Sat up half the night thinking about things. What things in particular I'm not going to necessarily reveal here, but the fact of the matter is that I was up thinking about them. Evaluating some situations in my life, mulling over possibilites and how they make me feel. Just thoughts.

I would have much preferred the sleep.

The first light of dawn has broken, turning the cool blue morning into a pale gray. I look in the mirror now and my eyes are red and wild with tears, my throat hot with a suppressed wail of grief. Now as I write this I can only think of how these words are already assuaging the tremendous anguish that a simple memory has brought on, and in a way I ( Read more... )

I'm hardly sleepy at all because my world is manic with possibilities. For the first time in a long time, possibly forever, it feels that there is some overwhelming purpose in my life, as if I'm doing something that is truly worthwhile. All of this--or at least most of it--stems from the reading of beat. a play on words, the play I'm producing. It ( Read more... )

My eyes are getting heavy, but before I go to bed I felt the need to at least write a little bit of something on here for good or ill. I don't really know what I want to say, exactly, but I can't help but think back to earlier when the sky lit up with lightning, silhuoetting the branches of the tree against the momentarily bright sky. I watched ( Read more... )

I want a typewriter. Actually, what I should say is that I still want a typewriter. I remember sitting at the typewriter for long hours, as a child, and pounding away at the keys. There was something particularly fascinating about watching the pile of thin paper grow to my left, all words and paragraphs and quotes. A story that I shaped not on a ( Read more... )

I have determined that what I sometimes think is melancholy is really more of the urge to create. It is the overflow of passion, much like the unbalancing of Hamlet's humors.

Sometimes I'm not sure if these things are just so general you see yourself in them, or if there is actually something to them.

( Birthdate )

My apartment is cool and reminds me of summers or springs of the past, just as the weather this time of year always reminds me of the past and of the good times and thw arm feelings in the pit of my stomach that make me smile. The tactile feel of the cool air and the smell of everything reminds me of love and comfort and any number of other good ( Read more... )

The days have been gloomy and that is making me depressed, along with a combination of a few other things. Next week, when my routine is back on track I forsee things getting better, until then I'm just going to fight through it and make sure that I keep eating and keep active ( Read more... )

My dad died one year ago today ( Read more... )