My Colors (Marissa still has more colors than I)

I find I am drawn to things because of colors. When I describe things, I describe colors. I love describing in general.
The coffee table:
deliciously cherry brown lacquered with some foreign sap of an exotic tree, lined with cocoa brown swirls, adorned with the occasional ring from a long forgotten cup of coffee

Now, granted that may be the WORST description ever ( I didn't say I was good.) but I enjoyed doing it. That counts, right? Everything has a color. Even voices, personalities. Marissa, to me you are a carribean blue. You know that blue that isn't really blue, but this tango between the clearest green in the whole world and the deepest cerulean in the ocean. But minus the transparency. But at the same time, I see you tinged with a peach with blush pink run through. But your mind, is definitely carribean blue, flowy and beautiful and creative. I'm not sure why I do this. (See, in my mind you also have many colors).

When I said I wanted to be a journalist, I was really drawn to the color of the occupation. Black coffee spilling over a corrugated cardboard heat protector on a crummy paper cup, shiny chrome door handles, skyscraper stillettos, typewriters clacking (yes, clacking), and ink smears in an awkward indigo violet so dark and so easily tranferred. The color of this is blue grey. It just IS. DAMMIT. It makes sense to me. In my head...Like I said though, I should just not talk.

I could be a zookeeper. That color is chartreuse, embossed with some celadon tinted leaf designs.

My doctor said it's normal that I have colors for things. I haven't really shared that I have colors for things but he said it may help if I start. I have colors for everything, so whenever I mention things, I will probably mention their colors. So I'm very content coloring things in my world. But I have a name for what I am:
chromaphile :)
That makes me feel butter yellow, with a hint of jade.
It also explain why I love makeup so much.

Sometimes, I should just not talk

I end up making myself sound like a total and complete idiot. So much for that...
Things sound better in my head anyway. And nobody judges me there. Well actually, I judge myself, but I can deal with my own judgments. Other people's....not so much. It's too much to carry. It's too hard to try and impress people. i like my head. Things make sense. To me, if not to my teachers or friends. And I'm pretty sure what I TRY and say comes out idiotic and poorly thought out. Well screw it. Who needs people? I have a head. With colors and pretty things and my thoughts and Yann Tiersen's piano music.

I talk a lot. I know, SHOCKER. I wish I didn't. Maybe it's because what's going on in my brain is so awesome and beautiful and I want people to see. I want people to see the colors I see and hear the sounds I do. Because they are wonderful. Because the real colors and the real sounds aren't nearly as pretty. It's sort of like, HEY IT'S COOL IN MY BRAIN. NOT TO BE COCKY...BUT NOW I SHALL TRY TO VERBALIZE. That's why I tell stories and dominate conversations. That is also why I am incredibly difficult to deal with. Also, half the time I try and vocalize a concept I have going in my head, it pops out really stupid and not deep and just BAD.

In any case, I don't let myself hear what's going on in other people's heads. I should. I should just not talk. People appreciate quiet people. It may also be because I very scared of it getting too quiet. I'm scared that one day it'll get quiet and it'll just be me and my head. And I'll be judged and hear those awful things. It's your fault. What's my fault? The point exactly. It's this inexplicable feeling of worthlessness. It's because when I'm quiet, truly quiet, I feel worthless. When I go home, before bed, I don't talk. I sit. And sometimes do nothing. And I feel worthless. So world, there it is. That's why I talk. Because my head is perfect, and that's the very reason why it tells me I'm worthless. I can't find my happiness in my reality, but in my brain. And that in itself is pathetic. That probably makes no sense. (verbalize FAIL)

Overall, I feel relieved to atleast figure out why the hell I talk so much. I thought about it while I didn't do history. Whoo.

Mla things and blah

Dude, the MLA is a bunch of assholes. YEAH SUCK ON THAT MRS. MAILLETT! I USED A LINKING VERB. And I am also angry at myself. I feel like I may have ignored someone I care about by ONLY talking about myself. And I did notice when she was sad. I did. I guess it's because I wasn't like HEY I NOTICE YOU. I never ask "How are you" unless I absolutely totally mean it. But anyway, I found another way to make a situation unrelated to me about me. Joy. Natalie said that maybe people don't share their problems with me because mine are bad and they feel awkward. GREAT.
I'm such a fucking drama queen. And pretty much everybody's problems are of equal or greater badness in comparison to mine. I have a house, food, I go to a great school. I CREATED my own problem. It IS my fault. I made it all up. I swear. And the result is I ignored my friends and the fact that one in particular whom I love is hurting and sad and I was too busy dealing with the problem I CREATED. Grrr I hate myself.

I was too late to listen. GAH WHY DO I KEEP THINKING OF ONLY MYSELF.

Today I snhuffled Patty as we watched an extremely poorly made PBS documentary.
All in all, the Remeron is all right. It makes me hungry. It has only been a week so I can't expect it to be working. I wish it would. I'm not really sure I can last until it kicks in.

and oh yeah
STOP TELLING ME I'M FUCKING TIRED
I'm so sick of people saying, "You look awful", "You look tired"
It's like THANKS BITCH, I THOUGHT I LOOKED FINE TODAY.