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Don't waste time getting to the point cause I'm, I'm patiently waiting for your next phone call.
On Friday, Jul. 21, 2006 at 9:28 a.m.

I can't figure out if something is wrong or if I just want something to be wrong. I think I've got that tortured artist I subconsciously create problems in my life so I have something to write about syndrome. I think I've had it since freshman year, when bad poems and melodramatic diary entries were all I wrote. It was bad then so it must be much worse now that I've actually decided I want my career to require creativity and writing ability.

Lately I've been incredibly jealous of musicians. I wish I could tour, 200 cities in 250 days kinda thing. Leave a little piece of yourself in every ampitheater, leave a little memory in thousands of people's hearts. You move on and let go so fast. The horrible trivialties of normal life can't touch you. I'm so sick of the everyday.

And I know this, sitting in front of my lap top, pouring my heart out to myself, is right. I'm developing trust issues & vulnerabilty issues. I always used to love the idea of having all these defenses (and, of course, having some boy succeed in tearing them down) but now that I'm developing them I'm not so sure. I always knew they were detrimental but I liked the idea of being a person who has them. I do that with a lot of things. It's incredibly unwise but incredibly appealing.

As I get older it's easier to mold things. Life gets more complicated and more boring every day. I can't figure out how that works but I'm sure it does. I don't wish things were simple & I don't wish they were easy. I wish they were possible, fathomable, reasonable. I wish there was a little more light streaming into the tunnel instead of the hopeless state of dimness.



hold me close like we both died
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