From the PCL
I don't write enough lately. My thoughts are still so consumed by things I would rather not talk about at this point. There's no point.
I keep telling myself to keep a notebook on-hand to write the fleeting interesting thoughts in. There's no reason I don't. I have dozens of them. Tiny notebooks. Waiting. But I don't.
I've been thinking of moving home. I guess home, now, is where I grew up. Even that is kind of tied to Scott. I don't feel like pretending anymore.
I thought I grew up with Scott, but maybe the majority of my growth was in Houston. Maybe the last 9 years have just been a regression, and that's why I never seem to be going anywhere. I want to wear sweaters with icons on them, but I don't think they're allowed a work.
I don't think my hair is, technically. I tried to get something kind of natural and ended up with something kind of orange. I wanted it to be more of a bronze, I think. More reddish. I guess orange to bronze is more of a brown tone?
Anyway, I think I like the idea of moving home. I could get a nicer apartment. Maybe? I should look it up before I invest too much thought into this.
After a bit of research, it seems not.
Everyone I know in Austin wants to leave Austin, though. Everyone of worth, anyway.
I have wasted so much time. 2 days. 29 years. At least 30 minutes.
I woke up this morning at 5 am. This is not the morning I began this post. I woke up yesterday at somewhere around 6:30. Although, I set an alarm for 5 am, so that was most likely when I actually awoke. Anything after that was a lie. A small deception about getting more rest that just throws off the rest of my day. I don't know why I do it. Indulge in these small lies to myself. Put off things I know I can't.
I'm doing it now.
I have an essay to write.
It's about Modern Mexican Art. MMA. I have some points outlined but I am finding it difficult to crank the thing out. It's due tomorrow. Everything seems to move so quickly and yet not at all. I'm like a rock being worn in a stream. I'll die a pebble worn into grit- becoming something small and scattered in time.
I saw the sun rise from the library.
Maybe I can work on my essay in my next class...it's a bad choice but I have limited choices now. Class starts in about 45 minutes.
I keep telling myself to keep a notebook on-hand to write the fleeting interesting thoughts in. There's no reason I don't. I have dozens of them. Tiny notebooks. Waiting. But I don't.
I've been thinking of moving home. I guess home, now, is where I grew up. Even that is kind of tied to Scott. I don't feel like pretending anymore.
I thought I grew up with Scott, but maybe the majority of my growth was in Houston. Maybe the last 9 years have just been a regression, and that's why I never seem to be going anywhere. I want to wear sweaters with icons on them, but I don't think they're allowed a work.
I don't think my hair is, technically. I tried to get something kind of natural and ended up with something kind of orange. I wanted it to be more of a bronze, I think. More reddish. I guess orange to bronze is more of a brown tone?
Anyway, I think I like the idea of moving home. I could get a nicer apartment. Maybe? I should look it up before I invest too much thought into this.
After a bit of research, it seems not.
Everyone I know in Austin wants to leave Austin, though. Everyone of worth, anyway.
I have wasted so much time. 2 days. 29 years. At least 30 minutes.
I woke up this morning at 5 am. This is not the morning I began this post. I woke up yesterday at somewhere around 6:30. Although, I set an alarm for 5 am, so that was most likely when I actually awoke. Anything after that was a lie. A small deception about getting more rest that just throws off the rest of my day. I don't know why I do it. Indulge in these small lies to myself. Put off things I know I can't.
I'm doing it now.
I have an essay to write.
It's about Modern Mexican Art. MMA. I have some points outlined but I am finding it difficult to crank the thing out. It's due tomorrow. Everything seems to move so quickly and yet not at all. I'm like a rock being worn in a stream. I'll die a pebble worn into grit- becoming something small and scattered in time.
I saw the sun rise from the library.
Maybe I can work on my essay in my next class...it's a bad choice but I have limited choices now. Class starts in about 45 minutes.
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