Post by goldfish on Sept 19, 2016 21:09:22 GMT -5
warning for complete disregard to grammar and stream of consciousness in the way that i actually think, as well as teenage angst
the cracks on the roof looked like spiders like spiders like spiders l-i-k-e-l-i-k-e-l-i-k-e and her mind was working like literature again and she was thinking in perfectly spelled size-twelve-Times-New-Roman-font like seventh grade all over again (algebra sitting on the bench outside room 51 shivering from 7:30 am cold being wrong being bad at everything realizing that perfection is impossible hating the world) and she thought she was done with that it was ninth grade she was done with that why was it like that again-
her mother said it was because of the cold medication, she always reacted strongly to medication (lying awake on nighttime antihistamine, smiling like a maniac and wondering why she couldn't sleep) and she thought why can't i just be upset for no reason but she didn't say anything because confrontation was her poison and she hated being told she was wrong.
two days passed without perfectly spelled thoughts and maybe her mother was right because her mother was always right, wasn't she? but then it was another monday (lunes, math test, too many classes too short a day) and she felt as if everything was wrong deep inside her physically and that was wrong, since that never happened. but no, it was right, she was sick, it was okay she would be okay she would be okay
it was hot, too hot, flute sticking to her lip, fingers not playing the notes right, frustration and nausea bubbling up (how to spell nausea n-a-s-e-a no wrong n-a-u-s-e-a yes that was right better much better) but she didn't show it of course, why would she?
fish for dinner (thought it was funny, read something about catfishing earlier), bland and boring and stomachache-inducing. she ate it anyways, since she had to eat something and it was good for her. (her weight was wrong too, like the notes she played and the words she said. too much was wrong, and she hated it she hated it she hated it)
she typed on her computer, happy because it was a good computer but annoyed since it didn't work quite as well as her old one and shameful since it was so expensive and she ought to stop complaining. she looked online again and wondered again, like always, watched one subscribed persona rant about another and click the thumbs-up because they were right, the other was wrong and bad but she didn't care too much because they made her laugh.
she typed a phrase she wrote last tuesday, then typed more and wondered if this was "venting". but no, it wasn't, because she had nothing to vent about (why would she her life was perfect so perfect so perfect think of another word think of another word) and she hadn't and never would and she should stop complaining her life was perfect perfect perfect p-e-r-f-e-c-t think it believe it believe it-
the cracks on the roof looked like spiders like spiders like spiders l-i-k-e-l-i-k-e-l-i-k-e and her mind was working like literature again and she was thinking in perfectly spelled size-twelve-Times-New-Roman-font like seventh grade all over again (algebra sitting on the bench outside room 51 shivering from 7:30 am cold being wrong being bad at everything realizing that perfection is impossible hating the world) and she thought she was done with that it was ninth grade she was done with that why was it like that again-
her mother said it was because of the cold medication, she always reacted strongly to medication (lying awake on nighttime antihistamine, smiling like a maniac and wondering why she couldn't sleep) and she thought why can't i just be upset for no reason but she didn't say anything because confrontation was her poison and she hated being told she was wrong.
two days passed without perfectly spelled thoughts and maybe her mother was right because her mother was always right, wasn't she? but then it was another monday (lunes, math test, too many classes too short a day) and she felt as if everything was wrong deep inside her physically and that was wrong, since that never happened. but no, it was right, she was sick, it was okay she would be okay she would be okay
it was hot, too hot, flute sticking to her lip, fingers not playing the notes right, frustration and nausea bubbling up (how to spell nausea n-a-s-e-a no wrong n-a-u-s-e-a yes that was right better much better) but she didn't show it of course, why would she?
fish for dinner (thought it was funny, read something about catfishing earlier), bland and boring and stomachache-inducing. she ate it anyways, since she had to eat something and it was good for her. (her weight was wrong too, like the notes she played and the words she said. too much was wrong, and she hated it she hated it she hated it)
she typed on her computer, happy because it was a good computer but annoyed since it didn't work quite as well as her old one and shameful since it was so expensive and she ought to stop complaining. she looked online again and wondered again, like always, watched one subscribed persona rant about another and click the thumbs-up because they were right, the other was wrong and bad but she didn't care too much because they made her laugh.
she typed a phrase she wrote last tuesday, then typed more and wondered if this was "venting". but no, it wasn't, because she had nothing to vent about (why would she her life was perfect so perfect so perfect think of another word think of another word) and she hadn't and never would and she should stop complaining her life was perfect perfect perfect p-e-r-f-e-c-t think it believe it believe it-
