Tumblr notified me that this blog turned 1 today.

Happy Birthday To Me

I miss.. when we didn’t know each other.  When we didn’t really know each other.  When I could see you as both a rival and a potential friend.  When I could strive to catch up to you because you were eons ahead and I was merely traveling hand in hand with your shadow.  I miss when we didn’t talk about finances or futures or life, I wish we could go back to those times when we would laugh at each others’ art or, begrudgingly, find each other kinda sorta cute.  When I first heard your voice and I felt awkward because I couldn’t quite understand what you were saying through your accent, but you felt as though I wasn’t speaking as my voice was higher than yours and that I was suddenly not interested in you anymore.  I miss meeting you for the first time over and over again every time I found something new about you that I could look up to or every time you pried me open a little more, just enough to prevent me from snapping up at you and you saw something shining inside of me.  I don’t know what it was, but something about then, rather than now sparked my love for many things about you.  Now, it feels as if we hang on for the sake of hanging on.  Now I watch as we both fall apart and drag each other down.  It makes me sad to see us go. 

I keep having these dreams.  Dreams of people I love, I know I love them.  The feeling in my chest and the way I behave around them makes that clear as day.  These are real people and real feelings.  They linger when I wake and those in the dreams seem so familiar, I can describe their personalities and some traits, but they’re not people I know.  One girl was soft-spoken and timid and a huge coward, but she cracked the funniest jokes and was super resourceful and always found ways to make the red creep into my cheeks.  There was also a guy in a different dream, tall, blonde, knew what I was afraid of, had a little sister, had a garden he took good care of, found ways to make me feel safe even if I wasn’t.

And then there’s me.  I once saw myself in a dream, and I’ve never really felt like I’m seeing through my own eyes when I dream.  I was hardworking and serious in one instance, but the next I was loud and jovial, thin and weak.

I had one last night, clearer than others, but so much murkier.  I can feel exactly what I felt, but it’s not directed at anyone, I don’t feel these things in everyday life.  I don’t know how to feel them.  I don’t remember what the person from this dream looked like, I don’t even remember what my own hands felt like, but I remember how I felt.  And the feeling won’t go away.

Never unload on people weaker than you.  Even if they tell you to.  Even if you have to kill yourself in order to prevent yourself from unloading.  Don’t do it.

Can’t I just take a few minutes to nap?

I wish I had some sort of way of ensuring that I’d wake up at a set time regardless of what my body needs.  Yeah I’d feel tired and like shit, but hey I fit sleep in and don’t feel like killing myself as badly as I usually do.  Maybe I can do this.

Some songs just make you cry like a little bitch regardless of situation, lyrics, melody, singer, band, and instruments.

I try to stand still and I begin to sway back and forth.  My fingers twitch.  But my hand refuses to ball up because I just don’t have enough strength to ball it into a fist.  I feel dead tired, but I could run someone over with a bus right now and have the clear mind needed to separate their parts and scatter them across the road.  I’m dizzy and I’ve had a migraine all day and I want to draw draw draw but I have to write write write but I can’t even read without the words swimming off the screen and into my ears where they just remind me of how useless I’ve become.  What is there to do anymore?  

Thigh thickness doesn’t bother me all that much, but what does bother me is the size of my knees.  I’ve always had knee problems as long as I could remember and as an asian there’s always a lot of floor work to do whether it’s eating, paying my respects, or playing games.  My knees are fucking huge and are almost as wide as the widest part of my thighs.  I don’t understand.

Damn. I want to play Katamari at this time of night with nujabes-esque hip hop playing.  God damn.

There was a guy I had a small crush on in middle school I think.  I’m still not sure.  But it’s really hard to like a person when one of your closest friend is after everyone’s dick, especially his.

Since then, I just think experiencing romance would be good for my writing.  Otherwise, it seems almost entirely useless.