"ingenious abs"

(?)

That's what I said. Well, today is over, and that's nice. I still have to clean my little house. I has two exams today. I got a B on one, which was funny, because I remember thinking, "I'm doomed. I'm a self-fulfilling prophecy." That's something we talked about in class. But I wasn't, and when I saw my grade I burst out in an enthusiastic "Yes!" And everyone stared at me. I had a lot of outbursts today, just weird sighs and "my goodness"es. It's really relieving.
I was reminded of a high school incident today. It involved the end of my senior year, which would have been in January. I was sitting on the computer in the room that separated "Single Survival" from "Advanced Foods," trying to type a paper. These guys in my class were playing some rough form of volleyball in that 5ft by 5ft room, with a beach ball. The ball kept hitting me or landing my me, so finally I was so agitated that I grabbed it and popped it with my fingernails. This one kid named Travis Transle jumped on me to grab it before it was destroyed. It was too late, I popped it and threw it across the room as hard as I could. He really hurt me when he was reaching for that stupid ball, so I flipped out. And started screaming at him, asking him how old he was. He said he was 13. Never in my life have I ever wanted to destroy someone as much as I wanted to destroy him. That stupid kid. Was a moron.
Well, detox ends this weekend. Sort of. I won't go back to my "normal" diet, but I can eat more that organic vegetables and green apples and almond butter. I've really gotten used to spending practically all of my time alone. It's funny. Things are funny and I laugh and then I wish I could turn to someone and tell them what I saw that was so funny. I want to share. Like today, I saw this fat-faced man walking towards me, and it looked like his cheek wasn't connected to his face. The closer he got, I began to see that he had one of those pencil thin beards that guys sport along their jaw lines. But the thing was, he didn't have a jaw line because it was hidden under sheets of fat. Nice try fat man. That's mean. And then, there was this guy who started talking to me in my psychology class during a break, while I was eating this carrot, which was really huge and loud, and he was being really "sly" and flirty, using his eyebrows and smiling out of the side of his mouth. He made his voice very deep and smooth. And I kept trying to attempt to converse with him, but felt very awkward, so I said things that didn't make a whole lot of sense and then stared off into space, looking thoughtful and sighed or chewed on my carrot, hoping the conversation would be over, but it just wouldn't end. Finally he said, "I'm gonna go take a breather." It was weird. Very weird. AND HILARIOUS! I thought so. So yeah. I'm going to go home and sleep now. It's about 330am.

Well just great.
I had a really splendid 4:30 in the morning last night. It was quite nice. Just one of those segments of life that I could recognize as lovely, and I was so pleased to be alive and breathing. A very comfortable episode. But I don't quite know how to deal with some things right now, and am trying to analyze them in my brain. Using both sides. I'd say I do that pretty well. Corpus collosum in place. Today I forgot to bring my music to work, so I am thinking a lot. Turning things over and over. I've been thinking in poetry a lot lately. In verse maybe. I still really wish I had some sort of brain recording device. Sometimes the concept of a thought process, especially me thinking of my own, completely freaks me out, and I become overwhelmed. Silly me, silly brain, trying to study itself.
I've also been thinking about how we choose someone to share things with, like love, experiences, seasons, etc. And I think that is just such an amazing idea. Two people mutually choose each other {I think sometimes one is more relentless than the other} in a subconscious joint decision to share life with each other for a while, or forever. Either way it's just an enchanting idea. This also makes me feel a lot less hesitant. Because why should I be? It's certainly more fun to act on every emotion anyway. And dangerous. But, I think that there is some discretion involved. By all that I really mean, just doing crazy things. I know that doesn't clarify anything, but I often times find myself day dreaming about ridiculously interesting and random things to do, and never really "get around to it" or whatever. So yes, decision made.

