pipistrellafelix | (no subject)

This is stupid. I have no reason to feel messed up right now, except that possibly it's past midnight and I'm exhausted, and I couldn't find boots today so I brought my old ones home and they're all uneven because I walk weird. So now I'll walk weirder; and I don't care how I look but it makes my hips feel funny. And I'm frustrated, just all around frustrated, no reason in particular. And I hate feeling like this, but in some small way it gives me a perverse satisfaction, like having a wild temper tantrum as a kid. Sometimes I really wish I were a kid again so I could have a tantrum and just wail and scream and hit things and people would let me. It annoys me when adults try to stop kids from having tantrums; I always want to say, Hey, let the kid wail for awhile and get it out; I'm nineteen [fucking nineteen years old, why am I this old? What have I done with myself?] and I still want to have tantrums sometimes.
I complained to Claire today (hah, Claire, we are so horrible, I love you), the lack of theater in my life [nearly one whole year since last I set foot to stage--this is Death], and the lack of boy and whatever that entails [the good entailment, I mean, having someone to bother and snog and laugh at and hold forever; not the crazy bad stuff that deep inside me I'm terrified of]. I love having happy dreams but when I wake up it makes me sadder than before--where has it gone? In real life it can never be that perfect, I'll mess it up somehow, I always do.
And college, oh, don't get me started, only I've already started myself; me and LC and SU and the whole fucking mess that whipped me around like a bark in a storm is all coming back again. I do like it here, really, and my classes are good and I'm learning so much and I have friends here [but not true friends, not yet, even though I want it--is the wall there mine or theirs? How do I tell?], but there's just something missing; it isn't home, not really, I don't breathe the air in here and smile happily. Not anymore. I want somewhere new and somewhere familiar all at once, and I want it now, I have not enough patience to be reasonable.
I am sick of being reasonable. I am sick of being rational and doing the right thing and having a concience that guides me on the path of goodness. Fuck goodness. I want to be horrible and break into places I shouldn't be and give into impulses to write things in Sharpie on places I shouldn't write on, and I want to quit school and be a delinquent and live in a library and no that wouldn't work at all and I know that but sometimes I just want to be BAD. Sometimes I think, if I were bad, people would like it better when I was good. It would be remarkable. I'd like to be remarkable. I don't feel remarkable right now. I feel lonely and annoyed and frustrated and dirty, I need a shower and I need sleep and I need a real breakfast and I need someone to hold me and tell me that it's going to be fine and I need to believe them, which is the part that can never ever be.
I don't know what else to say. I don't really know what I've said. This is much longer than I thought it was going to be, I thought I was going to get out my frustration in a paragraph and feel better and go to bed, but it's been longer than that and I don't feel better and I want to cry but more than that I don't want to cry with someone else here, I wish I were at home and I could be by myself and act pathetic and stupid all I want. Even when I'm perfectly myself and not putting up any kind of shield I still can't really relax around other people. [Okay, some other people yes, but my roommate no. Not really. There aren't many people I can forget myself around. And none of them are here right now.]
I'm going to go to bed. Because if I don't force myself now I never will, and I need sleep, and I need motivation--Oh, I've lost scholarly motivation and I hate it, I hate it so much, because I remember when I was little and I was curious about everything and I wanted to know everything and I would proudly state to anyone who asked, I'm going to be a writerexplorerastronautbiologistactorperson, among other things. And now, I can't make myself care. I spend time looking at other people's brilliance without remembering my own and I'm afraid it's going to disappear, and then I'll wonder if I ever had it, or whether it was something I imagined so strongly that it came true for me in the schoolyard in fifth grade but doesn't exist anymore.
Oh, fuckit. I'm sleeping. I'm leaving. I'm stopping typing....now.