Because these are my thoughts at night

I will crawl underneath the nail bed of your big toe
I will creep across your shins
Pay no attention to me as I slither through your thighs

I will swim through your intestines
I’m the captain of your bowels (!)
Ascending

Lump
In
Your
Throat

I will scrape my way to your brain
I will scratch
I will eat

I will shit

I will encompass you

Sleep is for the Weeks

Will I always be tired? I look so tired. I am beginning to look old and tired; I can feel my face sag with gravity. I looked at myself on a train in the countryside and said to myself, alone, "I look old(er). I look different." My reflection was moving fast and time was escaping quickly at the momentum of the train. It was as if in that moment I saw all of the sleepless nights and stress and travel nestled underneath my eyelids. As if time was clinging to my pores. You can see the smiles and grimaces of the past. Nothing could be hidden. Nothing could be changed at this point. I had already smoked too many cigarettes and hadn't worn enough sunscreen--the damage had been done. The damage is done. I will always be tired. I want to sleep. Sleep is an escape from my reality even though I always remember my dreams. My anxiety seems validated there. Sometimes in my dreams, I am too tired to see. Am I resigning myself, instead of grasping onto a refusal to give in?

I wonder a lot of things.
I wonder how that woman reporter on CNN could read from her telepromter that stated how two rapists were "so promising..."  etc. and could keep a straight face.
I wonder how women (and men), but mostly young girls, can survive without believing in feminism and/or calling themselves a feminist. How women go out of their way to say they are not a feminist.

I like words and even like to write them down on paper/screen. I'm also extremely sentimental and enjoy memory. It's a shame I am a bad storyteller.

Shitting while dancing

It's difficult to write while listening to music.
Too easily influenced.

I try to listen to listen to new music and feel uncomfortable by the unfamiliar. I was able to spell unfamiliar without my screen underlining it.
I read over my sentences in different voices because it makes me feel comedic. I said listen to twice.

My mind is quickly manipulative. Right before I switch there's a tingling sensation that runs through my head and down my back. My skull feels like it's pulsating.
When I was a baby I used to "lightly" bang my head against the crib (it was probably a pillow, details are sketchy) until I fell asleep. I was probably bored. Being a baby is fucking boring.

I don't like going back to the memories that make me feel like I might shit my emotions.
Used to and use to. I need clarification on that.

Inadequit

I googled it. It's supposed to be inadequate.
When I'm driving, random words pop into my mind and I try to figure out why they happen to come out. I talk to myself, I pick my nose, I sing. I refuse to look over at whoever is driving next to me because I pick my nose without realizing it. Have you ever eaten your own booger? I haven't. I was just asking.

Today at work I tried to say homicide and it came out as homo-cide.

Society me is stupid.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night to look up health symptoms. This week I was convinced I had TSS.
Obviously I survived.

From 7am-11pm I feel inadequate.
I'm only adequate in my dreams.

Vanitose Vanity

On December 21, 2012 the world was supposed to end. Instead of doing anything remotely excitable or festive, I sat on a pile of clothes (because I am not responsible enough to ever put them away despite my age) in my childhood bedroom and took dumb photos of my self on my computer in between reading Lydia Davis. I wasn't even getting laid or drinking a tall can, which may sound juvenile but also like an easy enough vehicle to celebrate my own mortality. At least, I knew I existed in those last moments on Earth. That's the sad thing about the 'digital age,' that there or no physical time capsules we can leave to aliens, or our 50 year old selves, or they are limited in that sense. The difference between the two is lost to me. Pixels, bookmarks, digital music, blogs, and status updates are equally as fleeting as decaying photos and paper, I suppose. Alas, the world did not end and I am happy.

I feel like a glorified 15-year-old most often, unfortunately sans neon hair dyes...
I have come to terms that I am the girl who trips at least once daily, spills various perfumes and liquids in my purse, spills on myself or others, breaks glassware, break telephones, drop phones in pools, and gets phone stolen in Europe, etc.

A lot of my male friends have or have had death wishes, but lately their wishes have been being granted.

I relate with

Ah, a moment of clarity.
Listening to music while the tv is on mute. It's accidental but it works.
High without drugs.
Never make resolutions because
I sometimes find myself trying to use the word indifferent. then I google it because I doubt I use it correctly.
Feeling indifferent today.

Illustrations I relate with:
1.

2.

A song I don't relate with but was once obsessed with. I was 10. I don't care.