Single

I hate to be alone. I really do. I hate to admit it, because I feel like any self-respecting gypsy would love to be alone, and I hate to admit I'm not a gypsy. But I really don't like it. A feeling of weird emptiness gets into me, I get a bit frantic. I can't settle my mind when I'm alone, it flies all over the place.

I get inspired with a million ideas I can't do by myself, and find something to stop me from anyting i could attempt to do alone..

I'm alone right now, and as usual, perfectly lost. I've cleaned my room, checked Facebook and The Sartorialist, then went to play guitar (excuse to avoid: no tuner), then to go sew (excuse to avoid: sewing scissors missing). I'm tempted to actually go watch TV, which I've prolly only done two or three times in my life, just because I need the company of a voice.

I'm not sure what that says about me, but I'm sure its not good. Everyone needs resources inside themselves. Its good to enjoy your own company. What if I just don't like myself enough to want to be alone with my thoughts? They're too spattered and foolish, and I get discouraged. For me to like being alone, my thoughts would actually have to mean something. Or I would need to be creating- if I'm creating, its okay. My creation-in music or rhyme or art-will keep me company and make me feel worthwhile. But my creating spurts are getting less and less...in fact, they're downright scarce now.

What's left is this outside of me- pretty big eyes I've made up so when I pass a mirror I can like myself, messy hair, a sense of helplessness at seconds slipping away, a talk with Mark in the back of my mind, some slice of a song that I decided I really like, a compulsive urge to look through haute couture lookbooks, and an empty house. I don't like it.