the brightly colored rainbow that is me. :p

obviously i am bored.

The Darjeeling Limited

This was a very fun little intimate ironic movie. :) I was going to write something about it. Then, no.

Panic. Panic. Panic in the streets.

I left school yesterday after poetry class. I was panicked and a bit shaken. I haven't had to leave a place due to a case of the crazies for months now. I tried to write it off as low blood sugar, since I hadn't eaten and that can play tricks on a person like me who's too damn sensitive. I did feel better after eating. I was also home playing hermit for a few hours, though, and that's what really does it for me. Sometimes I wish I could just disappear into my bed and live life reading fiction and not giving a shit about anything but sunny days.

I have fucking class tomorrow. Poetry. Critiques. And I had the bright fortune of having my critique on a day when the prof was out due to emergency, so now I have to fucking repeat it. And everyone hates my poetry. So I get to relive that worthless experience. And I'll be hungry, because who has time to eat when they have class at 8 am. Which means I'll likely be a bit crazy again. And paranoid. And then I'll fall into a shame spiral and wake up in the fetal position in the grass somewhere clutching a tattered copy of my last-minute poem and weeping.

Oh. And then I'll never get a job, and I'll have to beg change off of people from my place in the grass until I grow old and gray and childless.

So tomorrow will be trying. I'll wear black for the sad occasion.

RENT RENT RENT RENT RENT!!!

I think I'll always love this movie.

the greatest

Silver Stallion :)

Where's my Cake?

I actually got that all done from 8-12. Because I fucking rock the procrastination. Turned the paper in exactly 3 minutes before deadline. Right on.

Complaining, Procrastinating

In a poetry class now, now as in "this semester". I'm getting a similar feeling as I did from being an art major. Self importance, over confidence, judgment. I realize that to learn, we must take ourselves seriously, but... well, this level of it is somewhat nauseating. I like art for its jubilation, its expression, its ability to let us laugh at ourselves through words, language and form. I didn't want this to increase my misanthropy. I went in with HOPE. Bright and soaring. But people are selfish and boring. Myself likely included. But if everyone else gets their delusions, I get mine.

At least the grad student prof has calmed down a bit. She had claws out in the beginning. Maybe now she realizes nobody in this class poses a challenge.

I have a damn paper due in a few hours and two one pagers due tomorrow for poetry.

I like school, but I fucking hate school.

Charm Fades

How long does it take before the charm fades, and instead of being a novel person you're just another asshole? Does everyone fear being normal? Is it so bad? Trying to be novel is the new future asshole thing isn't it.

Frames too big for the pictures.

March 2, Actually

Thinking aloud....but not. Thinking quietly on a screen.

I have a chance to move in with a friend. This'll probably be good, I guess. I can't seem to get excited much. She might have her baby move down, and I don't know how I'd feel about that. Not that it's a bad thing. I love kids, I'm good with kids, and I think it'd be enjoyable, but- I'd be kind of an extra player in a story that shouldn't really involve me. And no matter how silly it seems, I get this anxiety about every possible choice....I'm getting too OLD for everything. This may just be a side effect of being between adolescence and adulthood. I'm twenty, and feel like I should be some sort of valid human being with a life and things happening for her. Mostly I feel like an extra player in other people's stories. Same old mind game I seem to always play. I'm too OLD for that, too. Heh. I'm too old for these steps. They should have happened years ago. The getting a life thing. But I remain mostly uninterested. There must be a name for this syndrome. Perhaps lazy. Perhaps Whogivesafuckitis.

I think the only reason it bothers me a bit is because it's supposed to bother me. And if it doesn't, I must be defective. And if I'm defective, well, .......I can't believe in myself.

I think I want a man and a house and a yard and a dog and a car and a thick savings account. I think I'm supposed to.

Men don't do it for me. I tried it. heh. I tried it in youthful ignorant sloppy fashion, and it left me feeling hollow. And ignorant. Very ignorant. But sort of more valid, in a way.

But I can't live my life alone. Always the bridesmaid never the bride? Lol. Isn't that supposed to be the epitome of sad??

I don't want to be the epitome of sad. I can't handle being a stereotype. I'll end up seeing myself acted out on primetime tv, and all my dignity will have fled.

Constant state of embarrassment.

Maybe I'd rather be neat and mysterious. Married to art. An Andy Warhol type. But that only works in big cities, and even then... isn't it all a bit shallow? In love with art??

I don't want to be the epitome of trite.

If that's even correct.

I have a headache.

I have dreams of sleeping. Daydreams.

I have dreams of waking.

I'm never really rested.

I have a headache.



Kim's stream of consciousness ramble post march 2. heh.

March 3

Winter is ending, and with it the shallow tense feeling of dark and cold. The sun lingers longer every day now, hinting and teasing. This summer I could sleep every day under a tree and be satisfied. Nothing is as simply beautiful.

Sun and Sleep. I don't think I want much more.