I feel: lost, persistently unhappy, insatiably tired, severely and incurably unstimulated--unable to be stimulated. Reading diaries in english makes me ever more sensitive to my own writing and journaling, even more aware of my shortcomings. The world is filled with so much beauty, and I am terrified that I will leave this world without creating any of it.

Give me soft soft static, with a human voice underneath

Fell in love on the way to spanish today. That needs to stop happening. (Walking to spanish, and) Falling in love. He had dreadlocks and he was examining a display case with computer chips old and new--how they have developed over 30 years or so. I wonder what I would have been like 30 years ago, if they would put me in a display case with a little caption underneath. If I would be large and bulky and cumbersome, if people would ever stop at the case to look or if they would be in a hurry, walking to class or head down texting or in their mind. If, when they stopped to look, would find me old, ugly, irrelevant. If a boy with dreadlocks and a backpack slung over one shoulder would think I was beautiful.