It's a beautiful thing, love, isn't it? I'm going to sweep floors now, and make up songs in my head.

tell me what you think, love
are we defective
I'd give my right brain from your sanity
but how insensitive am I
I am afraid you may perceive it that way


smoking in a dirty bathtub
powder blue tiles and trim
red hot light

the faucet's old
did it always work so poorly

fluorescent lights and fiberglas
doorknobs made of clay

I wonder if she knows I'm smoking
I wonder why the tissues are coming out of the wall
these towels aren't clean

what if we lived together
in this hotel room
and a dozen others
would she still love me?
even if I smoked
in the non-smoking bathroom
would she still love me?
would you still love me?


I love to destroy myself
I crave the things that kill me
that fu.ck up my insides
just for now
I hope not later

tell me to quit
and love myself
I do
but forget sometimes
things get all muffled
and break into pieces
until we reassemble them
and I remember

sitting like a greek sculpture
I doubt they smoked as much

our trabiated lifestyle
we can be our sturdy architecture
you can be my substance


I saw it in the southwest
then in he northeast sky
and that plane must have gone
a million miles by now

these nights
where I go to sleep
without kissing the person I love
I can only suck on cigarettes
to simulate that feeling


I lick the wine
off my fingers
I drink the beer
off your breath
we can still make it
pretty far
on sick, sad and tired fumes


that's all.

Okay.
Let's talk.
I've been thinking a lot about menstruation today. First of all, because I am, and it is so immensely painful. My body is finally getting back into its reproductive rhythm, after several years of filling it with chemicals to stop procreation. But I don't remember it being this excruciating. I remember having to take medication for the pain, but two days ago it struck me again, after two.something years of no period. At least I feel pretty normal again in that organ region.
Secondly, I think the whole process of menstruation, the whole cycle, is rather beautiful. I really do. I can understand why women may find it to be gross, I know I do sometimes, just uncomfortable and it is blood. But why would people find it to be unclean. Is it because it's a cleansing process, so, when it's happening you would be considered unclean, as opposed to when it's over, and you're extra clean? I don't know. But my feelings toward it were backed up in this film I watched the other day called The Dreamers. Three young adults, two guys and a girl, lying in a tub together, they've fallen asleep. When they wake up the realize the tub water has become reddened, by blood of course, and one man is slightly alarmed. The woman tells him not to be, because it's good news, hence she wasn't pregnant. (Does that make sense? Using "hence?"... ) I thought that was just great. What a beautiful way to be. Then I think, well, she was fabulously gorgeous, and what it she hadn't been gorgeous, what if she had been slightly unattractive? What if she were overweight? Is it simply the mentality that matters in a person? Are they more beautiful when more confident? And then I thought, she looks very pleased with the outcome, which she should be, but if that was me, I would be happy, and curling into a fetal position to try and relieve the pain. Maybe it was because she was in a hot bath. That always seems to help. Or I'll try and concentrate on my ovaries as hard as I can, and with my mind power, make them stop hurting. It usually works. The same goes for headaches. I don't think the pain is psychological, but it does help. I wonder why that is... Anyway, look up menstruate in a dictionary sometime, I did and all it said was, "to undergo menstruation" for all of it's definitions. I thought that was a riot. No one wants to describe it, not even in dictionaries. I have always hated tampon and pad commercials. They kill me. I can't even think of how to describe them right now. They're just weird. Young attractive and thin girls in their underwear or pajamas talking, and 'Stacey' says to 'Tiffany,' " I hate the cardboard applicator, it's too rough and makes me uncomfortable, so I have to wear these mattress pads!" And Tiffany says, "You should try blah blah blah! It works wonders for me." And then they're all happy and bouncing on the bed, eating popcorn. And someone says to Stacey, "So tell me about the boy you were with at the mall!" And they all smile huge curious smiles, laugh and a pillow fight begins as the commercial ends. Yes! I think that was pretty good. I laughed while I was writing it. But what I want to see is some commercial depicting the side effects of periods, like pms and shit. Where there at some party and Tiffany asks Stacy if she's alright, and in a quick annoyed tone Stacey says, "Yeah, just leemee alone." And Tiffany says, "Geeze Stacey, I was just wondering, you don't hafta be sucha bitch." And Stacey flips out and says, "Tiffany, maybe it's you who's the bitch! Listen these fucking shove sticks that I have to use are made out of fucking cardboard, and every fucking time I try to stick them up my fucking gine, it fucking kills, and pisses me right the fuck off. So unless you have some other tampon to let me use, just piss the fuck off!!!" I don't know what would happen after that. Just the girls sitting on the bed silently and still, one girl eating popcorn slowly. That's rich!

