     
Victoria Reed
21/F/OH
|
Last Login: | 4862 d | |
Pageviews: | 6507 | |
Journals: | 85 | |
Writings: | 171 | |
Ratio: | |
|
| |
 hmm
Mood: I don't know
Posted on 2008-05-19 12:44:58
I don't know how i feel today. I suppose it's as simple as deciding that i'm happy but i'm not so that would be bullshit. he's not happy so i'm incapapable of being happy. I've caught his depression.
-------
hmmm
Mood: strangely serene
Posted on 2008-04-04 12:47:10
I feel very contented today. My husbands been so exhausted that i haven't seen much of him and the block but other than that and car trouble, i am at peace today regardless and it's nice. this feeling i'd never had til the day i laid eyes on him.
-------
Half of whole
Mood: I don't fucking know
Posted on 2006-12-21 12:42:34
I feel odd. It's been nearly 2 fucking years since i've posted or even been on this site. An odd mingling feeling of who i was and who i've become. I haven't written anything significant since then. It's an awful block... nothing more than a 4 line stanza that is nothing more than half an incomplete thought. I've gotten married. I'm quite happy. Strangly so. i've never believed in happiness, especially not happiness that was completely contingent on another person. But i have come to realize that contentment is the death of thought. i feel so weak and dependent and i miss my writing so fucking much and please tell me someone, anyone, is this common? To not complete one motherfucking poem in almost two years, after doing nothing else for so long? Will it come back? Can it?
So. I get done saying that i'm happy and procede with a tyrade. Sometimes i wonder why i bother.
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2005-03-08 12:09:01
Not like i need you....
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: Thinking...
Posted on 2005-03-02 23:22:55
Cerebral Masturbation:
I have missed my Master.
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2004-10-23 00:29:09
I must have been really fucking high when i wrote my last entry.
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2004-10-21 15:49:08
It seems like my life flows in a constant direction never changing and always taking me where i didn't intend to go. I suppose that's a blessing, as you never know what you may find there.
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: Frustrated
Posted on 2004-10-18 18:02:03
It's taken seconds, minutes, hours, days and years for me to get where i am right now. And quite disappointingly it's not terribly different from anything i've done in my whole life. I feel as though i'm just waiting to die.
I can't write anymore. I used to write a poem and if it were a good poem the glow of it's aftermath would surround me for days and that would be enough to pull me through. I could create. And that was enough.
There is no flesh, skin, or warmth. Music sounds bland and lifeless. Food has no taste. But the most horrible of all is that words have no meaning.
Maybe it's just a bad day (month, year), but knowing that i will go to sleep tonight and wake up breathing tomorrow is very very tiring.
Suicidal? No. Just terribly sick of being the only flesh among machinery.
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: Sigh...
Posted on 2004-10-14 13:47:02
To take everyday and try to find something to live for is exhausting. I'm tired, but if i sleep i'll just wake up tomorrow.
-------
Untitled Entry
Mood: Dead
Posted on 2004-10-13 22:29:23
It's been a long time since i've been here. I check in here and there and never seem to get anything done. Too many distractions i suppose.
I'm at the main nerve of a horrible block. I can hardly pick up a pen to write anything more elaborate than a shopping list.
I've been reading the journals of Sylvia Plath lately and the fact that i can see through her eyes sometimes is a little unsettling. It can't be good to feel like Sylvia Plath.
Everything is terribly monotonous. I surround myself with voices i don't care to hear just to drown out everything else. The less time i have to think, the better. When i think, i wonder if i'm anymore content than i was a year ago, and i have to say no. I wonder if i'll ever be content.
I am okay. But who the fuck wants to be okay? We drag ourselves through broken glass day after day just to be 'okay'.
I would rather... not.
-------
|
|
|
