Remembering my childhood fantasy of becoming Emily Dickinson right now. Definitely sounding a lot better to be a hermit than leave my space to interact with people who don't seem to enjoy my company. First day of work and I've erased the good feelings of my vacation. I guess I'm just not good at making friends, and especially when it's people I work with. I tried to say goodbye to someone before my vacation started, since I knew he would be leaving before I got back. But when I tried to say something, I got a "shoo" hand motion instead.
I feel like I'm one of those people who thinks that everyone around them doesn't like them, and that they are just pretending, but instead of it being my imagination, it's real. I don't think the people I know like me. I am a pathetic waste of space who over thinks too much and doesn't do enough of anything.
I wish I could be like Emily Dickinson. Although much of her life was marred by death. I just don't know how to cope with life.
A part of me wishes I had some kind of life-manipulating disease that would take a fews years off my hands. I don't want to die, but I don't know what to live for, either.
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What.