Kamunyak, the blessed one.

My little sister and i are watching a television program in which a woman is tracking a lionness who has adopted an antelope.

The people in the surrounding area have named her "Kamunyak," and they think she is a sign from god.


The lionesses make the most beautiful noises. I fucking love nature....

muggle

I hate feeling like the awkward, idiotic carrot of a person I used to be.

Did I ever change? Or did I just stop talking?

Can I change? Because if changing means that this sense of being utterly contemptible goes away, I might.

Whine, whine, whine. But it's finals. Things always fall apart when you've got six papers to write and not a minute to spare.

3rd december

i think the reason why i had so many outstandingly odd human interactions today was because of that incredibly strange dream i woke up with.
withwhichiwokeup.

in a white room, not unlike an art gallery, i was sitting with an old friend. there was art of some kind around us, on the walls and whatnot, and it seemed to me later that my bear hat was floating above like a sort of crown for my aura. i was wearing a skirt that was not long and sitting with my legs spread-- not in a lewd way, but in a way that was completely uncaring and unconscious and unnoticeable. he looked with a detached interest at the bare space between my legs, in the way that a person looks at art. i saw it, too, but only after glimpsing that the area of neck and shoulder that settles above my collarbones was ringed with dark, thin hair. like fur. but then he complimented me on it, in a completely nonsexual way--again, in the way that people talk about art, especially art in which they have no deep interest, merely appreciation at the craftsman's aesthetic. i recall him saying, "i really like it. you did a really nice job with that."

i thanked him, and woke up.

i have never, ever had a dream like that.

no damn wonder the day has ended with me being banged on the forehead-- on the snout of my knit bear-- by a man whose enchantedness and whose arms i escaped by jumping on a random bus only to find that when i got on my actual trip home, he was still with me.

but i had taken off the damn hat. so ha!

the only intriguing thought i have had in a week

I think that documentaries would be more popular and widely watched if more of them were narrated by Antonio Banderas instead of Morgan Freeman.


I don't have anything against him, of course, but think about it. I could watch three hours of algae on stones if it meant that voice would be talking at me all day.


Mmm.

14th november

So, I guess we're being nice again. Which is cool, don't get me wrong. Made me very happy. But at the same time, I don't have the foggiest idea what is going on.

I don't want to be alone tonight. I don't. The prospect of it is exhausting and terrible.

Every event of today was a mishap. Small, yes, but frustrating, and I don't get over frustrations very well lately.

Please, please stay with me long enough to help tonight. I know it's not fair to want you to take care of me sometimes, but.... I'm going to do it anyway because it is still such a novelty to me.

your folks told me you should be left alone on a mountaintop, knocking the aeroplanes down with stones.

I think that's over. It completely sounds like I'm contemplating the death of a romance, but... Color me sentimental if I value even the idea of a friendship enough to want to fight for it.

I suppose it turned out that there wasn't really anything to fight for in the first place. I don't know if I ever suspected that.
I do know that I've always feared that the people I knew and valued saw me that way, judged me, and found me deeply lacking. It hurts to know that this particular Crazy was justified, that months of anxiety and worry at not being good enough were.... Well, I was right. That will be hard to recover from. Has been, as it leaked out over these past weeks and months.
And I'm out. I shrug as I tap this out because I can't, don't want to, don't see the point of trying. I don't even want to talk over or think about the specifics. The more strange we are, the more we will become people we used to know for a little while.

The hard part will be putting myself right again, growing back all the qualities and strengths I cut off.

Maybe I'm being too dramatic about this. To some people, it would seem so. But I think the people with whom I surround myself, in any capacity, have a great and important bearing on me, and I don't think that's stupid.

I've had cause to reflect on a different person lately. It's odd to call a. an old friend, and I'm not sure why. It's been, what, close to five years? And in some ways, it's really good, fun and laughable. And I am really happy that he confides in me, always has to some extent, and I hope that I am comforting to him in some way.

The thing is, I don't think I quite understand him. It's so easy for me to get that unspoken read on everyone else, even people I don't know at all. And I don't quite feel comfortable telling him things- or rather, I have recently come to do so, rely on him in a way I never have, and I don't know why. Do I really want to open up my can of crazy for the inspection for more than a minute? What must he think of me, after all this time? And especially lately, when I have been at my most frazzled, my most manufactured?

If not for the previously mentioned events of the day, I wouldn't be thinking like this. With some people, most admittedly males, I take pride in acting as myself and damning them (not really) if they don't like it. I wish I were like that with everyone, and more often. But if you met me at a certain time, in a certain mood, you wouldn't know me as self-conscious and terrified. Not for a little while, at least.

I'm thinking in circles and writing little curlicues around myself. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe I'm a little divided lately, due to defense mechanisms, and trying to feel out which parts are real. Maybe I have cause to question people today.
All the same, some lovely boy is just finishing his very last night at an awful job and it is about time to celebrate. Wake up, little girl. Shake off the round thoughts and wake up.

I'm tired of thinking so much about myself, and about petty details of relationships I should have understood from the first. Tonight I shall think only of him, and of making him as happy as he should be. If only I had blue paint, he could borrow my skirt, color his face and shout, "freedom!"

i cant seem to stop writing

I don't like the person I am being right now. I don't like how negative she is, and how deliberately that negativity comes. I am not certain if it's my environment or my defense mechanisms, but I know, even as I'm behaving that way, that it's not me.

I know I'm not being myself. And I know that this negativity comes out when I want to seem strong. But that's not strength. It's not. It's just easier to lie and portray the damaging kind of strength.

I don't know how I learned or decided that no one would think you were strong if you weren't forceful. If you weren't somehow damaging. Maybe it's to do with my upbringing. Maybe it's because I never really thought I was strong.

Don't know. It gets harder to stand on my own and not get sad, harder with every inch the sun sinks and every degree colder it gets. I don't have a choice, though. I have to be on my own this week, and I can't even try to rely on the one I love.

Suck.