Kick Drum Heart


Diminished triads: a half-step lower and I just sound stupid

I’m so dumb.

Okay, and yes, I bring it upon myself.

I hate it when I start to like people. I hate to admit it, too, but I’m a smidgeon of a hopeless romantic. And my imagination is way too out of proportion.

Therefore, if I tend to feel the least bit like swooning over someone, it avalanches until I’m sitting here in a cloud of daydreams.

Do you understand how much time this wastes?!

So, to crystallize my mind once more and focus it on the numerous tasks at hand, I feel like I have to take action in order for me to stop thinking sillly thoughts.

And, I tried to. But it’s not working yet and I don’t know if phone-checking just wasn’t his priority today, or what. Who knows? I don’t know!

Another note on the way I seem to function: I may or may not freak out if I go out on a limb and there’s no response. Just a flatline there? Well, there I go, freaking out.

Not that I’m freaking out. Because I’m not.

It’s just, this is a weird situation. Like, really weird. And I never, never imagined it would be my scenario.

All the things I told KT last year (warning her against younger boys, be careful when you talk to them, they might get ideas) are coming back to haunt me. The advice I tried to provide, cautioning against getting involved with a boy two years younger? Ha.

I want this one to get the idea, and I don’t know if he has or not. And I’m trying to take my own advice and ignore the fact that I never freak out about boys unless I like them. And with my current schedule and relentless desire to daydream, it is not the best idea to get involved with anyone. Let alone to like them! How dumb of me!

So I keep telling myself, “Don’t do it.”

But I’m not listening. And I think I’ve already gone ahead anyway.

It’s like Irony’s slithered right back around and given me a bite in the ass.

So. This is just freakin’ awesome.

And in case you couldn’t tell that that was loaded with sarcasm, I’ll be honest here and say, I like lying to myself.



Broken

 I am. Broken, that is. Or, I think my writing mechanism might be. Andd also my motivation button. And perhaps my focus lever, too. I can’t seem to get anything done. I’m a little distractable, and I find myself daydreaming. But when I try to make the daydreams into stories (and hoo boy, would they make some good ones), the words won’t come. It’s very unpleasant. I feel dirty, or slimy; a little tainted, like I have some kind of anti-word bug I can’t get rid of. You know the feeling when you have the flu, and you’ve been puking all day and your stomach believes it should still be puking? But you can’t vomit, so you’re dry-heaving and it’s completely uncomfortable and painful, yet utterly unproductive?

That’s how I feel. I have the writing flu. It sucks, man.

And plus I have a stomach ache, too… I hope to God I’m not getting the real flu, too.