the Chair...

Every chair in this place is uncomfortable. Not one place is somewhere I could sit and enjoy the entire day.  This one is too low, so in order to be comfortable I have to sit on my feet.  In a matters of seconds, not minutes or hours, but seconds my feet start to hurt.  Because of this discomfort, the past few days when I had cunning, witty, and deep thoughts, I passed on the opportunity to share.  Guaranteed to be a much better read then this.

Do you ever battle the moral value of 'not running away'?  To not be or feel like the average person.  To not be overwhelmed and feel guilt for those you cannot please because of the an empty tiredness inside?  To sit and have a HOT coffee from start to finish? To not be called away from the uncomfortable chairs every nine minutes?  Mostly to wonder how awful of a person you are for having such selfish feelings about the existing world around you?

You love them and need them but only to sit ever so quietly, with contentment.  No needs to fulfill for each other except being right there if you did happen to need.

Who is this horrible monster...

sunless...

Sunless, the way I like it. Cool and still. It is perfect outside.  Unlike my life. I heard good news the other day, a Composer took 33 years to complete a 'work'  I was only half listening.  I mostly just caught that it took him 33 years to do it.  That means there is a little hope for myself.
I see many people about my age who are motivated and involved in something that will change another.  Where's MY motivation, I have none.  Everything I do I am proud of for a moment, then I feel like it has to be kept a secret so my identity isn't ripped from me.  I'm not one for being loud and competitive so I usually lose.  I'm not good with attention and recognition so I hide.  So it is my own fault, but really my perseption is why would you do that to another. 
I wrote a poem about it, I like writing poems they are short term.  If you are interested in my paranoia continue:

Taken
Play on a stage,
let me be your
audience.
Act out every
passion,
I’ll keep it all in
confidence.

I am a mimic,
I am a mime,
I am a mirror,
keeping your,
 -time.

Sing real loud
your tune,
I will listen with a
recorder.
This will make
it possible,
to recall it, all in
order.

I am a mimic,
I am a mime,
I am a performer,
absorbing your,
  -prime.

Tell me your
secrets, I will tell
you, your
fortune.
I will erase
your existence,
with each word
you have
spoken.

I am a mimic,
I am a mime,
I am a poet,
repeating your
  -rhyme.

　
Sit by me
be a friend,
Ignore me
and my vague
insinuations.
You are naive
to trust,
confused by
all the
persuasions.

I am a mimic,
I am a mime,
I am a thief,
reflecting your
 -crime.

april is over...

It has been raining now for five or six days.  I am not complaining just observing.  I rather like the rain.  Except the nats and other insects multiply from the rain.  Not something you have to deal with unless you have to go out in the rain, yet the rain is a rather wonderful excuse for not going out.  Every one gets so excited about Spring.  I disagree, it is dirty and wet, and dirty wetness is worse.  Of course the bugs, always back to the bugs. 
The first warm day I admitt I enjoy opening the windows letting nature spill in.  Listen to the radio and feel more as though there is life beyond my door.  Then the very next day I feel paraniod.  "Someone will know I am home.  They'll come knocking at my door."  Now the windows will stay closed, unless desperation rolls over me.  It doesn't last long, feeling desperate I mean.

here i am....

Most of it I don't remember.  Little things here and there.  I remember more when I was five than I do at nine.  Which is actually funny, because I remember always wanting to stay nine. Now I have no idea why?  I don't want to be nine anymore, even if things were to be the same time period, I am not interested in having to grow up again.
Remember being a child and it may not have always been great but that was all you knew, so why would there be things wrong with that.  As you or I, as I grow up things are revieled.  Things I don't want to relive.  Things that belong in the past. 

I am Prudence, I am as lonely as this room I put myself into. 

many days...

Many Days... went by when I ignored the world.  You get tired, frustrated you are human, but that is not how it works.  One Day... there will never be an excepting world even though we all felt that way.

nothing but rain...

Between the snow and rain the river is rolling.  The one thing I have not done is set up a window, one to day dream out of.  Something I spent many hours doing when I was 15.  I rearranged some rooms to give myself a' work' space.  Haven't used it yet.  I did write this poem that needs some editing, I may not post it, it is not kind, it is all about hatred and how much better I feel hating people. Its kind of funny. Well, maybe it is the washed away guilt I use to have about hating people that is the good feeling?

vld

bored...

I can't believe how unbelievably bored I am.

no book to read. no thought to write. no where to go. no one to chat?