MURPHY SNORES, AND I AM RESTLESS. LIFE IS INCREDIBLY EQUITABLE.

I cannot wrap my mind around the things that spurt out from my heart. Never have I been able to, and the future does not indicate any sudden change in direction (whether positive or negative).
I ache for so many differing things in this world. I wonder if people genuinely recognize that or simply find me to be a scattered mess of a being. Regardless, what hold should their opinions place upon me?

[Editor's Note: There's a part of me that breaks whenever Murphy sinks his unthinkably sharp teeth into my hand. The rationalist inside me stands incredibly aware of the fact that he means nothing by it, yet my emotional core is flimsy, convincing me that I am simply a pathetic and useless chew-toy to him. So, not incredibly useless. Merely pathetic. A much nicer scenario, I suppose.]

[Editor's Note to the Note: It's been a mother-effing long time since an Editor's Note. If I do say so myself. Which I do. Suck it, Trebek.]

There were days previous to this one when I could not cease the banter that scrolled through my brain. On a daily basis, one might fear actual words pouring from my eye sockets; they would dribble down my face, laced with quippy commas and inappropriately long sentences that might seem endless in their miserable quest for greatness mashed up next to literary unorthodoxy. Much like that one. My moments of self-indulgent conversation have not ceased (neither outside of my head via speaking aloud or scribbled on loose-leaf: the college ruled era), but they seem to deposit themselves in a much more infrequent and (undeniably) restricted manner. Is it adult-hood and its multiple layers of adult-y taboo that have quashed my desire to beguile my own presumptuous brain with erratic thoughts, or is it a self-imposed exile to a world where shutting down and ignoring that which propagates inside my lobes is totally okay, dude?
Four lttr wrds seem dumb. ToMe. Noww.

And...I have reverted back to that mind of a twelve-year-old. Ignorant, dispirited, and (luckily for this particular brand of Kelley) as incredibly self-righteous as any adolescent should ever dare to be.

Disgusting. Or, maybe just a step away from that. Yet to be determined, I suppose.
I suppose far too much. Maybe I should just decide every once in a while.
Maybe.
Gah.

THIS IS WHY WE'RE BFF.

Gosh, I love him.

IF DREAMS THERE BE...

It appears that this evening remains trivial and trying, no matter how much I seek to give it romance or fire that I so earnestly miss.

Goodnight, my someone; whether you care or not, I still think of you.

CONSTRICTION.

Every extremity I possess feels numb in this barrage of moments I'll call "today."

There's no definitive reason for it; I am merely stagnant, stuck in place, and devoid of some passion to loosen life's grip upon me.
My eyes refuse to focus. They sit, pale and frightened of physical revolution.
In earnest, I would use them to smile, but there's nothing behind it. I am unhinged.

Unhinged in a good way, I think.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

I am finally proud of myself. Finally.
And here's what makes it worthwhile: the people I feel the most for could care less.

Tonight is just one of those nights, I guess.

LIFE: COMING SOON.

There appears to be a mass accumulation of life and vitality ahead of me in the coming weeks, and I simply have no idea of how to approach it. It frightens me to think of being stuck in the fashion with which I have become accustomed in the last two months. I am gleeful to be moving forward, and incredibly grateful to have prospects on the horizon that do not disgust me, but instead invigorate my person toward something better than what I have grown weary of.

Life is fast approaching, and I cannot contain myself in such a manner to meet it with anything but open arms.

I AM A CREATURE OF SORTS.

The mechanical noise of an air system clicks intently overhead, and I sit, just barely moonlit, fully intent on proving myself a capable person beyond any rational doubt.

It is an awe-inspiring thing to watch myself gradually drift away from idyllic notions of "romance" and "passion." I have begun to reserve these things as necessities for utilization not in interpersonal relationships, but, instead, in the realms ethic and organization.

Honestly, I have yet to see the negatives.
-I do not feel cloudy or overwhelmed.
-I am not an emotional wreck.
-I still have feelings, but none which interfere with who I am and how I resort to handling myself.
-I feel as stoic as I did in high school.
-I am suddenly (and very suddenly, at that) detached from the notion of "loneliness."

The less-than-calculated movement of my life thus far is presenting itself as a rather forward and eager ploy at molding my future through the hands of others. My design; their tools.

In earnest, I have never been crafty.

EFF THIS SHIZZ.

I hate this time that leaves me less than senile to draw on life, previous experience, adorations, love, etc.

My life is maniacally boring.

There are times when I genuinely hate the individual I've become.


I guess I need to read more.

"ASK ME ABOUT MY WISH."

I just completed viewing an episode of "Ace of Cakes." Nothing in that sentence is in any way out of the ordinary, yet the content of the episode forced me to a heightened level of reminiscence.

A little girl named Laura was flown to Baltimore in order to meet Chef Duff and his gang of wiley cohorts, and to construct a jungle-esque monstrosity made of fondant and everything yummy, all in the name of the Make-A-Wish Foundation.

She was so incredibly happy. Every second. I remember that.

There appear to be these considerable chunks of lifestyle or situation that I have, rather seamlessly, pushed aside from my consciousness. Not for any deliberate, emotional, or overwhelming reasoning, but merely because they seem to complicate who I am, what I seek, what motivates me.

That boisterous smile shall not soon leave my head.

I MISS SHAWNEE. AND, I AM NOT LYING.

I am finally home, which will, without doubt, drive me up the wall.

