wake up, don't break a sweat

clearly caught between two things unclear to me.

i need to DP.

Infection

My hands are covered in these small bumps, standing in bas-relief, high above the rest of my finger flesh. Every instinct in my primitive body is telling me to feed these bumps, to itch the hell out of them viciously and repeatedly until the itch dissipates (the itch never dissipates.) Instead, they grow and grow into mushy inflamed expectations that just plead constantly for a growing amount of attention. My fingers are now large round sausages, red with frustration and stinging with dissatisfaction. The only remedy is to run them under full-force, flowing ice water. Within a few seconds, I can feel my flesh, my blood, my muscles, my bones, turn numb. My fingers are now disillusioned to the pain, hiding behind ice from the streaks of poison ivy. The ignorance sure is bliss. And bliss means happiness, and happiness means living large! (for three.) And nothing else seems to matter quite so much, even those basic primitive instincts (such as compassion maybe?) Maybe i'm just not suppose to have such tangible feelings to peter pan. I know never ever land would never yield fulfillment for my simple little life, but it just seems so much easier.

Summer Heat

june 19 12:26 a.m i would like to proudly report that i am genuinely, purely, innocently happy.

Hands to the Universe

meeting those who:
open eyelids
encourage expression
cause that feeling of comfort inside, that feeling that is so rarely is sparked these days.

thanks.

Linger On

It was somewhere along the route between Ithaca and White Plains where we stopped at an old, run-down gas station. The air conditioning in our silver outback gave the false hope that the atmosphere was cooling- that my things weren't going to stick together when I exited the car. With the opening of the door, I was confronted with the brick wall of humidity, and reality sunk into my pores. I entered under the sign that read "Country Store" and gave the girl working at the counter a slight smile. This was the kind of country store that smelled of beer and stale cardboard, where the candy packages are coated with a shallow layer of dust. I patrolled the candy isle; halloween theme peanut butter cups, "limited edition" starbursts whos limit was much too long ago. I chose the sweet&sour gummie lifesavers because they looked interesting, took a water bottle from the refrigerator, and payed the girl $2.61. My Dad was in the distance of the parking lot, slumped with low spirits as he has been since his accident. I sat on the cracked picnic table and allowed my lungs to fill with the heavy air, thinking about all that dusty candy in the Country Store. What happens when we, ourselves, become dusty? Even if our package is outdated and expired, can't we still be sweet and satisfying underneath? I don't want to be a limited edition, something that will soon be of interest to no one.

I returned to the car and basked in the fresh air conditioning, as it dried up all my reality. Back on the road, moving from point A to point B. 'Lingering on' as life often does, accumulating dust until our time here expires.

Mixture

My Dad has been using the same shampoo for as long as my nasal senses can recall. I used to find the smell putrid, and would fan my face in a desperate desire for the fumes to dissipate. But tonight, as I was bogged by amsco cards and the haunting conscience of all the things I was neglecting to do, I found nothing but pure comfort in this smell. It reflected everything I love about my dad and everything bright that my future holds. I did not want these feelings to dissipate, not at all. I clung to the fumes for as long as they remained in the air, clinging to this feeling of hope and happiness.

This morning I returned to the halls of highschool after the week's vacation. Minutes after entering my hallway, I was consumed by hassle. Pressure, sticky unwanted warmth, sagging spirits, as if it was causing every junior physical pain to be present in that hallway. I was surrounded by, and witnessing physical pain. Realizing this I felt the need to keep moving, and escape. On my way down the hall I almost stepped directly on a puffy white face, belonging to a thin boy in a flannel tshirt. He lay motionless on the cold hallway tiles, and every surrounding face remained motionless as we all starred in horror at his limp body. This kid looked like a corpse. Laying in the middle of our cold, painful junior hallway. And not one person thought to seek help. If this incident was filmed, it could have been used as a documentary of stereotypical highschool behavior. Being concerned with little more than your own well being. I felt the need to escape this horrifying place where compassion is a phantom, nonexisting feeling. 7 weeks to go.

I guess I can sleep now. Now that I am tired. I am so tired.

My Neck My Back

I just got invited to a beer pong tournament via facebook, prize is $222. Thanks Anya Lake<3<3<3

I cannot get this song out of my head, its just too classy.