This world. I don't even.

Very informal.
As usual.


I saw an amazing(ly written) play last evening. It is Brian Friel's "Translations." The acting, not so good. The play itself- very powerful and moving.

I didn't come here to write about the play, though. Of course not. It would be very uncharacteristic of me.

I wanted to write about my bus ride home.
I noticed a very handsome fellow sitting on the back of the bus with two of his friends, engaging in what I would imagine a very silly conversation. There were moments where he would stand up at stops, spread his arms out wide and flail them like a madman, jump around the seats. From what I could tell, he was a very animated fellow.
He wore a light blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled half way up his arms and khaki pants- I didn't note anything else as I was greatly concentrated on his actions.

It was two stops until I had to get off, and he exited with his friends right in front of the QFC by Urban on Broadway. I caught a clear glimpse at his face- his lovely features. The most vivid were his amazing blue eyes, which immediately triggered a memory.

I had seen him before.

"I have to tell you something at the next stop," I yelped as he and his pals exited the bus.

"The very next?" my friend quizzed me.

"He is the guy I saw on the lightrail from the airport back in to town after Spring Break!"

He was, indeed. I never thought I would see him again. I figured, Seattle is fairly heavily populated, what were the odds I would see him again? I have butterflies recalling it.

"I guess I will be riding this bus aimlessly for the rest of my days in Seattle," I mumbled.

"Just to stalk him and see him again?"

"Hey! I will talk to him if I see him again. I will! Three times means the cosmos are pulling us together."

Ah.
But, would I? Would I really have the guts to say anything to him?



The sad reality is I probably wouldn't. You know how I am. He'll no longer be that nameless man from the Lightrail that I have happened to see twice on public transportation in my life. Maybe that is all he is good for: Another fantasy for me to forever remember.

Hej hej,

Any

P.S. Every damn post on this blog is the same. What a writer I am.

Foolish.

Fuck being sick.


Now I just want to die.
I haven't accomplished a damn thing. Not a damn thing. I recall all of the opportunities in my life where I was asked to participate or apply for something, and I always thought:

Too much time
I'm not going to get it
They aren't going to like me

And guess what?
It is because I don't like hearing the bad news of, "No- you're not what we are looking for," or "Sorry, but we will keep you in mind."
And I am a fool. A god damn fool for all of the shit I have passed up.

I could probably be a prominent writer.

Instead I am sitting in my room with the blinds down and tears rolling down my cheeks.

It's too late.

I'm going nowhere. And I hate myself for being so foolish.

Hej hej,

Any

Leave the world behind.

My eyes are going to drop out of their sockets.
My skin is going to melt away like candlewax.

I have been trying to make myself sick for over a week. It hasn't been going so well, as I am sick in a totally different context. So, my current illness is prohibiting me to make myself sick in the way I want to be. Am I not trying hard enough?

I just have so much,
and you-

you are worth being sick over.
Why can't I stop being sick of myself and start being sick over you?

Every fucking time I see you, I want to be sick. Sick forever. Sick so you can like me more, sick so I can like you more.
I'm not even worth it.

You know what?
I start tomorrow. I will be sick for you, only you.

God, help me. I know this decision is worth it.

I have decided. It will be.

Hej hej,

Any