I have all these lighters in my bag, and no use for them. Maybe I'll just start lighting things on fire. Then I'll feel better. I've cried three times today and counting, and I think about how many times I've written about sadness, for how many years now. It's been cheapened, and it's become hackneyed. There's some kid singing in the hallway, and I find that to be so pleasant. To be a kid again, and sing in the hallways. How I'd love to not care that much. It's not even the not caring, so much as the blissful ignorance. I'd like that. Sometimes. Yesterday this older gentleman walked past me in the hallway at school, and smiled what seemed to be a very sincere smile directed at me. I cried again. Then I stood outside in the courtyard for a while, absorbing something, I'm not sure what. The insignificant and beautiful things I encounter, maybe. Or just the strangeness of life and living it. I walked past a dozen people who just sat and sat and stared and looked blank, then I walked past that man, in his nice ironed shirt and a nice tie and his bag draped across his shoulder. A nice worn face.
Well, I do feel better. Despite how dramatic I feel I've made everything sound. It's just too strange. I've been sad before, but never like this, and I can't figure it out. Why why why? It's just too strange. I don't understand it. I think of myself, and the moments sadness has struck me, and I contemplate why I cried, or even why I cried the way that I did. It's weird, the dynamics of differing tearful sessions. I can't explain it.
I know some of the reasoning behind why I am in such a state. And I'm choosing to ignore them, and recognize them as pointless. I just have to remember to take those thoughts captive. I criticize myself too much. I'm so afraid of being simple and uninteresting. Why is that? Why does that overwhelm me to such an extent? It does, you know. It really takes a hold of me, and is almost impossible to shake sometimes. You are what you tell yourself you are. That taken from a woman who says "she knows nothing." The poor thing. Husband just left her from some co-worker. She has these boys, two of them. The thing is, I was just talking to her, about how fucked up her life was, how she's been on her own since she was sixteen. And at that time she moved in with the man she married three years later, at the ripe age of nineteen, and her husband of over thirty years, who she loves deeply, and who just decided to leave his family. And she is redefined. I just wish that someone that amazing didn't have to go through this.
There's this other woman in the office, she's older, maybe 38, and she is a newly-wed. Her hubby just called and she got all excited and sensual in the church office. They chatted for a while, he said something, then I very clearly heard her whisper twice, "There are other people in the office..." Me. And then she started saying things really faintly and flirty like, "no... later... later... no, because those were just you're parents... not now..." Really flirty like. It was weird. I didn't want to move. Like if I moved she would know that I was listening. Strange.

I was also thinking. About the raspberries. There mine to give. So if you want them, you can have them. If not, that's alright, too. Not everyone likes raspberries, or bananas or mangos. But whichever, just let me know. I could go to pick them myself. So they'd be fresh. And ripe.

