2001-11-26 08:06:01 (UTC)

Reflections on Solitude

What is sad, is when you're with your good friends, and
playing Tony Hawk and Rogue Leader on GameCube, and talking
and joking and swearing and laughing, eating chips, looking
through photographs of memories, and it's not enough.

I'm in a room full of people earlier tonight, and I feel
desperately alone.

After they leave it takes me a while, I read, I watch a
Harry Potter thing on TV, and then I feel better.

There is no explanation. These are people I love, these are
my friends. I wasn't sick of them. It's not as though I was
experiencing an overload of social life. With the exception
of going to work once [I work at a library], I haven't been
out of the house in three days, and my aunt hasn't spoken to
me for some reason in just that long. I've been wandering
like a phantom through the halls of my downstairs, or holed
up in my room reading, studing, writing.

Such is the life, I guess, of someone who creates.
Up at 4am, scribbling fever pitch
5:30 wakeup call
And scribbling
As the moon slides down the sky
And fades to light
I don't think we can sleep tonight.

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