"I know what you're thinking
But I'm not your property
No matter what you say
Move along, there's nothing left to see
Just a body, nothing left to see
A couple more for breakfast
A little more for tea
Just to take the edge off
Move along, there's nothing left to see
Just a body, pouring down the street
Move along, theres nothing left to see
Just a body, nothing left to see
Move along"

Why the hell is everything back where it started? I haven't felt this shitty since I was in school. Why now? Why when everything seemed to be going so well? What the fuck brought this on, anyway? Last time I checked I wasn't bipolar. It'd be nice to be able to figure out what exactly brought on this goddamn emotional breakdown... Can't think of anything. Nothing. WHAT THE FUCK?! Maybe it's the sincere realization that I don't want to be here. I don't want to be doing anything that I'm doing. I don't want to have a future like the one that's planned for me. I don't want to have this fucking life. I'm only 20 and yet I'm sick of everything. And while I say all of that stuff, I have no idea what I'd rather be doing, where I'd rather be. Who I'd rather be. I really just wish that I had the money to move to fucking Montreal or something. Go somewhere completely different. Make a new life. Make a new me. Get a cat. Go to school for something. Or just drop everything and get a job as a fucking tattoo artist or something. Something I'd never dream of doing. Surprise myself. Rape everything mundane that I've had to put up with all of these years. But not move into the city. I hate the city. I could become a grahic novelist, write/draw comics. I could work in a record shop and support the local bands, 'cos they always need that. Maybe be in one, myself. And maybe we'd actually go somewhere. Maybe do a tour of small clubs. I'd come back to Ohio for a show maybe. Surprise everyone with how much I've changed. Leave with no regrets whatsoever, just like it would have been when I left originally to move to where ever it was. Like, seriously, I just want to leave. I just want to take the money out of my dad's wallet, put together a bag of food and some clothes and what-not, and
just
go.
Leave everything. Let go of all of my fucking possessions. Let go of my family. Let go of my friends. Just drive.
And drive.
And drive.
And drive.
Get the fuck out of this city. Get the fuck out of this state. Get the fuck out of everything I've ever known. I reeeealllly want to do that. But I know I wouldn't because I'm too much of a pushover for that kind of thing. I think about shit too much, despite how impulsive I normally am. I'll think too much about what my dad would do (report the car as stolen and get cops after my ass). I'll think too much about the stuff I should be doing (projects and stuff for other people). I'll think too much about how I'd support myself (which I wouldn't, seeing as no one employs someone the cops are after for theft). I won't really think about other people, though, I will say that much. 'Cos you know, the people I'm closest to, I'm not all that close to, in actuality. In fact, I'd pull that stunt just to see if someone actually noticed I was gone. That'd be a miracle. I doubt if anyone would atually think "I miss her." I'm sure the only reaction would be "she had too much unfinished business, that ungrateful bitch" and my parents would get pissed off because I took their car and their money and didn't take out the trash or didn't feed the dogs or cat or didn't babysit this day for that person and didn't help clean this car or help paint this thing... I'm just a commodity, is what I'm saying. I feel like less and less of a person, the more I think about what I am to others. I'm a wench. I'm a car. I'm a source of advice. I'm a t-shirt factory. I'm something to fuck. I'm a babysitter. I'm a source for creative advice. I'm an editor. I'm a maid. I'm a psychoanalyst. I'm a source of grunt labor. I'm more of those material things and less of a friend, a sister, a daughter, a lover. I'm sick of all of these pseudo-relationships I've made with people. I'm sick of all of the material goods I hold on to so much. I just want to trash everything in my life, at this point. And I have the suspicion that if I did, no one would notice.