Pseudo-Poetic

Somebody wrote this on my web community this morning:

"Alright alright so I'm passive, big deal?"
except for when I'm
heavy-weight active
so much as to annoy myself... [annoy, because I was sober; there's this old Russian saying: "I'm not sad, I'm just sober" - thought you guys should know]
and then morning-after...
right now I'm...
shy...
passive..
passive...
shy..
contemplative...
stupid...
chickenshit.

so yeah
don't worry I hate me too
I'm not really saying much am I.
Jeeeeez sometimes you just know that it could be beautiful - or if not beautiful then loads of fun...
but I could get hurt... or worse, embarrassed, stuttery, stuff.

So
today I have done the following:
woken up confused
chatted
walked around like a zombie contemplating
cooked something
walked around like a zombie listening to me'shell
called a friend (and apparently caught her with her boyfriend)
... read people's livejournals.

You?!

My response to them was:

Me? I- well, Iiiiiiiii
I've been super unproductive, too.
Perhaps unproductive's not fair;
I awoke to find a less-than-thrilled friend in need of my laughter
I bumbled around the house, wavering between calling a friend
or calling a friend-
you tell me how to make that choice-
and then decided to be be selfless.

I just ate crappy crème du pommes des terres soupe
(mixed with water, not milk, as was suggested)
and now I'm looking for a reason to stay
in a town I have no further use for,
however much I love it,
and which has never wanted me here.