La, la, la.

I'm here. I guess. Here is Columbia SC. I'm sitting in my mommy's office while she deals with a couple of silly little kids who were fighting. Ah sigh.

My imood says "sore", which is true (my back is killing me), but I wanted to put "hollow". I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't know what these people expect from me, what they expect me to /do/. I am tired and bleary and I can't think of anything to talk to them about, and it's impolite to write in this permanently 'social' situation. My granfather is sitting over at the other desk, nearly napping. Ah, precious moments.

Here be the little wind up rabbit; she can play civil, smile, be witty, but she cannot be exicted nor happy, without it making her scream. there's this vile dull grinding going on in my head, and the longer I'm here, the more I just want to curl up and retreat. And what's sad is they make it so easy. It's like parental anasthesia-- a slow parylitic called familial love that creeps in and atrophies your bones, because they want you to do so many things, but they want you to do it in a place that you just /can't/. Spoon-fed ambition leads fingers to turn to jelly.

I used to work for my dad, here. Just him and me, and the choir invisible (my dad's so used to it he'll actually ask Stephen's opinion on restaurants and things O_o) He said to me at lunch today:

"You had it pretty good, huh? good job, no rent, no grocery bill..."

I didn't say anything, because the only thing I could think was, "Yeah. Lucky me."

I couldn't get a real job if I lived with them. I couldn't make myself move to work. I would eat myself up with restlessness and regular meals. I prefer my poverty. For me, survival ought to be a struggle, I suppose, for then I know I'm living.

Here I am, the pretty daughter-corpse, dress and wind her, watch her go.

Watch her go mad. This is like being on anti-depressants was. I couldn't breathe, cause it made me gag. Initating The desire to ram your head directly into a wall. Fuck chemicals-- the ones i put in me, and my body makes on it's own. I wish I could feel something beyond fear, undefianble need, and the intense desire to cry. I wish I was in a country as far away as health.

It is nice seeing my grandfather though.

This is miserable. My god.

I want to go home.

<<agé chose>>

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