mental block.

i always read these blogs, that i fall in love with. i like words. i felt like posting a blog, in fact, to feel sorry for self. exactly like this: i am lonely.

but that's too boring. isn't it? or does it just need a little something?

a pick-me-up. an itch i can't scratch. sex, congradulations. my name is emma.

so who reads strangers? lonely strangers? i don't feel that have enough to think about for one--you--to read. it's rather repetitive. goes:lonely? think. do. hair.lonely?think.do.hair.kevin?lonely?think.do.hair

enough, enough, i say! we ought to be watchin buffy the vampire slayer so that the next time we can kick a vamp ass and kiss it. all in one.

lonely, remember?

i do like the title, songwriter. i also appreciate, hater, in some self deprecating way, and smart, without the brilliant part, and lover. sometimes. but about finishing the songs? it takes acceptance. of something. like, finally wanting out. i always wanted to stay comfortable. whether it was with one person, alone, reading, mother, father, bagel, song. pillow. but then, i betrayed some sort of feeling-action and i can't get that out of my head to the point where instinct and vulnerable and abondon are buttoned in the wrong holes. "wrong"? wrong holes? i guess. maybe not. so, i want to turn away from all of that because even though i'll never do it perfect the It of being fifteen going on sixteen and perpetually not awfully vivid enough---

an epic day. night. at ten o'clock i answered my phone-call.