Tuesday, August 26, 2008


I'm constantly interrupted. It's like I'm a seven year old kid again; "Mommy, mommy," "NO, Ferin, hush. The adults are talking." Nothing I say is fucking important to anyone, even if it is important. I feel frustrated and alone. There's only so many times I can say, "we need to figure out how much money we need while they're gone," using that word that I hate so much to describe how desperately I feel that it should be done.

Once again, I'm in a place where I feel that I've been here so long I think that it's time to move. I can't take the hostility, the greed, the ignorance.

I don't feel like going to school anymore or trying to be the temperance in the frequent storms of anger. I feel like sleeping my life away, like lying dormant until I have enough energy to go on.

It's unfortunate I haven't found a convenient passage to the roof, otherwise no one would ever see me again.

[Edit] I didn't realize this sounded like a suicide threat. It isn't. I like to read on the roof. It's a hobby. Not death, is hobby. [/Edit]

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