waaaaaaaaaaaaah
Apr. 11th, 2002 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
letterblade*snuffle snuffle whine whine*
i had this tiny cute little white ceramic coffee cup with my name on it--spelled right and everything--that i bought in this souvenir store in chinatown in san francisco for three bucks. and it was a coffee cup, and i like coffee, and it had my name on it, and i was going to make it into a necklace or something, and i was keeping it in this little plastic box that got left in the side pocket of my back when i went to amherst and it fell out and got broken. i have the pieces but it's so tiny it'll be almost impossible to fix, and even if i fix it it'll be cracked, and...and...
stupid tory. stupid stupid tory. i should've put it somewhere safer.
i hate it when things you love get broken or lost forever and you can't fix them or find them. it's like time passing when you don't want it to. it's like looking up at the clock and realizing that the last hour is gone and you will never have it again, never, no way. it's like your thoughts wandering to your friend's dead mother, who was a wonderful person, and realizing you'll never see her again, never, no way. and i also realize that i wrote a story about that without really knowing it. and it's ten times as bad when it's your fault, because you want to hurt yourself twice as bad as you're already hurt because it's your fault.
i also hate the fact that i am so worked up over a toy coffee mug. but it was a special thing, and now it's split down the middle and there are little shards in its tiny little plastic bag. maybe people break like that, in little plastic bags, with their shards around them and their name all on one side, in delicate little black capitals on white, and their handle on the other, still intact.
i had this tiny cute little white ceramic coffee cup with my name on it--spelled right and everything--that i bought in this souvenir store in chinatown in san francisco for three bucks. and it was a coffee cup, and i like coffee, and it had my name on it, and i was going to make it into a necklace or something, and i was keeping it in this little plastic box that got left in the side pocket of my back when i went to amherst and it fell out and got broken. i have the pieces but it's so tiny it'll be almost impossible to fix, and even if i fix it it'll be cracked, and...and...
stupid tory. stupid stupid tory. i should've put it somewhere safer.
i hate it when things you love get broken or lost forever and you can't fix them or find them. it's like time passing when you don't want it to. it's like looking up at the clock and realizing that the last hour is gone and you will never have it again, never, no way. it's like your thoughts wandering to your friend's dead mother, who was a wonderful person, and realizing you'll never see her again, never, no way. and i also realize that i wrote a story about that without really knowing it. and it's ten times as bad when it's your fault, because you want to hurt yourself twice as bad as you're already hurt because it's your fault.
i also hate the fact that i am so worked up over a toy coffee mug. but it was a special thing, and now it's split down the middle and there are little shards in its tiny little plastic bag. maybe people break like that, in little plastic bags, with their shards around them and their name all on one side, in delicate little black capitals on white, and their handle on the other, still intact.