dear exchange diary,
the exchange last night gave me weird dreams of swallowing glass and another flying dream of sorts. i took that as a warning- got up once and checked my throat. the glass- stuck there- unwilling to budge- the panic strung high- this of course in my dream yet- as when i got up for real- looking in my throat- i could see nothing and the panic had left as well- but my heart was beating faster than normal as i ran to the bathroom mirror. it seemed so real- it did. but it wasn't. later on the front door woke me up. someone loved me? oh fuck. there was nothing hanging on my door today- nothing thrown in the yard- i asked the unibomber when he came inside. "just the note from the fed ex guy, why?" he asked, i didn't reply. i was still halfway asleep you see, barely able to comprehend- but i understood his answer- i will never ask again. i rolled on over- not wanting to get up- but it didn't look promising- sleeping anymore- so i gave up. i don't know but i've been told and i need to be told some more, i am nothing to anyone but a stupid whore. and the sooner that sinks into my thick fucking skull, the sooner we can move on with things and get on to what is real. i seem to hold on to shit that is worthless in so many ways- yes i seem to hold on to shit for too many days. in fact, days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into years, and pretty soon i've dedicated half my life to tears. i am not going to cry anymore- just because i am tired. that would be like crying everytime someone gets fired. i am only crying because i mourn a loss of what i remember to be my friend- i am only crying because i know i near the end. when i turn my project in to 914- he will turn around and want me to do more and more. i am going to do them- but the content is going to change- it hurts to keep doing the same old things. either that- or he's gunna have to pay me more- cuz i am still a whore.
the exchange last night gave me weird dreams of swallowing glass and another flying dream of sorts. i took that as a warning- got up once and checked my throat. the glass- stuck there- unwilling to budge- the panic strung high- this of course in my dream yet- as when i got up for real- looking in my throat- i could see nothing and the panic had left as well- but my heart was beating faster than normal as i ran to the bathroom mirror. it seemed so real- it did. but it wasn't. later on the front door woke me up. someone loved me? oh fuck. there was nothing hanging on my door today- nothing thrown in the yard- i asked the unibomber when he came inside. "just the note from the fed ex guy, why?" he asked, i didn't reply. i was still halfway asleep you see, barely able to comprehend- but i understood his answer- i will never ask again. i rolled on over- not wanting to get up- but it didn't look promising- sleeping anymore- so i gave up. i don't know but i've been told and i need to be told some more, i am nothing to anyone but a stupid whore. and the sooner that sinks into my thick fucking skull, the sooner we can move on with things and get on to what is real. i seem to hold on to shit that is worthless in so many ways- yes i seem to hold on to shit for too many days. in fact, days turn into weeks, and weeks turn into years, and pretty soon i've dedicated half my life to tears. i am not going to cry anymore- just because i am tired. that would be like crying everytime someone gets fired. i am only crying because i mourn a loss of what i remember to be my friend- i am only crying because i know i near the end. when i turn my project in to 914- he will turn around and want me to do more and more. i am going to do them- but the content is going to change- it hurts to keep doing the same old things. either that- or he's gunna have to pay me more- cuz i am still a whore.
