dejections of an almost never woman

~Stumbled upon this forgotten journal entry back in the winter of 2006. I believe I'm 20-21, living in a tiny tiny studio in Boystown~

Running my hands through my hair and almost pulling it out while sounds of frustration escape my mouth, I close my eyes to escape the world.
I fantasize about blowing my brains out. After pulling the trigger, my body/mind/spirit enter a state of ecstasy. I observe my brains blasted on the wall. I smile. For a brief moment everything disappears. Peace. My eyes open and I'm faced with reality all over again.
I eat a piece of raspberry confection that only gives me about 13 seconds of gratification. I stare at the panda on the bottom left corner of the raspberry confection box, wishing he would take the bamboo out his mouth and give me some advice. I wait for a moment…nothing.

Buddha sits next to my fish, Lucas Also (named after the late Lucas the snake) in front of a picture with two rainbow horses that I painted when I was nine. Buddha just smiles. Damn it! I don’t want a smile I want some fucking advice.

I should be writing my final essay that’s due tomorrow. I really want to write a great essay. Sitting here thinking about my essay makes me realize that I have never put much effort into anything I have done in my life. Why am I so exhausted? I have put effort, but not quality effort. I always manage to get by on the bare minimum. This fact is starting to bother me. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I did go beyond my bare minimum effort. I have excelled at some things and totally bombed at others. I believe its because I have been depressed most of my life, but that could also be an excuse for my laziness.

I am going through what I like to call, the “quarter” life crisis. I am about a quarter through my life but I am going through what most people go through during their mid-life crisis. It’s probably better to have it now while I am still young.

I look around my studio. My whole life is in this studio. All the material possessions I have collected and held on to are in this room.

A picture form my mother’s friend Jana hangs on my wall along with a flag from Italy; outdoor string lights given to me from my friend Kelley back in Albuquerque, sets the ambiance in the studio; pictures from childhood displayed on my fridge; books I have read; a sweater that I have had since age twelve hangs in my closet; issues of the Economist skewed about; underwear resting in jeans that straddle the floor; a white thong suffocates the Portuguese doll my cousin gave me. I sit half-naked on my bed/futon, and think, “how the hell did I get here?”



(Drawing by A.R. Lopez)



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