Archive for June, 2011
We baked a cake
So, I get these ideas, just weird, maybe a little eccentric, ideas. Like, a few years ago I decided to try to see every After Dark Horrorfest horror movie, in the theater. I made it to seven of the eight. Then, a few weeks ago, the gun range thing. I don’t know, I guess I like creating a to-do, then doing it. I do things especially when the rest of my life feels out of my control, I grab at something I can control, I get a thing or do a thing, just to show myself that part of me still alive. It’s, I don’t know. I suddenly don’t feel like writing more.
Anyways, we baked a cake today. Lauren (my assistant) and my friend, Dani, did the baking, while I took a more supervisory role. It was fun, and created something.
Now, pictures…
Lauren prepares a mellow vanilla icing
Introducing... batter!
Law & Order: Special Cakes Unit
It looks like Dani’s interrogating Lauren for some kind of cake-related felony…
Dani and Daisy and Lauren and Flour
Dani, Lauren, and the finished cake... rendered in water colors
Sure, I dabble in water color painting… or I just bought Sketcher on the Mac App Store. One or the other.
We did a yellow cake with vanilla icing, topped with fresh strawberries. It came out really pretty, which is everything one wants. We all just want something pretty.
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Too screwed up
I’m too screwed up, and nervous, and lost, and alone right now. I’m so lost, so alone. I can’t think straight or write straight, or DO ANYTHING. I knew it’s all my fault, I accept that, no other way to see it. I’m a worthless waste. I ruin everything.
I won’t be writing.
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Bad yesterday
So, yesterday was bad. I had to have two trach changes, which is never good, yesterday was just particularly bad. I’m trying to decide if I feel like writing all of it, it, I’m tired. I could do a full writing tomorrow, but then I probably wouldn’t. I’m just tired, I feel worn, small. I feel small. It was scary, I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.
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Won’t say
I’m scared because I, this could be some really pretty, sweeping narrative. I have the skill, I know my craft well enough to paint this picture of scared and lonely, but fuck it. I don’t feel pretty inside, I don’t have any pretty words to bleed, even if I cut both wrists wide open. She won’t say, “I love you! Come back to me,” so I’m scared. The drugs will hit me, and I’ll get sleepy, and nothing will feel beautiful, and maybe I won’t find my way back.
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Was, Not
I was going to New York, now I’m not going to New York. So, yeah. I wouldn’t really be there anyways.
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Post #667
So, this is post #667, nothing evil about that. I’ve been writing here since… mid-2007, so the stretches that I haven’t written show in the numbers. Still, 667 posts isn’t an awful number. I’ve tried to not post garbage, which is why sometimes I write nothing at all. I don’t know where this post is going, I don’t know where this blog is going, I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know. Who knows?
