October 3. 1999
*Sigh* Another depressing journal entry from yours truly.
I wrote a lot of poetry tonight. The writing of poetry for me signals one thing: that I am grappling with some strong emotions, be they good or bad. I sat out in the hall and cried for an hour, read my old journals and scrawled some poetry. The perfect emotional catharsis.
I need to face the fact that I am, at this moment, not very happy here. Maybe I'm just at a depressing moment, and tomorrow I'll look at this and laugh about how I could be so melodramatic. It's happened before. That's the problem with journals of any kind. You have the ability to look back at yourself and think, "what an ass I was." It's not too gratifying to read about all the stupid boys I was lusting after in the 8th grade. Most people do stupid things like that, and then they, lucky ones, get to forget about it and move on. It's the masochistics among who choose to keep journals.
My mom called today and bitched to her for a good 20 minutes about all the things I am unhappy about. My dear mother. She's a saint. Calls up her eldest daughter on a Sunday afternoon, and then I tell her how much my life sucks.
The numbness is getting to me. Creatively, I am numb. I'm making art, some of the best I've ever done, and yet I feel nothing. No passion. Before, I always felt something in my gut when I was making art. Now, there's nothing. I tried to remedy this, I went back to the things that inspired me. Looked at my books about Michelangelo and Georgia O'Keeffe. I began collecting little bits of nature to put around my room. I write. Nothing has helped so far. I feel like something is blocked off, taken away. And I have no idea what that thing is.
In other, more happier news, I did some cleaning up around here, as you can see. Enjoy.
I did get To Venus and Back, FINALLY. I'll give a longer opinion at a later time, but so far, it rocks.
food: i'm hungry
read: my own poetry, god forbid
sight: my tibetan cymbals from Governor's School
random: my face feels stiff from crying
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