Day One Hundred and Seven: This is where I say I've had enough, and no one should ever feel the way that I feel now, a walking open wound, a trophy display of bruises, and I don't believe that I'm getting any better
Saints And Sailors, by Dashboard Confessional
This song if filled with lies and truth. Irony and things avoided. It's a contradiction, and I don't feel like spelling it out. Maybe I can't, maybe I just don't want to, or maybe even a mixture of both.
EDIT: FIRST EXPLORE! Highest at #205
I'm creating fake falls.
I need meaning. I need it in my everyday life, I need in in general. I don't need to know what happens when I die, but I need to know that I'm making good use of life. It's the single most scary thing in this world to me. Today was meaningless.
Familiar faces, unfamiliar grounds. Forced conversations. The hustle and bustle of everyday life, that I'm always missing out on. Kid's sized strawberry-banana smoothies. Translation, transcription, transvestites, they all just blur together. Digging your nails into your palm to force yourself to stay positive, to keep your true feelings in. A possible connection with a stranger. Commonalities you wish you didn't have, but you're not used to someone feeling the same way as you. Shameless gossiping, seeing all the mistakes. Poor turning radiuses/radii (google accepts both spellings). You're lost, but it really doesn't matter. Blue and white, white and blue. It's going to turn out okay in the end.
I've realized that I treat my 365 like a baby. You know when someone first has a baby, that's all their conversations are? No matter what you're doing, they have some baby story to tell that doesn't actually relate. I do something similar with my 365. Any song I've used comes up in conversation or on the radio, anything, and I take it back to my 365. At some volleyball game, they used the song from day two. And I was the only one who knew it. But I immediately knew what day it was from. I've done it several times. It's become my life, really. I've practically gotten the songs memorized. I know what I've used, and why I picked them. I need to keep it in. Keep it all in. No one understands, and no one cares.
I'm sorry, but no matter how much you yell at me, I'm not going to play it out, lay it out, or anything it out. I don't want bruised hipbones, I don't want bruised anything. I've had enough bruises to last me a lifetime. I can only run so fast. There just gets to a point where I stop caring. Surprise, surprise, I don't perform when you yell at me. Positive, not negative. Tell me how to improve, instead of pointing out where I failed. I can do that myself, thank you very much. I work as hard as I can. For the love of god, just stop yelling at me. Please.
Please tell me to stop with the simple poses and bokeh. I know, I know, I need to get out and do real things. Bokeh is my comfort zone. I barely show my face anymore. I'll try to change that.
It's going to be a long weekend.