Okay.
Let's talk.
I don't know if it's the tremendous smoking cut back taking a hold of me, or the caffeine free last three days or the no sugar or what, but either way, there is too much sadness in me right now. And I am so fucking tired of sadness. I don't want it! You can keep it, really. It drains me. I've been listening to a lot of Kid A and Brian Eno over the past twenty-four hours, and I don't know if it's helping or putting me in a more dream like state. I vote "B." But my oh my. I don't even know what to do. I feel like I've written all of these phrases a million times. And it's just so frustrating. I am frustrated. To such an astronomical degree. What makes it worse is the fact that I want to be everything you could ever want or need me to be. I'd love to give you everything beautiful. Every wonderful moment. Nice tears, smiles and fresh raspberries.
But I don't even know if you like raspberries. I know I love them, but what if you didn't, and raspberries annoyed you because they're tart, but you ate them anyway.
Therein lies my biggest problem facing my right now. I always have these second guessing, these thoughts that sometimes don't even make much sense. Illogical, but I think them anyway. A lot of the time they are interesting, but not when I am making up what people think. Because I'm scared, and I want to consider the worst reaction I could get. What scares me is that it is all in your brain, not mine, and I can't see what's up there. And what if it all changes in a split second. What if I can't be everything beautiful. Why do I need to be? I don't know. I'd love to believe that I'm completely human and everything I say and do walks in the shadow of that. But for whatever reason I want to be something greater than what I am. Not even that, I don't necessarily want to be greater, I just want to be right. I want to fit into you. And I want to be everything. But I know that I can't be, and where do I go from there.
I really want to be happy. I want to enjoy and to bask. I want to know that now is good and wonderful. I want to not think about five months from now. I want to not think about where I am going in life. I want to not be miserable in school, and cry most times I drive to class. I want to know that I am good and brilliant and interesting and never second guess myself ever again. Be comfortable and love who I am. Unconditionally. I'd love that. I would love so much more in every area of life. I would love. And now would be good.

Parallel Universe: Day 1.5. Anyway. I have no vision, really. No contacts. No glasses. It isn't too hard to see. I can do it. I can pass. But today when I went to Wal-Mart, which I hate doing, and asked the lovely fuckin lady if I could get some contacts, and she said "no," because it was the law, and I said, "well that's a stupid law," I felt very helpless and vulnerable. Something about realizing how little you can see on your own, makes a person feel like their dying. My body is already deteriorating. Everything is giving out. Knees, hips, lungs, eyes, and intestines. It's really sad. How long am I supposed to live if things are already falling apart. Not sixty more years, I'll tell you that much. If I even make it that far, everything in my pathetic body will have to be made of metal and plastics.
I was thinking today about what it would be like to have a robotic arm. I decided that apart from having to tie a trash bag around yourself while showering, it would be pretty neat. An arm full of microchips and blinking red lights. And when you went to bed would have to wear a long glove over it, because the metal would get really cold, and you'd wake up if you touched it to your body. That was the other thing I thought, just having this dead, while simultaneously alive appendage, would be bizarre. A cold steel arm. Weird.
I was feeling better today about everyone. Maybe it's because I'm in a dream like state right now. But everyone seemed pleasant and kind. Or maybe it was because I slept in my own bed last night, which was delightful, but empty. I slept a lot too. I love sleeping next to windows, especially when they have wooden blinds. When the sun rises, it projects these little slits of light onto your body, and it's really beautiful to wake up to that.
I need more money, and am thinking about getting another job of sorts. Who knows what I'll do. I feel like I have been trying to take up every opportunity to make cash, not every one, but most. I sorted yarn for six hours. I am going to paint my grandma's ceiling. I need to call her about that. I don't know. I need to stop spending money in little amounts. Like on packs of cigarettes. I need to quit smoking. I don't want to, but should certainly cut the fuck back. I feel like I need some sort of break too. Which is why I am going to drink this weekend. I looks stupid in writing, it looks simple and pathetic. But seriously, if I don't loose myself for a few hours, I might freak out more than I am right now. OH man... I think I should work now. But it's been nice talking to you. I am always a lot better at explaining myself in writing form, as opposed to verbally. Then I just don't make sense, and sound irrational and scatterbrained. But I know what I'm thinking. It's just hard to look at someone and tell them exactly what you're thinking in an efficient, effective and poetic way. I'd like to though.

i want to cry, I just wrote so so much. And it spun together so well, and my thoughts were organized, and now it's all gone. F.uck this computer. F.uck it so f.ucking much because I can't swear on it. What genius decided that was a good idea. I wasn't even swearing that much. ;aodkhsfpoa heoigahdo;gh ;aoihds;oad'p ajv 'd


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