To you...sort of...

Imagine myself as a fisherman casting out his lonely line
He's caught something, he reels it in
Only to find that the hook has snagged
His old broken heart
He mends it, throws it back
He knows it's not his time
But he'd better find love quickly
Because drinking, song, and fishing
Just ain't going to cut it this time
In this life

11:11

Now I want to talk.






Don't give up on me yet.

Love, Love, Love...

I am in no way qualified to write about love. I'll just get that out there right now. But it's not going to stop me.


I'm not so sure if I believe in love anymore. In my life, anyway. I'm starting to think that I am not capable of being loved. Actually, no. I can be loved. Sort of. I'm just incapable of letting that love last.

Whenever I thought about this stuff in the past I never used myself as an example. It would always be other people. Sometimes people I know, sometimes TV or movie characters, or sometimes people I make up in my head. I didn't realize that I should have included myself in my thoughts.

But here's the thing. I don't think everyone is equal in their inability to be loved. I think there are different reasons for it. And I don't think anyone is just born lacking the ability to love or be loved. They develop it.
.
...
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See, this is why I am a terrible writer. I can give you countless ideas and thoughts but I never back my shit up with examples. Why? I'm lazy. I don't like thinking. I can never explain anything. I don't want people to know my thoughts. My thoughts aren't clear in the first place. They are a scrambled, incoherent mess. So what the fuck is the point of me having a blog?

I don't know. I want to get better at this stuff. I would like to get better at having clear, worthwhile thoughts and being able to express them. I think trying to write could help. I mean, I don't know how else to go about this problem of mine. Therapy hasn't helped. Drugs haven't helped. Alcohol...well, it gets me talking but I stutter, especially when it comes to sentences starting with a word that begins with a vowel ("I-I-I-I-I..."). So it hasn't helped either. I guess writing is all I have left.

Damn. I feel really helpless right now.


I think this was supposed to be about love, or lack thereof, not my fucking "problems".

So back to the subject at hand.

I am incapable of being loved or anything of the sort because I WANT to be incapable of it. I want to be the poor, neglected girl that love never touches. I want to be hurt. I want to be sad and depressed and miserable. I don't want to allow love to come in. I don't want to believe in it. I want to write songs talking about how horrible and pointless love is. I don't want love. Period. That's simply the conclusion I have come to.

I'm just a sick person.

So I guess I will never let myself be loved. I will find a way to fuck things up...just like always.

I'm starting to think that I would much rather go through guy after guy and having it all mean nothing and being hurt like fucking hell by it than being loved and in love and supposedly living happily ever after, after I find "the one".

I'm just out to hurt myself. And I've done a pretty damn good job of doing so in my twenty years of existence.

One year.

I've had this blog page thing for one whole year now.

I haven't done a damn thing with it.


I hate writing. I really do. It's probably the reason that I have never finished a college English course. I've dropped all of them that I've been enrolled in...I think that makes 3 total? One per semester? Maybe.

But maybe I should actually TRY for a change instead of saying, "oh, it's too difficult" and quitting and walking away. But I'm not witty. Or cute, or clever, or intelligent, and I don't know how to properly use commas,,,,,,. And who the hell would actually care what I have to say anyway? Nobody cares what I think or feel. Nobody wants to know. So why should I have this blog if no one gives a shit about what I have to say? Why should I write?

I don't have an answer for that. I just want to actually try for once. I want to be like Mojo Shivers. The most interesting motherfucker that I don't know.

I wish I had stories to tell like everybody else. But maybe I do have stories. Maybe I just don't realize it because I never give them a chance. I never bother talking to anyone or writing anything down. Mayyybe writing on this blog thing will somehow help in a way...perhaps? I don't know if that makes sense or not. I don't think I ever make sense. But we will see.

But then again, maybe this page won't see anymore action until next August.