no title.

ok, yes honesty first, i am drunk... among other things...
ok first idea::
people give you clues when they talk, simple, but i had never thought of that, is like clues, and it all depend of how sharp you are as an investigator to figure them out...yes to figure people out, to make belive that u can understand the human mind to the point that u can decipher as if people where some sort of pattern, a sky full of stars and u have to find the geometric shape and take note and make a shape..
Maybbbee just maybe thats called having prejuicios...pero its not like that with me i just listen...and i listen and then i make for myself a visual map.
Its like strings ( cuerdas de una guitarra), with visual images, and then the final image i look from afar..glance at it, and analize it as a painting, the structure, the composition, the colors, the tension of the cords...and then i tell myself..YIKES...you are fucked, or you are blessed, or u are beautiful.
Tonight was a lousy night.
I mean im drunk writting in my blog...
That must ring a bell.then again...i am not a constant person..yet again i am the type that forget but doesnt really forget, and I remember , more or less, come back to it, and boooooom in my face, ahhh im breathing again, and i remember que se siente vivir.
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Uy uy Uy uy uy uy me fui lejitos.
whatever si al final, esto es un cyber recuerdo personal...y me escribo a mi.
y nadie mas.
un diario frio personal donde no veo la emocion de mi typo.
ay ya....whatever.

i dont have a home, and im tired of feeling so lonely.

today i was told i do not have a house.
me dolio eso.
segunda vez y dolio.
La 1ra fue Felipe en una discuccion que tuvimos por Joan y por mi actitud en la casa, me grito, this is my house not yours, my mom paid for it.
y en realidad, no creo que fue la mejor manera, pero it was true.
y hoy discutiendo con alfredo me recalca tambien que i do not have a house, i rent a room and this is mettes house, not my house.
no se pq duele pero duele.
quizas pq soy ultra sensible.
y es cierto, theres no place like home, en mi casa en sto dgo es el unico lugar que me siento comoda, pq es mi casa, bueno no es mi casa es de mi madre pero logro relajarme.
todo tiene su precio.
and maybe its true, yo lo que soy es una jodida arrimada.
ay dio, yo necesito terapia...un psicologo no me vendria mal.
no se pq discuciones pequeñas me bajan tanto.
me sigo sintiendo desprotejida, como sin shelter.
se que tengo que aprender a coñazos que YO soy my one and only shelter...
pero no se como enseñarme esa mierda, no se como decirle a mi cerebro constantemente solo quiere buscar refugio que deje de ser tan pendejo y que resuelva y que asuma sus mierdas.
bueno pero ya, tampoco hay q llorar por todo.
all i wanted to say is...
i am ofended.
i do have a house.
i do have my space.