It's been a little while, but I'm writing again. I've been writing in this handy little notebook that I carry around with me, so I haven't had use for the computer lately. The exception of which being "web-registering" for my classes this semester, which has been painfully difficult. I've been out a lot too. Not doing anything, just out. I haven't really been able to sleep well until last night, where I slept from 12am until 1:30 today, and I certainly would have slept longer if I hadn't been awakened by my friend. She didn't really startle in me into alertness so much as the shirt she was sporting. It had Winnie the Pooh (What the hell is a "pooh"? I don't understand) and Tigger on it, and they were wearing "Santa hats" and the words "Merry Christmas" read below them as they seemed to dance. Weird and ugly. So the first thing I groggily said this morning was, "Where the hell did you get that shirt?" It was the epitome of everything I hate in clothing. Almost everything. I suppose if it were a sweatshirt or velvety material I might have abhorred it more. Anyway, everything is pretty much well with me. I've been really depressed this week. Just lonely and horribly bored with this town. But I'm going out of town tomorrow, and I'm hoping to go to Pittsburg this Monday, so maybe that will be refreshing. Let's hope so.

My final exam starts in about 40 minutes. That means it'll all be ovre soon. And I can sleep like a bear in hybernation. Oh Man, I am tired and hurty. Body is rejecting itself and I feel like shit. Assuming that since shit is generally disgusting, it feels really miserable all the time. 39 minutes. Better go.

But I suppose maturity levels have nothing to do with acting like a child. By acting like a child I mean, playful and happy. There is something depressing about striving to be percieved as older. Maybe people just act that way because they are that way. But pretentious people bother me like nothing else. Where's the fun? I can see it, but it doesn't seem too enticing to me. Where's the laughter? With the exception of that towards others who are less than brilliant. We act so smart. Like we know so much, and we are so interesting and thoughtful, analitical and open-minded. We are adults who know all. Why can't people just let go of all that every once in a while. By that I don't mean any sort of sedative either. Honestly, we all know how to act old, and with that in mind, and the fact that we do act old when we need to, why can't our minds race and our laughter echo. Everyone has to act proper. But I think that it's those people who, although seem to be "getting it right" in their own minds, are the ones who are missing the point entirely. And that point is living. Chosing to fret instead. Chosing to settle. Chosing to waiste a precious life. Growing old and realizing that all that time they spent worrying about doing or saying the right thing, acting the right way, presenting themselves as responsible, mature adults was a horrible waiste of time and effort. Maturity and dignity aren't the issue, having a good time and realizing your age is what should be considered. Where's the humility anymore? No one can admit to their wrongs. No one can take a step back and see where they fell. It's all about fitting in. Ya right.

In a feeble attemt to regain any peace that she once had, she started to type again. Thinking about nothing and everything. Had she really been to work that night, and talked to the strangest people, and come to all those conclusions? I think so. There wasn't much to say anymore. It had all been said, and was about to be revised and listened to, but all was lost, and turned into a box in the corner of the screen. The issues that were touched were that of a man, acting the part of a child, even though, in all reality, he still was one. But we excellerate the maturing process so much these days. Well, not everyone, but those who see it do. A world were the children hate childhood. Striving to something new. Pushing for the possition of the wise, but posessing no wisdom. He was a child. His eyes were those of a child, wandering and hopeful. Or maybe he had managed to hold onto those feelings and dreams, whereas we have all been raped of those. You won't see these eyes sparkle any longer. But what was he doing? Where was he, and how had he managed to get here? And at the same time I saw in the face next to me something grand. I can't think to explain it now. But I've found that there is somthing that people must do to achieve affectionate reconition in my heart. I can't think of what it is. But tonight I realized it in the eyes of a friend. Eyes that poured out a connection that I recieved and sent back with warmth. So now I see it clearly, and the vail has been lifted, and revealed a clear night sky. I'll make sense later. Now's not the time.

Birthday thusfar: I've only been awake about an hour, and have managed to be bombarded with confusion every step I take. My mo came over around 8:45am. She brought me Fruity Pebbles (yEs! family size!) and a gigantic spider... She said, "Megan, I know how much you love spiders, so I got you thing big one." And she purchased a caard for the spider to give me, and it said, "I thought I'd tell you Happy Birthday, Megan... Before I EAT you!" Which made me laugh a lot. Then she gave me 3 other cards. Two sentimental, and one with a cat on it. The cat one was from my kitty Carl, who is presently living with the rents. The weird thing is that it was only from Carl, even though there are five other cats living there. But the card explained what the others cats were doing. Which confused me greatly. Anyhow, I'm gonna go eat my cereal. YeaH! Oh, I'd also like to add that the computer I am on doesn't have spell check for blogger. Which I don't understand, because every other computer I've been on has it... I don't understand. I'd like spell check for my birthday. Maybe in my brain.

