poems and pills

i'm almost positive i should be in bed right now, because i have work in the morning and then about five thousand other things to do after that, but i'm not all that tired. i'm kinda wired.

i don't know exactly what happened to me, but i lost whatever talent i had for writing. over the summer, when i was home, i went through some old things i'd written, stories and things, and while they weren't absolutely stellar, they were way better than anything i've tried to write recently. i went on a poem-writing spree during last spring quarter, but it was mostly crap that served as my incredibly lazy way of keeping a little journal for myself. i want to work on getting better, because writing used to be something i was always proud to say i did.

i've also been thinking about the side effects of accutane and so every little weird that my body does registers as a possible serious complication. i'm starting to freak out if my ears pop or if my eyes hurt or if i'm sad. there's probably nothing wrong with my ears, though, considering i can hear the door to the garage open and close under me in the parking structure. and i can still hear the guy who lives above us tap dancing his way from his bedroom to his kitchen, back and forth, for hours every night.

hopefully, the only thing that comes from my stint on this drug is that i go through lots of bottles of eye drops (i'm so pro at them now) and that i'm happier with myself than i've been in a long time.