My name is Yon Yonson...

I work in Wisconsin,
I work in a lumbermill there.
The people I meet when I walk down the street,
They say, "What's your name?"
And I say,
My name is Yon Yonsin,
I work in Wisconsin...

Why do I feel so compelled to read that damned book again?? Again and again and again and again. It doesn't make me feel clever or uplifted, it makes me feel dull. I feel dull, I feel like a sea creature shuffling along a murky sandbar, never finding anything, only becoming more and more covered with sand. Then I think about sand, every grain is ground from a slightly larger grain, and that from one slightly larger, whole cliff faces ground to grit by wind and water and surf. But I'm avoiding the point. None of this is about sea creatures or sand, that's all trite. What am I even doing here?

This college which I so coveted, and worked so hard to attain. What the fuck am I doing here, really? I'm in a battle of head versus heart on so many levels. What do I want out of life, and am I even worth my salt enough to do it? Draw a pretty picture, write a quirky poem, mill around the library. Spend hours upon hours just staring at the dusty spines of poetry books, text books, art books, fiction, non fiction. I can't even think straight, my thought process has fallen into dyslexia again. I can hardly even speak, all the words come out jumbled, tangled together, incoherent. Speaker's block. Writer's block. Like I wasn't awkward enough already.

College is just like fucking high school.

I didn't want to admit it, I had so many immense expectations. The people are the same, still the same judgemental, unfocused, dishonest always trying to cover their ass lot. Sure they have passion, but they veil it with nonchalance. Oh that, oh, well, I didn't really care about that project, I didn't really try. Why the fuck not? You're paying to be here, everything is available, anything is possible, and you're all fucking nonchalant??

I'm guilty too. I'm a hypocrite. I spew all this self righteous prattle about carpe diem and I never really do. I'm afraid to, I'm afraid of what will come of it, so I do it in secret, in little ways that nobody pays any mind to. People make me nervous sometimes. It's moment by moment. Sometimes I feel capable, social, articulate, and the next it falls to hell. I'm stuttering and my words are all mixed up and I just end up making a complete ass of myself.

Especially when I genuinely think that I have a lot in common with someone. That's probably a left over from high school, where I had hardly anything in common with anyone, so anything that I might have in common with anyone seemed so very remarkable, and I held onto it for dear life, if just to rationalise my existence. I thought college would be different, and it is to a point. I get along fine, I fall into my work, I have friends here. But I still feel so isolated. Does everyone feel this isolated? It's like laying in bed waiting for sleep to come, and it just doesn't come, you just stare at the ceiling, wanting so badly just dream for a while.

I hate sleeping alone.

Not always, just most of the time. I go to great lengths to avoid this bed. I sleep on floors and rock hard sofas, I ride my bike until 3am. It doesn't really matter, I still end up staring at the ceiling, or the sky, because sleep won't come. Just this dreadful half sleep, which causes me to wake up in a daze rather than rested.

My throat hurts. My stomach hurts too. It's all in knots. My mind is all knotted up too, like a can phone string, and I can't figure how I'm supposed to untie it. It's too tangled, too jumbled, so I'm pouring it all out here in a giant mess. I feel like I did when I was a kid and I broke this rasp tool my dad had lent to me, and I didn't know how to fix it. I was a kid, I didn't have the means nor the expertise to weld it back together. I tried really hard, with everything I could think of, and it was just hopeless, I ended up burying it by a tree. It's still there actually, I still can't fix the damned thing, and now it's all rusted to hell. I feel like that, about college. All the optimism that I had initially is teetering precariously on the edge of abyss.

Maybe I should let it fall??

Let myself fall. Forget dignity and grace and get to the fucking point, get to the core of the matter. Throw the negative in too, throw it all in and start fresh.

Didn't I say I was going to do that anyway? I did actually. I was supposed to be precisely who I wanted to be here, a true version of myself, nothing omitted. But then I got here. I made mistakes from the very start. I fell back on my past, in fact, I slept with it. Him, more specifically. I only added to his pomposity and conceit. I encouraged it. I gave him everything on a false hope.

Why can't I find a nice boy? One who doesn't wear goofy ass nautical themed jackets in seriousness, or idolise Hunter S. Thompson for aesthetics, or deny his actuality in order to be accepted, so that his existence might be justified, or just acknowledged.

Whenever I put myself out there I just feel awkward. Awkward, shy, and terrified.

My legs feel all wobbly. I slept on a damned sofa. All I really remember other than falling asleep and waking up again is that I got really angry at the television and got up to turn it off. I don't even know why I was angry at it. When I fell asleep I didn't have a blanket, and when I woke up I did, which I found somewhat bizarre, maybe I woke up at some point and got it?

Ramble ramble ramble.

My mind is starting to become coherent again. Good, but now I'm just tired. Finally tired.

Why aren't there fireflies in this state? I want to see fireflies, and catch them in a jar. Try to read by the light, try to write by it, have a conversation by it, then let them go. There is something so intriguing about fireflies.