Reasoning: I could not ask for much more than what this last week held, and I can't fathom the possibility that it won't happen again for some time. There is, however, the smallest bit of doubt in my mind that the whole thing was merely whimsical, lackluster fantasy; the kind my heart is built on. But I truly was there, earnestly spent my time, and gradually allow myself to fall back into the mudane feeling that is being alone.

I would curse if I felt as though my fingers could type with any sort of productivity. Lazy, lazy fingers have I.

I'll put pictures of the kitten up soon. He's insane. INSANE.

GOODNIGHT WISHES.

I hope there is a day coming along in which people will fail to take me for granted.

Not that I'm much to take for granted, I suppose.

I hate everything about this moment.

I'VE SAID THIS A THOUSAND TIMES. OR, MAYBE JUST ONCE.

Every few months, I find myself caught back up into, what I have deemed, a "cycle of caring."
Some might recognize said "cycle" as a decent, humanistic sort of thing, worthy of applause and merit.
I have no other choice but to see it as a pathetic waste of my time.
No. Not my time- my dignity.

I'm so utterly exhausted from waiting around for goodness to prevail, happiness to waft in my direction, or some enchanted fairy-tale glory to envelop my being.
I seek out good things, and drain myself in sharing those feelings of worthiness and compassion with others, yet they continue to be pointless, unrecognized, wholly detrimental to my surprisingly fragile self-esteem, and best of all, unrequited.

I don't know how many times I will have to reiterate to myself via the written word that I have issues with reciprocation. There is a level of charity that has been surpassed, and is now simply an arrogant, advantageous sort of rite, I think. Something that others can chuckle at in its simplicity, but something that draws me deeper and deeper into falling away from interaction with anyone.

On that chipper note, I remain far from depression- it's loneliness.
Plain, simple, and blatant. Loneliness.

ONCE.

Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová made my evening.

Please, please go see this movie. Or buy the soundtrack. Or associate yourself with the film/its musicians in one way or another.

It was brilliant. Incredibly simple, and utterly gripping.

WORDS.

I am at a loss for-




Well, you know.

COMPANY.

I need some. Company. Companionship. Anything that will keep me from feeling what I'm feeling right at this very second.

What else do I need to express?

BRUISED REFLECTIONS.

The last two days have proven my most klutz-prone in weeks. Months, perhaps, if we're willing to lie to ourselves with just a tiny bit of fervor.
I am.
I have a bruised arm, leg, second arm, waist, near-buttock region, and ankle.
If it hadn't already crossed your mind, I'll establish the pleasant end of this situation: I am having the medicinal time of my life.

And...A shift in thought leads me to:
I miss him. I desperately, eagerly miss him. There is nothing in my life I have ever longed for in such a sublimely serious way, nothing I have ever needed as much as I vulnerably and earnestly need him.
I hope he'll come back to me soon enough.
Or vice versa.
Merely the cost of airfare will determine our reunions.

As humorous as I seek to be, a weight has suddenly fallen over my chest. My eyes find themselves tensing, straining from the force that compels them downward. A tightened throat accompanies.

I miss him.

SIGH.

So, yes.
This is tonight, I suppose.



I appease my sanity by way of a scathingly cute shirt.
This is, of course, regardless of the fact that I may never actually wear it.


Why is it that no one needs me the way I need them?

I tire. Constantly.

GAINESVILLE.

In.
Settled.
Typing atop a four-hundred-count-thread fitted sheet.
Oh, and a bed.

My living space is much larger than I would have expected, and though I've yet to spend any time speaking with my roommate, I am feeling as though things are going to work.

I really think so.

I should be reading (which I will do shortly), or sorting clothing into drawers (which may never happen), but I'm currently sitting, which still proves a much more solid alternative to things such as shark-fishing or dying.

I am marginally out of sorts. It appears to be no one's fault, but I daresay I am sitting on the brink of a tiny bit of fear, smidgen of mental breakdown, and a precocious ounce or two of indecision about what the summer holds for the next two months.

Things will be alright. I am well aware of this.
Hopefully, they will, in addition, be amazing.
I am striving for exceptions today.

I HAVE HIT BOOKS.

I cannot fathom a world with less sleep than this, and yet, I will have to, starting on Monday.

Sleep is certainly on the bottom of my "frightened to no end" list of Intern Expectations. I've read [almost] every text on improvisation that's revered in one circle or another.

Commercial for "Pirates": It was better than I thought is was going to be, with only a few gaping holes left taking on water. And Depp is still unfathomly not attractive. Talented, certainly; crazy, a bit; attractive, ugh.

I'm intentionally supressing the ginormous fear that Gainesville is going to prove me significantly incompetent and, furthermore, unavoidably unskilled, foolish, teetering on the brink of theatrical insanity [I typed that and I realized how redundant that was. So much for rhetorical expression...].
I should go back to reading. It seems I need all the text I can get.

I AM EXHAUSTED.

Being in a house where I am relatively unprotected by the boundaries of "room" takes a toll on my sensibilities as a rational human being.
I'm starting to get overwhelmed.
Not necessarily by the chaos going on around me, but by my lack of schedule, my inability to seek genuine solitude, and the creeping knowledge that my thoughts and actions in the most important parts of life are often worthless.

Loneliness exists in other capacities than just being alone.

I've grown up with loneliness. It may be a brand of my own, but it's one I know well enough to have a vast awareness of. I'm tired, I feel absurdly weak in comparison to this entire year so far, and it's not a matter of physicality.

I am mentally exhausted. I need a mental nap, but it's to no avail.
LIFE: GET STARTED ALREADY.