I find it sad that sorrow is more driving than joy. What forces this update today is another endless string of confusion and misdirection. A journey without a map and I'm standing in the desert just waiting. This is the waiting place.
Two weeks ago my aunt gave me three-thousand dollars to keep me from taking a loan out for this semester. I was spinning with my birthday, and new potential, relief from debt, and what seemed to be a resolution with myself.
Why now? Why did I decide to let my guard down. We all know where this is going, don't we? We've all been here before.
I've drama weighing my thoughts to the ground and an impending crushing action to my heart. It's just a matter of when he can muster the strength to kill me off.
And when I try to talk to my friends, they tell me it's gossip. When I keep it to myself, they think I have something to hide.
This room smells vaguely like iron, like blood.
I thought I hated literature but today it is my saving grace. Our suffering and sadness is what makes us human. Thomas Carlyle may very well be my guardian angel.