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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/mayasclaw/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/13
Rated: 18+ · Book · Opinion · #956430
Here I am!
This port contains my musings on writing and life in general. And yes, it is one hundred percent real. I pull no punches, and I co-sign no one. Enjoy.
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July 8, 2005 at 2:53pm
July 8, 2005 at 2:53pm
#358546
I'm a little anxious about starting a band. I'm a little rusty since my hospital stay, but I know once I warm up I'll be back to normal. My wisdom teeth have been bugging the shit out of me, too. I need to schedule an appointment with my dentist to have the little fuckers pulled. I have to move my tounge and the side of my mouth out of the way so my back teeth won't bite them. It's a big pain. Once I have my tooth problem taken care of, I should be good to go.
July 7, 2005 at 12:52pm
July 7, 2005 at 12:52pm
#358301
It's taken me a while to finally admit to myself that every character I create has a piece of me. I've tried so hard not to make anything too personal, but taking a second look at my Coal series, I realize it is. Every character, no matter how small is like me. Debra has a little bit of my rage, which she uses against Ciara. Adrian has a lot of my pain, my depression, which he is starting to come out of, like me. Mrs. Didora has my cheerful optimisim and helpfulness. Zene has my clarity, which I've finally recieved through the support of my family, friends, and most importantly, my muse. Dom is basically who I am now, a sheltered person, finally getting out and doing for themselves "on da low". Ciara is whom I'm becoming, and at the end of her tale, I think I'll fully understand who that is.

So even though the characters seem to be different, they all have a little part of me. I think it's better that way.
July 4, 2005 at 5:13pm
July 4, 2005 at 5:13pm
#357749
It's not fair to myself not to explain this. To not describe how I feel. If I become depressed again, I want to remember this feeling. It's a feeling of peace, of being comfortable ad secure in my skin. It's not worrying or brooding over anything, not really remembering the past, but not forgeting it either. It's not happiness, but it's not in a bitter pit of unhappiness.

Am I finally normal?

I wonder.
July 4, 2005 at 12:07pm
July 4, 2005 at 12:07pm
#357692
Finally
It's happened to me
Right in front of my face
Words can't describe it
-Some dance diva

After many months of darkness, I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I don't feel so depressed or nervous anymore. I guess the zoloft is finally kicking in!
July 1, 2005 at 5:31pm
July 1, 2005 at 5:31pm
#357178
I've been sick for a long, long time. But no one was the wiser until I broke down. I'm a pro at social acting. I'm sure almost everyone is. A piece of paper is the only space where I can be almost completely honest without giving myself away. If everyone only knew how sick I really am. How close I am to losing it. It's better they don't know. If they continue believing I'm still a brick wall impervious to everything.

I still can't find a good enough reason why I shouldn't die. I've been over it, and over it, and still I can't taste anything, feel anything. Logic tells me I'm still in shock, that I can recover, but it doesn't seem worth it. After all, what do I really have that's mine? That can't be taken away? Even my few hundred pages of paper that I've spent eight years spinning tales on can be destroyed, have been destroyed several times. I have nothing to offer anyone but a good laugh, and maybe a good thought, but nothing life-changing,nothing real.

I shouldn't be thinking like this, I know I've took my Zoloft last night, but I can't help it. I feel like I'm some needy thing who exists somewhere between sleep and drowsiness, never really awake. It's all I can do to keep myself alive like this. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, the confusion, the frustration at not being able to focus on book you love to read, the drowsiness that can attack you behind the wheel making you swerve like a drunk, not any of it.

But I can't kill myself. Somewhere under the ice of my skin, I still care for the people in my life, and my sudden departure from this place would do more harm than good to them.

So I stay here, in this place, somewhere between the living and the dead, and sometimes, sometimes, I am allowed rest.

June 6, 2005 at 10:16am
June 6, 2005 at 10:16am
#351901
I've got so many things to do today. After I get off of work, I start night classes at my college. Intro to Computers should be enough to bring up my GPA. Should get get me back in the rythym of studying. I think if I had my wish, I'd spend the rest of my life studying. I'd consider being a scholar if it wasn't so damn boring.

I'm too restless. If I had to chose between a palace with everything I could dream of, and a small diving boat off of Key West, I'd chose the boat. I really miss Florida Beaches, though they've eroded so badly in South Florida they barely exist anymore.

I'm depressed that I can't write about T.F.G. right now, but it's for the best. My Sight'll come back. It always does.
June 5, 2005 at 10:32am
June 5, 2005 at 10:32am
#351677
The test is in two days. I know I'll be ready for it. After all, I managed to pull an 1100 out my ass for the SAT's for the first time. How can I fail a postal exam with silly number problems and matching questions? I swear it's the same as the CTBS test I took in 5th grade in Florida.

Work is killing me. At least here I don't have to worry about a cash register or bread, but I have to worry about where people are, and other bullshit. Like I was hired to do that. I swear my boss needs a manager just to keep up with her workers.

It's whatever to me. Next year, I might be employed with the postal service if I score high enough. Yeah. Like I'm worried about that.
May 19, 2005 at 3:12pm
May 19, 2005 at 3:12pm
#348186
It's been a long time since I've been in sight of something real. Snatching at snowflakes only to have them melt as soon as aI touch them. Missed chances, bad mistakes and everything in betweeen.

But today, I'm aiming for a solution. I have a chance to take a test that may very well decide my fate for the next few years. Will it be worth losing the pay from the place I cry and bleed?

Self-defeatism tells me no. Fear says to stay here in this place too small for me. To remain a shell of my former self, unable to move forward, too old to go back.

But I decided a long time ago(as a promise to a friend), that nothing would stop me. So nothing will.
May 16, 2005 at 12:07pm
May 16, 2005 at 12:07pm
#347442
Ever since I've read what The Scholar had to say, I feel less inclined to be anything less than what I am. I'm almost relieved that someone else(and a scholar no less!) feels the same way I do. It's taken many centuries for someone to tell the truth about racism, and low self-esteem. Her words allowed me to breathe for the first time in a long time.

Seriously, The End Of Blackness by Debra J. Dickerson is kick-ass. Someone give the lady the Nobel Prize for literature!
May 10, 2005 at 9:52pm
May 10, 2005 at 9:52pm
#346453
I bound up my scars with tape and aloe. I've moved on. I'm not going to mention what happened again.

Today I started a story that I can only describe as controversial. Although I enjoy violence, and brutality as much as anyone else, this plot is...special to me. Others with more moral aptitude would call it sick, I'm sure.

I actually would prefer it if some people find what I have in mind sick. It would prove that I'm not like them. A totally cold, neutral description of terrifying events, is more horrifying than the most vapid news report.

I think I'll go slice up that dog now.

On paper of course.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/profile/blog/mayasclaw/sort_by/entry_order DESC, entry_creation_time DESC/page/13