I want to take a roll of film of everything: people, places, buildings, animals. when it's done I want to roll it to the beginning and shoot it again, but only of daises. I want to cover everything with a thin layer of green grass and daises.
I always freak out about how much work I have to do whenever I actually have to do work. it always ends up that it's really easy and not nearly as bad as I thought. you'd think after years of school I'd figure that out and stop worrying. no one else seems to stop worrying though, I'm probably just following their example. that sucks, why should I have to worry just because no one else can handle themselves?
I can't sigh and huff. every time I try I end up coughing. I've been noticing how much I sigh and huff. it's a lot; usually at my mom.
on days I feel depressed it's frustrating telling people that. they interchange depression with sadness, and don't understand the key difference between them. people are sad for reasons, depression is unjustified aside from something being wrong with brain chemicals. I don't know, maybe I am just sad and don't know the reason. maybe I'm just a bitch. old habits die hard when you got a sentimental heart.
I don't understand why I can't take photos at the MOMA. well, I did anyway, but from my waist. they actually turned out pretty well, and it's a technique I've never really given any respect. I definitely want to explore that some more. also double exposures. and dyptichs. and composite panoramas. and composite single images.
She & Him are my new favorite band. it's like my dad's songs I grew up with, but my version.
I wonder how much of the stuff I'm paranoid about is actually real. I guess I could never know, because it's impossible to see the truth when you suffer from schizophrenic paranoia. I think I have that sometimes. mildly.
everything my mother says I either already know, or is completely irrelevent and don't care about, or both. she makes me want to scream, smoke a cigarette, and go back to therapy, three things I've been able to live without, and maybe even happily until she started talking to me again. it's not that I want her to stay sick, but the fact is since she's gotten better I've gotten worse. I can't keep starting and ending every day like this.
you really got a hold on me