Meet Me at the Blood Bank

“Everything is so confusing and all your words only make things worse”
Milo, The Phantom Tollbooth

“People are so very sensitive about the things they know best”
-see above

I love my boyfriend but he never wants to have sex with me. It may be that the ‘with me’ is an excessive extension of that statement, but it’s hurtful and boring all the same. I now find myself attempting to minimize the importance of sex in my life so as to appease the hurt and boredom. Is that right?

Squirrely

My educational pursuit is highly dramatized. Am I even interested in grad school or do I just feel the need to continue going to school. Ultimately to get a PhD.

Blah. I’m sick of thinking. I put on many ridiculous expectation on myself I can’t make sense of my goals anymore. I really can’t stand being me right now. It’s not that bad. Just uneventful. The option of going to LA reared its ugly head. Maybe tomorrow…or the next day. Either way, just to go. What I’d love is to go somewhere I’ve never been. Where the people I stay with are new. But then—why would I stay with them? Yes, well, the metaphysics bore me, much does I’m tired. German, Persian, write your book, eat, smoke. Too many things to think about. I don’t like being me, have I already said that> repetition. Fucking wonderful. I can’t really understand. I’m wonderful. I’m not. I’m Kristin Hirsch’s muse. That would be a reason to get upset.

Fuck it, that doesn’t mean to get sad. I can’t be like this anymore. I’ll be however the hell I want. Expectations. Why are people always in a state of becoming rather than being? Why do I always want to change and why do waste so much energy picking out things that are wrong with me? Something to wonder and cyclically another to fix.

X