I am stuck in this madness of tangled glances and looks that should have been said, and words that should have been glimpsed and I just can't shake that horrible notion that no one is really speaking silences and the quiet is deafening. Sooner or later all of this is going to catch up with me, all the layers of not quite knowing and fearing caring, oh trust me, I know. Sooner or later, which ever comes first, my thick skin or my oh so keen ability to be completely and totally vulnerable at all the wrong moments.
I am tired of hurting.
For posteriety: The Dead List 2007
Dead:
Spanish Presentation.
Um...yea
Dying:
20 page qual paper, well, kinda
Field Notes from Catholic
Moodle
Not even near close:
Qual portfolio
Final Prospectus
Theory presentation
Theory 12 page take home final
The whole, you know, rehab thing.
I'm...spent.
My nonchalence is only tempered by the motrin haze.
"I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz..."
About Me
- Me, I'm holding out hope for a zombie attack
- “What are you, life? A silent theater of Chinese shadows, a chain of dreams, a charlatan’s store? Or a gift of unrequited love---that’s all that is intended for me? What about happiness? Ingrate, you’re alive, you weep love strive fall and that’s not enough? What?...Not enough? Oh, is that so? There isn’t anything else.”--Tatyana Tolstaya
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