Heads up 7 up continued

I feel so weak...I should probably be sleeping and taking my medicine (for my infection which has not gone away; I'm still coughing and it's been like...a month now, I swear). I haven't done anything yet. I shouldn't be here. Writing, I mean. Interpret, I don't want to be here. I leave that up to you.

I need to make dog food. We make it from scratch. A raw food diet. It's better for her, though the vet doesn't agree. I hate the process of making it. It's a pain, but I suppose it's worth it in the long run. I wish it would make itself though. I'm so tired.

I decided that I'll continue what I was doing before: not doing anything. Maybe that's the best? I've been ignoring the whole thing. I don't think that's a good idea. I don't know how to talk about it. How to formulate words in my mouth concerning the topic, let alone writing about it. Writing should be easier, but it's not anymore so than speaking verbally.

Or, maybe I'll say something. Though, I don't think it would make a difference. If it did, it would only ruin things. I'm positive. So. Yeah. I won't say anything. There have been so many times that I've said that. I doubt myself, as always.

This makes me think back. Way back.

Back to elementary school. That's where "Heads Up 7 Up" came from. I remember that game. Vaguely, but I remember. You'd put your head down and there would be several people who were up at the front of the room. Those people still at their desks, with their heads down also had a thumb pointing up. When the teacher gave the silent signal, all the kids at the front of the room would disperse and gently push somebody's thumb down...And I don't remember the rest.

Those blissful days of sweet ignorance. I can't believe it. How many years have gone by since then. Since I was a P. Penguin. I miss those days. It was then that I learned how terrible I was at math and the signs that I would fail in the future. It was then that I learned about friendship and about things I wouldn't understand until I was much older and looked back on them.

That's when I learned about the source of my problem. I understand it so much better now then I did then. But that knowledge won't help me right now. It's completely different.

I had a dream about this. It only made me even more anxious. Even more than the message, partially unread in my message box. That was actually real.

Most, others would be thrilled. But it made me anxious and confused. I'm not really scared. Or nervous, per se. Only of messing things up. I'm just really confused. Really confused. That seems to be a trend, but yeah, I'm confused.

The more I think or the less I think...I type myself or run myself into circles. What to do. What to do. It's not really a problem. It's my problem. I'm the problem. Not the problem. How do I do this? How do I obsess enough to make myself just go crazy? To make no problems become problems?

Life would be simpler if everyone could be read easily. Or if I could read other people when it mattered.

Though it's not everyday someone tells you that though. You could agree. If you knew. If you do know. Then you know. If you don't know. Well then...You don't know. You won't know. Unless I tell you.