Would you write would you call back baby, I wrote you a song

Would you write would you call back baby, I wrote you a song

I feel strange tonight, and sad but not in that terrible sort of way.  Just sad, and kind of angry, the kind that I know means that I'm going to be furious tomorrow, and I'm pretty sure I'm setting myself up for a terrible week.  Why why why are these walls so thin and why why why do I insist on getting so upset over things that are so smile and why why why do I always feel like the world is out to get me?

I probably should just go to bed.  That's probably what I should do.  But I'm putting it off because I know they're going to keep me up and that I'm going to get so frustrated with it that I want to scream but all I'll be able to do is cry, because sometimes a lot lately that's all I can do.

I've never been so lost I've never felt so much at home

I've never been so lost I've never felt so much at home

I think, somewhere in this mess of a brain of mine, that you've got to believe in love to buy into Taylor Swift, and I guess that means that I'm much less a cynic than most people.  Or maybe you've just got to admit that you believe in love.  Why's it so hard to admit that we're not as cynical as people think we are?

I lost one of my green doggie socks in the wash tonight and it was the one that had the doggies that look like Georgie and Georgie's getting old and that scares me so, so, so much because he's been there as long as I can remember, and how do people deal with that?  With death, with loss, with gone, with ends, with crying and moving on and smiling and pretending and being a person?

I just want my goddamn socks back.

Such a revelrie

Such a revelrie

I'm feeling a feeling that I haven't felt in a while, not really since I started college at all actually, which is left-out-ness, which is the sense that I missed something and that none of the jokes are going to make sense any more.  Which obviously isn't true, and is clearly something that I make up in my head, and I'm trying to cry I want to cry but it's not happening.

I have this unbelievable fear that next semester when I'm not taking art history I'm going to miss it so much that I'm going to hurt, and I'm going to start hating all of my other classes because they're not art history like maybe I so desperately want them to be.  Why can't I make up my mind?  I'm running out of time.

I don't know how to feel right know.  Are you supposed to know how to feel?