuck just happened? I meant to say, in the end, that I have a lot of trouble finding myself good enough to be in the presence of anyone unless it is dark and I am half-asleep. That is a good and comfortable place to exist. Everywhere else is trash. And most of time is everywhere else. Which is trash.

But if I'm alone, none of that matters and I can feel relatively good until suddenly I don't anymore. Hmm. Is this what they call a catch-22? Of my own making, you say???? Nooo!!

Okay. I'm in a slightly better mood. And it's late enough now that it doesn't feel weird to pop a melatonin and climb into bed. Tomorrow I'll get up early and drink my coffee and fill out my I-9 form and go to work. And then I'll come home and go get a dining room table with Sophie. And we'll sit on the couch and watch some TV and play the Sims until I get sad and pass out. All for the low, low price of rent-is-super-cheap-and-somehow-I-still-only-have-seventy-dollars-left-in-my-bank-account.

Wow, I love fake adulthood! Goodnight!

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