There's nothing better than having friends, and I love all of mine. Every time I get into a shitty mood for whatever reason, or feel like a really stupid asshole, I think about my friends, and just that thought can make me happier.
But recently I've become so tired and worried and that's when the self-doubt that is usually there in the background pops up and holds on, and you try to smile it away, laugh louder and it'll just go, drink a bit more and you'll forget it, but it's still there. You can paint it however you want to, but it doesn't change a thing, they're still your worst fears painted in a fucking rainbow.
I don't have any problems per se, it's just that I've been realising a whole lot of shit recently, and it has all come in one huge wave and now I can't continue lying to myself. It's like my conscious and my sub-conscious had a little chat and now seem to know everything about one another. We all have different levels of consciousness for a reason, and trust me, it's better that way. It's like having two friends- one is like an acquaintance who you chat with on the way to work, maybe share a few jokes, been to the cinema together once, the other is someone who you've known for years, who knows all your secrets and flaws. Then the two meet somehow and decide to have an extensive talk about you, and all of a sudden the acquaintance knows your middle name and what kind of music you were into back in the 90's.
It's all very nice knowing what you want, but when you know it's virtually impossible to get it, you'd rather stay in the blissful shade of ignorance, trying to find out the answers. I'm still finding the answers, only not as many.
Feeling like this wouldn't be half as bad if I wasn't such an asshole to the people that really matter, the few that don't seem to mind me as much, the ones I really couldn't get by without. If I really like someone, they will rarely piss me off, rather I get pissed off at myself most of the times for being asshole. I seem to accept other people's fuckery much better than my own. Unless they're the other 99% of people I know who are pompous idiots, then I'll be killing them with my eyes.
What can I say, I'm an imbecile.
I've been reading Stephen King's Duma Key, bloody long book, weighs as much as a brick, which doesn't do any good to the 100 tonnes of school stuff I have to carry around on the tube. So far it's good, not the best thing I've read ever, but I wanted to read some Stephen King, and I think I should have read Carrie first or something. The reviews are all really good, and they all mention how haunting the story is. Either it's too early in the book, or I'm too insensitive to even be haunted by anything. In fact, the last time I was remotely haunted by a piece of literature was when reading Edgar Allan Poe at night. Now THAT is fucking scary.
I am presently falling asleep on the keyboard. So I take that as a sign to move on and get me some food.
xoxoxo (I wish I was Gossip Girl)
No comments:
Post a Comment