Spinning my wheels.

It's snowing here. I always find myself wondering how something so beautiful can be as equally dangerous.

I drove home tonight, the only car on the street, annoyed at radio personalities. I want music. Good music. I don't want Richard Marx. I don't care for Phil Collins. My heart doesn't skip a beat for anything Lionel Richie.

I ran into some old acquaintances from high school tonight. Went through the round of usual bullshit question, "What are you doing now?"

My answer? School and work. And I hate that. I'm so much more than that.

What are you doing now?

I'm sitting here, at Denny's, horribly unsuprised and not at all shocked at seeing people from my high school. I mean, why wouldn't they be there? Nobody is doing anything with their lives.

You know what I'm doing now? Really? You really want to know?

I'm into drugs. I'm trying to exercise a lack of discretion. I'm spinning my wheels. I sometimes dream about places that aren't here and often write suicide notes on paper napkins. I have a lack of pride and a serious inferiority complex. I am underappreciated, overlooked and obnoxious. I am detrimental to my own health. I can't back a car into a parking space. I am up for promotion at work. I bite my nails, still. I am learning to let go. I hide behind an air of confidence. Adding to my shoe collection. Watching books collect dust, that I've been meaning to read. I play the same songs over and over again. I'm a poet. I've been known to be a basketcase. The hot sauce on my eggs gave me gas. I tell bad jokes. I revel in hypocrisy. Stare at the ceiling. I've also been trying to get my spray-on gravy idea off the ground and onto potatoes everywhere. Hints of brilliance sometimes radiate off my shining personality. I cherish Forrest Gump moments. I crave to create.

And what have you been up to? I ask him, after ALL of those thoughts choo-choo through me.

He starts talking. I hear nothing.

I instead pull my usual flighty-Marissa attitude and take this opportunity to focus inward and reflect on everything I haven't accomplished, to the tune of bullshit spewing from the kid's mouth.

I've been having a very hard time pinpointing feelings and reestablishing them into words. I think I'd somehow feel more validated if I could.

What day is it? And in what month? This clock never seemed so alive. I can't keep up and I can't back down. I've been losing so much time.