pretention & shellfish go hand in hand

i've decided upon the name of my theoretical future poetry collection.
my god, isn't that pretentious. already picking out a title, as if i'd published a damn thing yet. :-p i'm working on it, though. getting some stuff together to submit various places and preparing myself for rejection, humiliation, and being chased with pitchforks.

jen just called. we're going to go thrift storing. it's kind of nice to do something just with jen. makes me feel as if she actually likes me. which, yes, i suppose she does, but it's just nice to--
you get the point. or you don't. and either way, i'm annoying myself with the roundabout rambling.

odd craving for sushi. we're having seafood stuff tonight, because my grandmother gave us a gift certificate to this shellfish place that delivers the day you order for christmas last year...unforunately, i don't really like shellfish/lobster. at all. but i have to sit at home and pick at them and feel sick, because otherwise i'm not being "part of the family."

i just fucking hate lobster. not the taste-- the taste is fine, although i don't think it's really anything to write home about-- but the way you have to eat it. there is only so far i will go to consume something, and it doesn't include breaking off legs, cracking open backs, and scooping the green stuff out. fuck that, i'd rather be hungry. anything i have to eat whole and still intact is a no-go.

which is half the reason that i hate shellfish...the other half being that they look disgusting. clams look like little STOMACHS, and i can see the shit still inside them. that slight grit of sand that got caught in their shell long ago, the rubbery texture where they were attached...vile, vile, vile. absolutely not. especially since the taste is nothing even approximating a compensation.

suppose i should find my shoes. today feels better than yesterday, at least. yesterday ended in Yet Another Weeping Fest. is it sad that i felt like going four or five days without crying was sort of like a winning streak? (yes.) but i feel back in control today, and hopefully i'm not just on another decline into incapacitating misery. (as in PLEASE DON'T LET ME BE SINKING BACK INTO THAT RIGHT NOW, WHEN I JUST STARTED GETTING BETTER AGAIN.)

ramble ramble the end.

your standard blah blah blah

as if i have anything left to say after a livejournal, an opendiary, a journal option at deviantart, various message boards, and my paper journal.

maybe i really think i'm just this damned interesting.

actually, i know what it is. it's that eternal feeling of "maybe THIS time, i can say everything i want. maybe this one will be home." and it isn't, and i know it, but here we are anyway. i long for somewhere i can really just say what i want, no matter how ridiculous, self-indulgent, despairing, tactless, greedy, or pathetic i sound. somewhere where i will not constantly be paranoid that i'm pissing someone off by being honest.

one would THINK that my paper journal would fill that hole, but it doesn't, really. it's more cryptic than the others, if anything, and less about my feelings than just my thoughts.

not sure what i'm getting at, other than i'm stupid and avoidant, and want to feel like i'm being totally honest without actually talking to anyone.

and anyway, what would become of us all if the first post in a journal didn't reference the fact that it was the first post in a journal?