One of those days

So it's been one of those days where I don't know what to do, what to say, or how to feel. I want to put this strange feeling into words, but it's tricky. I sometime try to put my feeling into rhyming verse, but that doesn't always work.

I might try rhyming poetry or songwriting again. I need to do something to express how I feel - speaking doesn't seem to be enough. A rant can be helpful, though - I usually feel a lot better after a good rant. But lately I've been having trouble finding the words to use in rant form. Part of me is scared of saying too much, or scared of looking pathetic or like I'm whining. I don't want to appear pitiful. But at the same time, I want somebody to hear me.

It's like I want to shout, but can't find the words. And it pisses me off when shit happens to people I care about, but other people connected to said persons just don't care. It drives me up the friggin' wall. If I could take kickboxing classes, I probably wouldn't feel this awful, but the only place that offers semi-contact kickboxing is my old dojo - and I am NOT going back there. Not a chance. And I don't want to take cardio kickboxing, because it's not to my liking. Maybe I can just shadow-box at home. But hitting a punching bag feels so much better.

I feel like I want to cry out a plea to someone I know, but I don't want them to push me away because of it. But living every day feeling like a kettle about to boil is not very pleasant.

Maybe I need to start a new knitting project. A big knitting project, like a shawl, that will keep me busy for a few months. Or maybe I'll dig up a novel draft to work on, or dig out my oil pastels and attempt some art. Something to distract me from the drama in my life.

R.I.P. Richard Wright

I just found out this afternoon that Richard Wright from Pink Floyd has died. I was fighting tears until I couldn't any longer. I went into the kitchen to get a glass of soy milk. That was only a decoy. I cried. In the kitchen.

I cried in the living room, and my mom thought I was crying about my annoying grandparents, because I had been talking about them. But I was really crying about Richard. When I saw him on David Gilmour's Remember That Night DVD and the VH1 program I'd seen on YouTube via the Legends of Classic Rock blog, he seemed healthy. I don't know what he died of - I haven't done an internet search because sometimes the internet isn't always right.

I wanted to meet him someday. I admire him greatly. Pink Floyd just isn't the same without Richard Wright.

Update: I just found out that he died of cancer. Thank you for telling me, Taryn.

Stupid weather...

I can't go to the streetfest today because it's too hot and humid, and my mom can't take the weather. I don't blame her, but it's such a bummer, because I have money to spend, and my sister really wanted to go to the streetfest.

I'm also angry because my dad was bothering me when I was working on the first gauntlet. First, he distracted me by asking in the bag on the table full of stuff from the dentist was mine. Then, when I was so upset about a mistake in my gauntlet, he said, "Sobbing won't help!" Uh, dad, you don't even knit, so shut up!

Glad that's outta my system :)