Broken strings and stolen youth.

I can’t help but envy those eloquent enough to put their thoughts into words.  Those who aren’t hopelessly restricted by the constraints of language.  I can’t write what I think, but rather waste time pursuing a state of non-thought.  Trying to turn prose to poetry is a pleasant distraction, certainly, but hardly helpful.

Of course, I’ve never seen how writing could be cathartic.  I’ve never felt the need to “just get something out.”  I’ve found that advocates of that idea often think that crying is also cathartic.  I, however, feel foolish and weak after crying and try not to engage in such silly behaviour.  Indeed, crying is a complete waste of time, as it only results in a headache and excessive fatigue, neither of which I have time for.

Writing is a similar waste of time, though it’s not as foolish.  Which is why I don’t feel bad about spouting 400-something entries about boring, inane shit.  I’m a pro at boring and inane, I’ve been doing this for 4 years.

I don’t know why I’m trying to justify myself.  Being hypocritical is hardly a new experience to me.

I don’t understand, though, how someone can feel better looking at their thoughts written down.  I’ve found it to have the opposite effect.  My “therapist” 2 years ago required that I keep a journal.  I found it pointless then, as I never remembered to write in it, never told her what was really written in it when I did, and she never read it.  If I ever look at that “journal” I am disgusted and irritated.  It showcases how melodramatic and pathetic I was then. 

But then, it seems as though middle class girls excel in melodrama.  I’m not entirely sure I’m middle class, though…lower middle class?  Low class?  White middle class girls have it rough these days…I mean, between the homework and cheerleading practice and the Friday Night parties, it’s hard to fit in important things like writing angsty poetry and throwing up.

I’m not even sure if that last paragraph made sense.  I was trying to convey contempt.  Not sure if I was sucessful.

Ah, fuck it.