Sunday, March 07, 2004
i can't even.
i'm just saying, that i thought i'd be prouder of myself by now. i thought i'd be doing more things--something, i guess, that made me proud. i love my man, and i suppose i like a couple things i've done in the last year, but i spent a bad day this weekend wishing i could be someone else. i don't like how i feel. and i'll try to fix it and all, and i appreciate all of the people who try to tell me how good things are, but i feel like a large, fat failure.
my dad has these dreams, sort of waking dreams, in between sleep and lucid thought. usually, in them, he can't move. i've had three of them, now, and one was on friday. i had a nap, and while waking up i couldn't move. i was firing all the pistons in my head and the arm was just lying there like a sausage, like roadkill. i kept doing everything i knew how to do, but i guess nothing i knew how to do was the right thing.
my dad has these dreams, sort of waking dreams, in between sleep and lucid thought. usually, in them, he can't move. i've had three of them, now, and one was on friday. i had a nap, and while waking up i couldn't move. i was firing all the pistons in my head and the arm was just lying there like a sausage, like roadkill. i kept doing everything i knew how to do, but i guess nothing i knew how to do was the right thing.
