Dreams

Dreams confuse me. I had a bad one last night. But I know where it came from. I was thinking about a senario and then, it played out in my dreams. Which unfortunatley furthers my suspision and paranoia. Hmnmppppffff.

And now I've got to get that image out of my head. Oh how I hate those dreams that stick with you.

And Now

Christmas was over, and it was a mighty fine Christmas :) One of the best, I think. I worked my bum off and I'm very pleased with how everything worked out. Plus I got a billion and one pairs of lovely earings :D.

And now, social plans? Oh and a poetry project...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................


Which I left everytthing I need for at school. Because I'm silly. Bah hum bug.

Ah welllll, poem writing, here I come!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Take me into your confindence, with confidence..

What is the point of having people to confide in, if you can never really confide everything to them. Sharing a little bit of what's going on inside, makes you want to share more but the more you share the farther away your listeners get. How personal is too personal? And why is spilling the beans so addicitive?

Everyone knows it's enthralling to talk about other people, but everyone (in different degrees) likes to talk about themselves. It ranges from those who like inadvertantly letting everyone know how much they drank last weekend and how many people they hooked up with to those who only share little tid bits, like finally sharing the name of the boy they've been crushing on with there friends. Everyone who tells, is looking for something in return: a high. A high they get of the attention, and the excitment, whether it's good or bad. Person number one doesn't care if everyone is calling them a slut, at least they're talking about them. And person number two loves the big grins that spread across they're friends faces, and the exclamations of "aww you two would be so cute...". But the more you share, the less exciting the reactions become. People stop caring and you and your drama become old news. But you're addicted, so you keep sharing, trying to tweek someone's interest, until you have no more to share. Nothing more to tell the world about you. And you feel kind of empty. They know everything about you, and there's nothing left inside, because they don't care anymore. The slut can get no sluttier and the timid one no longer excites with her news,, because it's not news. But they just keep talking. Sharing every thought that goes through there head as they waste away. And eventually they leave, they find someone else to confide in, someone who doesn't know anything and who will feed the monster inside.

Christmas Is Killing Me.

It's that time of year; not only is it Christmas, it's stress-season but Christmas is not solely at fault. It is the end of the year, the end of everything. Everything in the natural world is dying, but I prefer to think of it as restarting the cycle. Within humanity, it is this time of year that people change, start thinking about their futures and their lives. They shed themselves of the "me" of last year and start on a new one. But they can't always let go, no matter how much they want to. They want to celebrate and rid themselves of their own stress but can't find anyone to celebrate with because they have changed, they aren't the friend they once were, not the daughter or son, not the person they used to be and other people have a hard time understanding that, regardless of their own personal fluctuation. Nobody likes change, but everyone likes to change.

I feel like I am shedding a skin, a hard task when you have so much to do. I want to curl up and hibernate but I can't. There are turkeys to cook and houses to clean; not to mention the presents to buy. All I wanted for Christmas was to have my family at my house on Christmas eve, and I'm thrilled that they are, but Christmas has, once again, snuck up on me. It has taken me by suprise. The semester is nearly over and my grades are slipping, but who has the time for school work? Biology is going to slaughter my grade average, but there's no time to study. I have to remodel myself, I have to please those around me and say good bye to those of whoms crap I refuse to continue to put up with. But I can't. I can't do this all at once.

8 days in a week, I need 8 days in each week. Two days for school, two days for friends, two days for work, and two days for me.
But who am I kidding. It would be six days for friends and two days for work and school pushed together.


What I listened to while I wrote this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoNHlJ_TZLI&feature=fvsr

Hold me Close

Whirling, Spinning, Turning.
Never quite sure where I will land,
Or who I will be, when I get there.

Upside down, inside out?
One moment I'm sure;
The next, I'm not convinced.

My morals, my ideals, say one thing.
But my actions and my words, they say another.
Which part am I?

Which part is me?
Whirling, Spinning, Turning.
Upside out, Inside down?

Morals. Actions.
Ideals, words.
Me?

To Read A Book

What are you thinking?
What's behind what you're doing?

I have instincts of course.
I can guess, and I can trust my guess.
But I won't.
I can't just believe me.

What if I'm wrong?
What if I'm so wrong.
What if, what if, what if?