So I keep loosing the "spirit" of things. I believe it started with Easter. As a wee child I loved going Easter egg hunting, but after a time it became dull and too easy. I still like Easter, only because Easter means Jelly beans galore, and man do I love jelly beans. So yeah, Easter was the first to go. Then came Thanksgiving I believe. Once I educated myself on what the early "settlers" were really like, and what really happened, and how Thanksgiving is the stupidest made up holiday ever, I lost the feeling of thanks and Americanism. I suppose it is nice to spend time with family, but the norm is that families only gather because of these stupid holidays. I can't determine whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. It could go either way I guess. Then came Christmas. Not only was it important in a Biblical sense to me (all lies) but there was also that warm Christmas spirit in the air come December 25th. Nat King Cole singing traditional Christmas song, the vents blasting warm air, the smell of cinnomin (no idea how to spell that) presents, and the idea of new things, candy, food, everything that is good and warm. I lost that about three years ago, and it makes me sad. I wish I still felt all these warm feelings. But one year I just never got into it. And then it was over, and I didn't really care, either. Now my birthday means nothing. It's a fun idea, but a stupid one. Yeah, one more year, alive and stuff. I don't feel old or anything like that. I just don't care. I think it has something to do with the fact that last year, my dad lost his job two weeks before my 18th birthday. That birthday was a big deal to me for whatever reason. I think everyone can understand the notion that there is just something significant about turning 18. And my family had great plans. We were gonna go to Chicago, and do fun stuff, and such. A fun birthday was at hand. But then daddy lost his job, and we didn't do anything. We couldn't afford to do anything. I think I got some earrings that I didn't like. And that was it, and a ring from my boyfriend. But that was a really excellent gift, so that was cool. The best gift however was from my little brother Mac. He was I think 14 at the time. He is so creative and funny. He Photocopied his face and made himself saying "Happy Birthday Megan," taped that to a lunchbox with the cast from the show "Taxi" on it (weird) and in that box was one of those tin cases for a trial AOL thing, and in THAT was twenty dollars. It was just so silly, and I loved it. I was just really depressed about the whole situation, and he made it so much better. My other brother didn't give me anything, until my mom made him give me ten dollars. I still hold a bit of a grudge about that. I just have this weird thing about getting gifts. It just seems like no one really thinks about gifts anymore. I don't know. People try, but don't put much thought into gift buying. They may think they do, but I don'y think so. I like getting gifts, but I'm used to not getting them. Even though I'm not used to it because it still disapoints me when I don't get them. I don't know if that makes sense. My mom buys really bad gifts. I know she means well, and is very sincere in her purchases, but she can never get it right. I'll bet I'm a bad gift giver too, but I love getting people gifts. I think that some of the things I get people are too weird. Like I gave my dad a Kenyan stone sculpture last year. I thought it was really cool. The design was intersting, but not too bizarre. And we own other things that it would match with. I wonder if he liked it... I dunno. I got my mother some silver earings. But she doen't wear them. I really love getting people gifts. It makes me happy. Man am I rambling. I think I'm gonna go to bed now.

Officially exhausted. Physically and emotionally. I finished my Edward Scissorhands paper. It's done. Done to the point where it contains the fundamental characteristics that make it at least a decent paper. I feel so ill. I feel sick all the time now. In the stomache. Stupid internal organs. I guarantee they will be the end of me. Absolutely. I had this weird dream about a butler today. I took this crazy nap around oneish. I slept in my friend's bed, because she wasn't home yet. We had a butler. And I think I may have had sex with him. I think that has something to do with my liking old guys. I told my mom that once, that I liked old guys, and her answer to that was that "Yeah, you may like old guys because they seem like real mean, which they aren't, and they may like you because you're young and ravishing and have tight pussy, but the fact of the matter is that it never works out." To which I replied, "So you say there's a chance..." The worst part of that story is that my mother used the phrase "tight pussy." She has a history of using phrases like that which disturb me to no end. Like the time she said "vaginal leakegde" in front of my new love interest. Weird! Awkward doesn't even come close to describing that situation. It's nice to know that we can talk about that time now and laugh about my crazy mom. Anyhow, time for bed.

