"I can’t explain what I mean. And even if I could, I’m not sure I’d feel like it."
The Catcher in the Ryei feel a static hollowness in my mind. it's either that or an inexplicable aversion towards arranging my thoughts into a comprehensible, organized language (which, by the way, i've lately found nearly impossible to do, so i end up forfeiting the attempt as a whole - it's parallel to prematurely giving up and not trying whatsoever upon sight of a stack of papers/books/work due tomorrow in class).
i've been filling this void with trivial things like cheap clothes from cheap places, poor-quality camera phone photos, pictures of instagram's past, and other excruciatingly random subjects - anything that i can write about that doesn't really involve thinking or, much less, my thoughts. thus began the era of poorly-written, poorly-formatted, and otherwise feebleminded blog posts.
i find myself dissatisfied with most aspects of my life, which i would be more concerned about if all my apprehension wasn't sucked in the domain of the immediate future (including, most predominantly, higher education).
the things that used to comfort me
don't comfort me
not anymore
moments when words that emanate from regina spektor's lips are the only things in the world that make sense. how could it be.
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