under construction

Why won’t anyone just let me give up? It has become abundantly clear to me how fully I have given up all hope for any improvement to the sorry state in which my lowly life has apparently taken up permanent residence in. Apathetically flowing along the irrelevant streams of this dismal discourse with destiny, I wait for the few remaining concomitants of this pitiful excuse for existence to finally reach the same conclusion I have, releasing me from the binding chords of the their naive commitment to the mantra of hope, as they accept the reality that I am, indeed, a lost cause.

I cannot be saved.

Instead, under the rectifying intentions of redeeming this defeated deviant, I am carried along, lifelessly comatose and puppeteered by pessimism, as the loved ones I have long disappointed remain the frazzled life support for an empty shell. Were there any remnant of emotion in this void, I suppose I would feel some guilt, someTHING.

Sister Lauren Syrup

I don't know what it is in my nature that forces me to give up the second there is any possibility of failure. hence the fact that I continue to run through all of the same cyclical failures, bored of the growing apathy which has become the defining catalyst of my life. God, i need help.

And the worst part is that I didn't always suck this much. I used to be a person of passion, purpose, and potential. and now? I seem to have all the answers for everyone else, and yet I cannot seem to apply any of my wisdom to my own life. One by one, all the comforts of my life appear to be crumbling, and all I can manage to do is to stand safetly in the eye of the storm observing, anticipating, and apathetically waiting for the final swell.

At 22 i was supposed to be a college graduate, ready to take the final step into adult hood, and instead what do i have to show for myself other than an ever growing list of dissappointments. Not that this subject matter is anythign new... it seems to be the Lauren trend to have these painful epiphanies, muster up some sense of motivation which is forgotten by the time the next distraction presents itself. fuck.

le twenty two

damn i miss the simplicity of innocence. I miss when my journal was filled with romantic ramblings about my crush of the week... or day... or class. Instead, it is more frequently nothing but the bitter ramblings of a bipolar neurotic who doesn't even understand herself.

i turn 22 this year. 22. yea yea yea, its still young, and yea, i have a whole life to live ahead of me. But still, 22 kinda freaks me out. I mean ok. I mean, really. there really isn't any chance for the "stupid kid" excuse or any of those advantages we youths constantly abuse. 18 is the end of your childhood. 19 is kinda lame, but at least your stil waiting for 21. 20, a bit sucky too, but hey, you are no longer a teen. and then 21. Aaahhhh 21. an age of exploration, fun, recklessness. :)
the good days.

and the you get smacked in the frickin face by 22. 22 says, adult. 22 says the beginnings of a career. 22 is watching. 22 is waiting. 22 is keeping tabs. and when 22 comes, and it will come indeed, it is going to bring the full weight of adulthood upon me.

oh joy. :)