Emo Time

You know when you spend weeks and weeks trying to get it together just to do one scary thing and no matter how afraid you are, you reassure yourself that nothing in reality could possibly feel as awful as the things you make up in your head? And then after days and weeks of stalling you do this one thing and then it all goes horribly wrong, worse than you imagined and then you remember why you can never trust humans ever and you want all your therapy money back because you need to buy cats- so many cats- and long horrible sweaters and hair clips and cable and enough frozen dinners to never ever leave your shitty apartment again? And you hate cats. You never wanted cats. But this thing, this gesture, was the lynchpin of moving forward and speaking truth and getting better and this is a dumb game anyway. It is better to disappear into Faulkner and his strange currents of time and memory and be a ghost and let your heart grow into marble like Judith's and wait and be quiet and let it all just run through your fingers like sand.
"If happy I can be I will, if suffer I must I can. Because she waited; she made no effort to do anything else."
And then you write a really dumb yet cathartic blog entry that you will later erase out of embarrassment when really you should be getting it together for finals at this crazy university/ when really you don't have the time nor the energy to be distracted by such stupid things as feelings/ when really you just wish you could do anything in the world right now but care.