I only write when I'm angry. I hate that. I don't understand how I can write&write&write with out leaving my mind blank, when I'm angry. But when I'm happy I can't think of anything to say. It's like I don't want to share my happiness with anyone, but I can share my anger? Every time I try to write when my emotions are calm it sounds stupid. I end up ripping up paper, throwing it away (or on the floor), or just burning it. I'm not devoted to my happiness anymore...it lacks creativity for some reason. I have no thought of mind anymore. I can't even keep up a decent conversation right now. How pathetic is that...
I guess I should stop feeling sorry for myself and go do something worth my time. It's a beautiful day today and I'm sitting inside wasting away. Maybe I can find some inspiration else where. Unwanted people are in my house. Much more will be here later. Stupid dinner parties...I hate my mom's dinner parties. I either don't know these people, or I don't like them. I should hide myself or leave. Well I would leave but my mom would bitch about that. Some times I wish I had to work on weekends. I would be to occupied that I wouldn't have time to be bored. I wouldn't have to bitch about writer's block today. Though it would've come another time atleast. Why today?
BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT...because I had nothing else better to do. Life is a bore. Life out here is old. I've said this over and over. And once again, NC is my hell. I'm ready for it to freeze over already. Break off and drown in the fucking Atlantic. Well, another short rant gone in the fucking trash, enjoy