muted

black (no stickers)

i've been making a concious effort to write in my notebook more frequently. i've got a weeklong streak going right now. i just wish so badly that i could write about something other than myself for a couple of reasons.

firstly, i would love to be able write a story that other people would want to read. it would reflect a certain level of creativity. unfortunately, it's a level i don't ever see myself reaching. it probably doesn't help that i don't read much, either.

secondly, when phrases like these land in the notebook, i wonder if i'm doing myself more harm by writing than good.

"why do i hate myself this much? do it."

"you'll never get this right. you do not deserve what you have."

"can you talk yourself into happiness? i'm sure some people can but i'm thinking you need more mental strength than i have to pull it off."

"i feel so shitty now that the first time i tried to write in this in months turned out to be a 7 minute clinic on how to fail miserably and completely."

i don't know. maybe getting those thoughts out and onto paper is better than keeping them upstairs.

i guess we'll see.

***********

i did find this from earlier notebook writing. although it's about me and it actually happened, it's kind of like a story. it was written on may 17, 2006.

you shake your head a little as you slowly open your eyes. it feels brighter in your bedroom than it should. shying from the math your alarm clock demands, you turn your eyes toward the cable box atop the tv across the room. you can't read it, of course, since your glasses are asleep in the kitchen. you close your eyes as tight as you can and then open them fast. this doesn't help improve your focus as much as you'd hoped, but you repeat the eyeclenchfastopen a couple more times anyway. it kind of looks like 9 a.m. now. if you're correct, your alarm clock will read 9:40. it does. shit. you're not where you're supposed to be.

relax. this isn't the type of job where it's a big deal to come in late. especially just once. aig? forget about it. you'd have some serious explaining to do.

get up. shower. call. leave. nothing to it.

when you see yourself in the bathroom, you cringe. you've been looking shitty for a while now but this is a new level altogether. it's wednesday, yes? a shave day. you definitely need to observe this shave day. show up late after oversleeping and looking like this? everyone will assume you didn't even shower before rushing off to work. they'll probably assume you stink, too. you'd hate that. you find yourself offensive enough as it is. you're trying to minimize your offensiveness to everyone else. it's probably why you've cut back considerably on your spoken/written output. strangely, though, you kind of hope your boss answers the phone when you call. she doesn't.

"it's steven. it's 9:30. i overslept. i'll be in by 10, hopefully."

when you reach your car, you pull takk... from the bottom of the pile of cd's packed into the console under the stereo. you know you're vulnerable to the way some of its songs make you feel but you don't care. you almost welcome its effect on you.

there's a lot less traffic now than there is 75 minutes earlier every morning. you're glad you're not wearing a jacket today. not having to take it off and slip it over the back of your chair will allow you to get to your desk less obviously late. as you turn the corner, jennifer smiles and says something. you ask her to repeat.

"a day without steven is a sad day."

the only smile you can manage to return doesn't show the appreciation her statement deserves. you are able to muster a "thanks" as you take your seat and place your keys and phone next to the work phone that's hardly used (and you like it that way).

"a day without steven is a sad day" replays a few times in your mind. a day as steven is more like it.