"In the Arms of Another Day"

Please don't ask me to write anymore. I don't know if I can. And also don't ask me to sing, 'cause I'm losing my voice. Or maybe just losing heart. And I can't drive at all. Let me do things on my own terms. Call my name and hold my hands and kiss my lips and hold me near you, please, that's fine, but let me do things on my own terms. Avery won't do anything until she is dead, and Kaitlyn won't do anything until she's out of her pajamas, and I won't do anything until I want to. I guess that's why we're friends, Avery and Kaitlyn and I: We're stubborn.


I'm just going to vacuum this whole house because I'm the best daughter, no other reason. Jklol; I totally have ulterior motives.


Let me google what I want to. Let me google "Burberry Acoustic" and "Andrew Garfield" and "chemistry puns" and "cat pictures." I don't want to learn about the Nazi invasion of France right now. I want to read Scott Pilgrim comics and I'm still trying to get used to this skin I was given.


I miss the ocean and I miss my youth, so let me mope.


No one calls me back anymore. I'm not interesting enough. I tell myself that I'm far too interesting, really, but that's just so that I can sleep at night.


I do listen when you talk. I promise what you say is powerful. I want to write swear words, but I know that people will read them and that people will not approve of me. I suppose it shouldn't matter because no one approves of anyone else anyway.


Look at the salmon in the koi pond and watch me eat them raw. "I like it because it is bitter and because it is my heart."


I'm not depressed or unwell. I'm just tired and I can't play the piano and I can't set priorities: to write French or to write plays? Fifty points should mean something, but it doesn't. Not yet. So I write nothing at all. Except this, and does this count, even?


"I'm trapped, but I want to be trapped." Sort of.


You will rule the whole world soon, I feel like.
All my love,
Addy


P.S. 100 followers? Holla!

I have enough time for spring cleaning.

"Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Theresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein."

I've been in a mood to clean things lately. I started with my nightstand drawer. I found ten dollars from my grandma and grandpa from my eighth birthday; I felt rich. (I'm very obviously unemployed.) Tonight, I'm going to start on my closet... That ought to take long enough. Nonetheless, it's a bit out of character for me on account of I tend to pride myself on my own amount of literary disorder in all that I do.

But I feel as if I am cleaning more than my drawers or my "junk shelves." I am cleaning out my past and all of the pieces of my old me which I am finished with.

It feels nice. Maybe you ought to go clean a thing or two yourself.

Je ne parle pas français. C'est bien.

All my love,

Addy.

P.S. Still afflicted with blogger's block. Sorry for the obvious lame-ness of this post.

P.P.S. Check out the new pages! What do you think?