I haven't posted in awhile because I've been lacking words lately. Vincent's been sick. Our relationship is still going, but I don't have that communication any longer, meaning since late last week--probably because he's sick. I have my head wrapped around the idea that I need to be in constant communication and good-standing with the person I love. It shouldn't always have to be that way. In my paranoid, pathetic world it's a must, though.
I haven't been in school since last Friday.
Fucking ice.
I'm so tired of it.
I hate the snow, ice, Winter weather.
I've become a depressed spirit.
I miss Vincent, though I just got off the phone with him
not too long ago. There were only moments of our conversation
that I could really feel him coming through. Sickness, though his isn't severe--a minor cold, takes a toll on a person and alters them into someone new. I don't like sick-Vincent. He's grumpy and irritable. I feel so weak sometimes when I speak with him. I apologize a lot. I say sorry for things that don't even really matter, and he'll snap back at me. I repeat a lot. I feel like a record that skips. Yeah, I said record instead of CD. I have this fuzzy picture engraved in my mind of something from the late 70's or early 90's. Like a burned photograph of something or someone. I don't know. I feel ancient. I want to talk to Vincent when he's healthy.
I want to fill my bathtub with a type of tea, a tea that smells delicious, and soak my body in it until I turn that color of the tea. Preferably a rich, reddish tea. Turn me red, I tell thee!
I need to be medicated.
Is that what society wants me to believe?
Fuck it, I need some weed.
I haven't been in school since last Friday.
Fucking ice.
I'm so tired of it.
I hate the snow, ice, Winter weather.
I've become a depressed spirit.
I miss Vincent, though I just got off the phone with him
not too long ago. There were only moments of our conversation
that I could really feel him coming through. Sickness, though his isn't severe--a minor cold, takes a toll on a person and alters them into someone new. I don't like sick-Vincent. He's grumpy and irritable. I feel so weak sometimes when I speak with him. I apologize a lot. I say sorry for things that don't even really matter, and he'll snap back at me. I repeat a lot. I feel like a record that skips. Yeah, I said record instead of CD. I have this fuzzy picture engraved in my mind of something from the late 70's or early 90's. Like a burned photograph of something or someone. I don't know. I feel ancient. I want to talk to Vincent when he's healthy.
I want to fill my bathtub with a type of tea, a tea that smells delicious, and soak my body in it until I turn that color of the tea. Preferably a rich, reddish tea. Turn me red, I tell thee!
I need to be medicated.
Is that what society wants me to believe?
Fuck it, I need some weed.
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