ur mom called, i told her you're fucking up big time

FUCK am i just fucking screwed! i keep cracking jokes and turning to laugh with someone and there’s no one there. i’ve been listening to everlong on the floor while i pound on the old typewriter and still i haven’t thought of a single thing to write about. the only time today i haven't felt like biting my own head off was when i was listening to my roommate listen to blue banisters in the shower.

everyone’s pissed. my parents need me to call them back (we haven’t spoken in weeks), i keep saying the bitchiest things to everyone, and i’m on my last fucking straw. i cleaned the fucking living room, cleaned everyone’s dishes, vacuumed, and bought air fresheners to keep the place from smelling like shit & sasha throws it out the window because it “gives him a headache” (he doesn’t even live here). i there’s a moment where i snap and squish his dinner out of anger & when he calls me up to say that he doesn’t like that i’ve been mean to him i decide i can’t fucking do it tonight. 

i keep thinking of the bowie song off blackstar called “i can’t give everything away”. i can’t keep loaning people money and cleaning up after them and taking care of them when they’re sick and listening to their fucking psychobabble and the little arguments they pick just to argue. i’m fucking cooked. 

my parents are worried about my not having any plans for spring break but honestly a week to lie on the floor and rot sounds absolutely delightful at this point. i keep having these little phrases roll around in my head. 

“from the perspective of your joy” (creating art from the perspective of your joy, making it solely out of passion and love & not to appeal to the public) 

“trying to get my mansions green, after i’ve grey gardens seen” (seeing the worst of yourself and making the conscious effort to fix everything)

“our last summer, on film” (capturing as much of your youth onto film as you can so you don’t forget)

“i’ll try living like this” (making the most of however you are. lonely days, cloudy sky, keeping to yourself)

called my parents today & forgot to tell my mom about feeling close to her when i was driving in massachusetts & listening to her favourite music. forgot to tell her that when i told sasha to clean up the broken glass, i felt her speaking through me. forgot to tell her that every time we argue i feel like i’m outside looking in on myself, and how we fight exactly like every other mother and daughter. i didn’t tell her that i feel like i’m fucking up big time, but the only way to get through it is to get through it.

i’m out. i’m all out of ideas & energy & things to give people. i’m tired of talking to men in film and women who like sports. i need to stop getting sharp whenever i’m in a foul mood. i don’t know. it’s probably fucking lyme.