escapist.

i'm desperately sad. not upset, just.. unhappy. the difference is there, tucked in the niche under the 2nd vowel. i don't know quite exactly why, and it's sending my insides into a mad panic trying to figure it out.

i feel like writing a long email about an imaginery day in the lonely life of lady ninjastorm to an address i'd pluck from midair, like john.notso.doe@gmail.com, just because.

or maybe borrow a camera and grab a theatric friend who won't understand or ask why, and go scout out that abandoned mansion in town to make a horribly tragic & gory photo story in.

or just reading, readreadread like its breathing, and ditch my life for 3 days.

i'm restless for something and the signs of this coming were there for a while and i ignored them. pms-y signs, like cursing less like a sailor, more like a pirate.
like jaywalking with traffic that reckless bit closer. like ignoring smses. like loathing beatles music all of a sudden. like a post-it tearing under a too fiercely-held pen.
like being more wary, less glad when someone resurfaces from the past.
like inadviceable things and leaping & not looking when i shouldn't & looking not leaping when i should.

that sounded angry. am i that too? do you even get what the fuck i'm saying? i don't.

hey, look at me, i'm a mess looking for somewhere to puke.