omnia_mutantur | "sailors suffer storms incessantly"

cranky today, plagued by stupidity at work and intrigued by the idea of doing something else, somewhere else. i've never been unemployed for any stretch of time, signing up with more and more temp companies until someone gives me papers to alphabetize, or something similar. something's hiding behind Lyric's words in her emails, and i can't put my finger on it, so i keep asking questions, teasing whatever it is out of the tangle until i can look at it and see if it's something she wants to talk about or not. strangely enough, i'm at a point where i'd consider junkyard a very good friend. he talks honestly to me, and listens well, and it's only over AIM, but it soothes me. i know i think too much, things skittering around in my head until i find something to think about enough to drown them all out for a moment or three. i wonder what Light's going to think of the flea, i wonder what life without history fifteen minutes away is like, because, in the end, he's probably the only thing i'll cry about leaving, if i'm not supposed to admit that, i wonder if i really care how much weight i gain, i wonder why i've been bleeding on and off for a very long time now. i wonder why wary closes her door, and if it's against me, and if there's some message i'm supposed to be getting from her that i'm not. i wonder if i was too blunt with her friend in the kitchen, i wonder if oxygen's hurt by my lack of desire to leave my house, i wonder if fluke's going to be as good as lamb, i wonder why important doesn't seem to care for me anymore, i wonder if my car will ever work again, since apparently they had it for so long because i punched a large hole in the bottom of it ($5,400 of damages) and they basically took it apart and put it back together. i wonder why i can remember the exact sensation and cause of realizing i wanted a life with light, but not the setting or the time. i wonder why people don't need the same sort of contact that i need, and i'm having the sinking feeling that part of my addiction to puzzle pirates is the forced continuity of getting to speak to the same people every night, and do the same thing, a routine in a place where i'm feeling more and more like i'm marking time. and for a girl who has always been so afraid of both her past and her future, devaluing the now because of the future blurs everything, tears falling on cheap newsprint. i'm wondering if i accidentally sharpened my senses at some point, because people don't seem to look at things as hard as i do, words don't seem to taste to other people. i've actually made myself something like dinner three nights in a row, and i wonder why it's comforting to do so. and sometimes it feels like living in a snowglobe, or one of those dust twisters that roam through the country fair, full of papernapkins and other debris. and that's all been in the past half an hour or so, as far as i can tell. and i know how to tamp it all down far enough that it doesn't look like i'm a ferret on speed but sometimes i feel nearly carbonated with the pressure contained. and i nearly said 'on crank' but as far as i remember, crank's a cigarette soaked in embalming fluid, which doesn't seem like much of an upper, and i forget why i'm not supposed to like the nields full band, because play made me cry again, but it's not a bad crying.