play writing

i am writing a play, or trying to write a play, or pretending that i am try to write a play, or just telling myself all of the above to make some sort of sense as to what the fuck i am really doing with my time. 

turns out, i dont know anything. 

i still dont know where my ipod is, i dont know if I am failing school (again), i dont know if i will grow old like my mom and not recognize myself anymore, i dont know if i will ever do anything truly great in my life...let alone this year.

i want to do so many things, like fall in love under my own rules, write a book, go crazy, sew my own clothes, read all of the unread books on my shelf, stay up all night and forget how to sleep, go back home with bags under my eyes holding all the captivating sights of the night

i just want to be that, all of that, all in the next few months, i want all of the above completed. my last chance to be lolita, i need to make the time i have count.

(shit, why do i feel like i would never be friends with me every single day?)