14 - 12/12 - desk

 stressed stressed going to die if i keep talkign im going to die, i think i am going to say something wrong i think i mgoing to die. i can;t i ahve to i cant i really cant its going to be horrible

Okay, I'm okay. Yes. Stern eyes. Looking down at the screen as my fingers pluck feelings until tips grasp truth. fuck all them "the"s

having dry hands make me feel bad about myself

i was quite insecure about the roughness and dryness of my hands as a small one, in elementary school people used to recoil when they touched my hands, they'd say woah! mwah. 

now that I have put moisturizer on my hands I feel better. It takes me a long time to do little things like this, and that makes me feel like a very bad person. I struggle so deeply with the small physical acts of improvement. the putting up the shelfs, the putting on a jackets, the laundry the sheets the water the teeth. 

enough with content. BULLSHIT! process time.

it feels pathetic to not improve myself, it feels lazy, it feels disappointing, father, boom. Great. As if it was that easy. Okay. onward. When I want to improve myself, I feel powerless to make real change. I feel an ineptitude of outcome that begs the question, why do it? Is this a symptom of an inherent ineptitude? Have I experienced little things making no difference in the past? well... quite the contrary actually. UGH! Remembering the few times I studied for math quizzes and got awesome grades... when I put my laundry away I feel confident and sure of my place. UGH! 

Can't do this shit. BAD MOOD! Okay, better mood, that was goofy. 

Later, in bed. Instead of writing an outline, I'm writing here. I can't live tomorrow through feeling as pent up as I do now. I would like to scream, but I've screamnt enough today. I would like to cry, but we all now how that goes.

i had a thought while walking home earlier... my hands are the first thing that someone touches, meets, of me. Perhaps part of me felt that through their inadequate softness, one could perceive my inadequate soul. Whew, that's a doozy. Inadequate. Inept. Words words words

Going to talk about something warmer. Someone I'm fond of reminds me to be fond--foolish, eager, tender--of that which I still can. Remind me again, what can I not? I find it hard to see a pair of eyes that could not crinkle their way into the fondness of my own. I wish one could convey the crinkle of eyes over words. here, let me try.

i see, and before I can reflect, I smile, my hands warmed again above the fire, for seeing sight alone sparks kindness. 

that was good. it took me about 3 minutes. there is nothing i would rather have been doing. i should write poetry more. here, let me verse it (from Latin versus "a line, row, line of verse, line of writing," from PIE root *wer- (2) "to turn, bend." The metaphor is of plowing, of "turning" from one line to another (vertere = "to turn") as a plowman does). 

I see. Before I 

reflect, I smile,

my hands warmed 

again above the fire,

for seeing 

alone sparks love

I made it better. I have to be awake again in 5 hours and 20 minutes. Gosh, how I wish I could write forever. I am a fool... and for that, thank goodness. I feel better fond than full. Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love, not nearly. 

Goodnight sun