I am alone. That is not entirely true, but it is the primary thought in my mind right now, so I choose to believe it. I think it is a bad idea to have faith in people; it seems to always end in despair. I learned that today amidst foul-smelling mystery meat and overseasoned mashed potatoes. It was horrible.
It is so sunny outside. It was supposed to rain, but I guess the earth sensed the imbalance of things and felt the need to restore the world’s average disposition, which happens to be bittersweet, like saltines and chocolate. The buttery streams of sunlight flowing through the window make me want to float down a river in the middle of somewhere far from here with The Bell Jar lying on my torso. I want the burbling of the water to fill my mind, rather than the talking and laughter and stupid jokes of everyone around me.
“Our little group has always been and always will until the end…” seems farther away than it was before, Sylvia. Being this sad about people is bad; the only helpful thing is listening to Hole’s “Violet” on repeat and reading poetry. In fact, Hole in general helps, because it is the only music that fits my mood. Poetry helps more than anything else, because no matter the topic, there’s always this underlying feeling of something ethereal/melancholy/nostalgia that seems to comfort/soothe me.
I wonder how you felt about people, Sylvia. I can’t make up my mind about them. —Britney