recentemente. sento come una ragazza che non sa come vivere.
i miss the days of this thing where i would write on and on and on with no point. or there would be a point, i would like to imagine, embedded in all the nonsense spewed from my fingertips. there are some good ones, here is prime example. this is a great medium for saying things i can't readily bring myself to say in person; there's no confrontation or choking up on my part. i guess that also makes me very much a coward and failure in social situations that exert extreme emotional cues or lofty decisions i'm not sure how to express.
these days, however, i've been focusing all my efforts of these experiences in paper form where nary a person could ever dream of reading them and knowing what's causing my brain and emotional center (wherever it may be located as i'm not entirely sure i have a heart for those sort of things located anywhere in my body) to go haywire. I'm not used to being unstable as a girl. I've seen it happen to others and it scared the shit out of me. Never could i even fathom to think that something of that caliber could ever cause me the pains and stress that limit my functions, breaking me down into a stupid mess of female in the corner of a room.
i'm not ready for living. i don't need this thrust into girlhood. the expectations are high and unnecessary. does it matter that i'm well on my way to becoming a baby factory? that my purpose, if i even have one besides being president and ceo of a baby factory, will be realized through mediums other than myself? it's all a bit useless to think so...and what of it if i'll be gone soon?