miserable in the morning. miserable in the afternoon. the kitchen smells like cat pee from the people who subletted my apartment in the summer. there isn't a way to stay better, if certain conditions cause you to feel bad for long periods of time, apropos of nothing, which is fine. i'm listening to daniel johnston.
i have felt very bad for weeks. i'm crying. i was feeling bad while i was trying to sleep in ohio, which was three weeks ago almost, and also before that. i took acid with conor and walked around in the rain. stuff looked like a video game or, like, um... that... um... 'blade runner.'
i watched half of 'bitter lake' the other night before going to sleep. i spent seven days in bed. 89% humidity. wanted to type that as "eighty-nine percent." i don't know. i want to drink an egg cream, maybe. i want it to be colder outside. i can be more alone. i know there are people who care about me. there might be fewer if i continue to be this way, but, like... it feels fake to deny the way i am, or something. not fake, but... i know if i just allow myself to feel this way, i'll feel better later. i'm used to feeling this way for half the year, maybe more. i think the, um, highs and lows last longer and more intensely than they used to. i felt like i rode a high for two straight months, between may and july somewhere. i felt really good and capable. i don't care.
i want to go to that other coffee place. i don't even want cool clothes anymore, which is a little distressing. why don't i want cool clothes? i want to go to that coffee place that was in the new york times and sit on the steps on the church across the street and be in the sun, and to be wearing a jacket because it's 58 degrees (fifty-eight) but pleasant. i...
three people flaked on playing tennis with me this week. we made plans, and they cancelled, day-of, three times, without seeming to care about how much i'd actually tried to make an effort to... i don't trust people. i don't trust the people i love or the people who love me. conor is "into sex" now. i want, like, to protect him from that. i have hated giving myself over to people, letting them know me. it doesn't feel fair. when other people have parts of you, you're not as much of yourself. is that true? seems extremely dramatic and destructive to think like that.
and, um, last night i watched old videos i made. i used to make a lot of videos. people don't give enough credit to how much art came out of the "scene" i was likely, and i guess fairly, considered somewhat a part of. like most of it was very shitty and indulgent and stuff, but also people were just constantly filming themselves, constantly writing, documenting their lives way past the extent most other artists ever try or even pretend to care to. in retrospect, it was one of the most inspiring times in my life. i'm reading 'liveblog' by megan boyle. it's beautiful. it reminds me of some of that stuff. i remember coming home late at night drunk and making videos and writing poems. it came out of, like, pure heart.
i'm typing "like" a lot. i'm unhappy. my keyboard is doing the thing where it glitches a lot because of the humidity. my wireless mouse is in the trunk of my car outside. i can't believe someone flaked on tennis again. i feel actually crushed. very hurt in my core. i don't want to put in an effort and not be met halfway. i feel like probably my friend thinks that about me. i'm guilty of stuff.
thought about suicide a bit while crying and listening to daniel johnston. going to stop typing soon because of keyboard issues. doesn't feel worth it. college was fun. people are going to come into and go out of your life and make it more complex, but being alone sucks too. there isn't a solution. there's an alarm going off in the other room. it's been going off for several minutes and i'm not doing anything. it's like stupid 8-bit music... i wrote a story called "waiting for eternal atake" for zoe. at first i typed "for nori." i should write a story for nori.
what are all the people you used to know doing? it's been almost five months since i've had alcohol. i'm going to try to see 'suspiria' tonight in manhattan. if i don't make it, that's fine, but i should try. i'm holding myself accountable to [something/nothing] here.
blog sucks. this is probably the worst post. it's labor day. two ripe avocados in the green bowl. the subletters neglected treating the green bowl like it "deserves." it will take a long time before this apartment feels like i want it to again.
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