comfortably numb
i'm terrified. everything's terrifying-- both the familiar and the unfamiliar.
all the bridges in the world are at my disposal, but i've no other side to cross to. there is no other side. i want to surrender and become an artist, and make soap-carving impressions of people all day, and have every page of my secret scrapbooks blown up on museum walls, except i don't have enough Talent and i'm also a realist. someday, though, my grandiose ideals will screw me over. when i'm an adult i will probably say a lot of stupid careless reckless things because i'm a stupid careless reckless girl, and it isn't something i'll be able to hide as easily. every step i take is a calculated and informed step towards Unhappiness, and, guess what, i don't even care anymore.
to make things worse, i've let two of my biggest potential sources of eternal happiness slip through my fingers, and i don't think there will ever be a third time. i can't do this any more, and i don't want to because wrecking things seems to be my expertise. i'm exhausted, and free will is a cumbersome, distressing thing. i want to go straight to jail, take a ride on the green line railway, collect $200 as i pass go, and come back to earth as a die-cast tin figure in some kid's monopoly set.
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