ericboy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \"But the day looks so bright / in the pictures / of the photo album that you gave me / it's all i have / to live for\" - Thursday I'll keep my memories fresh with new tears sprinkled as needed. The ones that flow on off-season will be bottled up and frozen in hopes that they will some day be worth something. If not to anyone else, at least to me. "Resignation" is an awful word. I feel so useless and empty. The days have been long, the nights longer. I've done nothing constructive with my time. A lot of reading. Half-assed attempts at writing. I have nothing to say when I put the pen to paper. My head is full of thoughts, most of them ripe and at full fruition, but they are all too jumbled together to grab hold of. I can't get them to slow down; can't turn my brain off long enough to untangle them. I hate this. There is that, of course: the Hate. I feel violence bubble in my throat like bile. I want to destroy everything that vexes me, and when I get to this place, everything vexes me. At work last night, the urge for deconstruction was a twitching liveliness in my body. I could feel adrenaline and hatred working through my muscles, bouncing and dancing beneath my skin. My body was taught; cocked and loaded and ready to explode on anyone stupid enough to pull my trigger. I kind of liked it. I'm killing time until I can go to the library and print things up. It's going to be a long week, feeding into a long month, and stretching out in to the last fringes of a long year. I don't think I'll ever "level out" or "get back on top". My only feasible goal now is to survive. And I don't feel too terribly hopeful about that, either. 2:22 p.m. - 2004-08-23 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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