Someday, when I'm awfully low...

"It doesn't hurt, it feels fine

The trivial sublime

I'd like to turn off time

And kill my mind

You kill my mind

Paranoia, paranoia

Everybody's comin' to get me

Just say you never met me

I'm runnin' underground with the moles

Diggin' holes

Hear the voices in my head

I swear to God it sounds like they're snoring

But if you're bored then you're boring

The agony and the irony, they're killing me, whoa

I'm not sick, but I'm not well"

I'm rock & rolling stoned right now and I can't tell if the music I'm listening to at work is actually good music or if a toilet flushing would meet my eardrums' musical qualifications currently. Because I'm feeling everything way too much right now. Thank goodness it's Friday. Haven't heard back yet from the New Yorker. Have no idea what I'm doing next year. Actually, that's a lie. I have an idea, a ridiculously beautiful, throbbing idea, but have no clue as to how I can execute this in a semi-successful, limited bleeding fashion. General Outline: Problem, Cause, Solution. Need to get a big-girl job. Needs to be in Chicago. Why? Second-City in the windy city. Get it// got it// good. 

Based on the previous statement, it would be appropriate to assume that I, indeed, will be trying to "make it" as a stand-up comedian/writer/director/actor? WHAT THE FUCK AM I THINKING? But I have to have a regular job on the side, along the fine lines of public relations & ad copy writing (& stripping). Jokes. So I'm going to do this, DO THIS. Any other job I've ever kidded myself into believing I could seriously do was never real. In order to do this, I'm going to have to give up a lot. It's going to be ungodly hard and I'm going to want to chicken out and take the easy way out and find someone and settle down and consequentially put my ideas and dreams and work away, in the weakened, yet hope-hoarding crevice between my bruised rib & my broken one. Because even if I get off track, I will die before jumping off this trackless train.

"It takes a long time for her to figure it out."

"And the way he looked at me and we both knew. And then people came and left and we didn’t care, we were finally alone and concentrated."

"You swear that there is still good in this world, and that is your lullaby every night."

"The way you can tell you've been mourning even in your sleep."