So yeah. I'm not sure why, but I'm really fucking irritated. At everything and everyone. Not everyone, but a lot of people I know well. I am moving!!! As soon as I can. God! This town sucks so much and breads annoying people. And the TV is on right now, and I don't know why, but it's bothering me too. Stupid fucking TV! I'm so agitated. I could explode with anger right now. I need to leave. This is a horrible place full of horrible people and I don't want to get sucked into this bullshit. I mean honesty. God I'm so pissed off. I feel like cutting myself off from people forever. From all the people that piss me off. Or maybe I should just tell them to their fucking faces that they make me want to puke. But that's a lot of people I guess. I don't even know what I'm writing anymore. It isn't even half true. I just feel really horrible right now. And no one can fix it.

blah.

Today at work I was really questioning whether or not I care about dying. I know that I sort of do, but at the same time, why? What can I avoid, or figure out before it happens. Nothing. So, if I was going to die, I don't think I would do anything about. Just let it happen. Maybe that's a lie. I can't tell. Trying to be logical and realistic, but I just can't. I'm so frusterated. I feel so alone in my thoughts and I don't understand them and neither does anyone else. I can't take this anymore. It's really driving me out of my fucking mind. When I end every day feeling like the only person in the world it gets depressing. And all I want is something new, or too at least loose my mind for real. That would settle it! Fuck!! The only person in the world.

What was I gonna say... I'll just observe for a little while... Martha the cat is extremely cute when she's asleep. However, when she's chewing up the wires to my speakers, well, let's say she's less than precious. I'm wearing a white knitted hat, and my hair is in pigtail brades, braids? Who knows, someone probably. Either way I look like a viking, what with my "braides" and Norwegian face. Sleep is where I'm a viking... Today has to have been a dream. But at least it was a nice one. Some Sublime an Oatmeal hit the spot to make it a great day. Once again, I find myself alone. Typing ramblings to a computer. And wanting to be somewhere else, talking with people. I believe I have this urge because I don't want to think my own thoughts. Some nights they just get way too intense and futile. And it's so hard to pull out of that nosedive. I don't know where these thoughts come from. There are what make me believe in demonic warefar. Or at least demons that is. Demons fighting my mind. I just have to keep myself occupied until I'm too tired to think anymore. I'm usually okay when I'm sleeping next to someone. But my solitude drives me out of my mind sometimes. I mean, I really truly feel crazy. Out of my mind. Or gourd for that matter. Whatever that means... I can understand why people want to be Christians though. I'd like that feeling or warmth and security I once had. Well, maybe I'll go to Big Boy and sit and draw or something. Today, in a crazy recovering from stoned stuper, I made the coolest collage out of an empty cigarette box. It was seriously the most creative thing ever. I cut it up and taped it back together. It makes me happy to know that I can take anything and turn it into something new. Go me.

I just read my last post, and it doesn't make any sense. Puctuation? What's that?

I don't know what to write. I'm really tired, but I can't sleep. My body won't warm up and my brain won't sober up. I'm drinking tea, I thought it might help. I think I should go to bed now. I'm not really working right. It'd really like to fall right asleep. So I don't start thinking about things that, right now, seem so incredibly important, but honestly, they shouldn't. I wish I could just take a bath. That would not only warm me up, but also put me half asleep? Why is Thanksgiving practically skipped? I mean, so many stores are already displaying Christmas decorations. I like Thanksgiving, maybe the best. Fall is such a nice time. Too bad it was sort of skipped this year. The season that is. Um, ya, my birthday is the day before Thanksgiving this year. What am I writing. None of this matters, and I'm tired. That's right.

Debating whether or not to sleep. I could...but I haven't done anything today. Let's see, woke up at 9am. Went to class until 12. Ate macaroni and cheese, (tasted bad) slept from 1pm to 3:29pm, went to work at 4pm, worked, worked, worked some more, got angry, ate chicken, felt ill, got angry again, worked some more, got off of work at 2:30am, came home, washed face, changed shirt, went to Jamie's, watched Life of Brain, laughed a lot... No, can't say that I've done a thing today. I'd like to emphasize the fact that the majority of my day was spent at work. I'd really like to go to The Large Adolecent Male right now, also known as Big Boy. Nothing like smoking inside. But I don't want to go alone. So the question is, to sleep or not to sleep. I'll bet that a) lots of people don't know what the phrase "to be or not to be" is from, and b) they don't get what it means. That is a great play. I love it. I think I'll read it again. I never understood why Shakespeare was so incredibly hard to understand. Maybe I'm just gifted in the ways of language, because I never really had too much trouble reading his work. For other students it was like some foreign tounge. I don't know. I smell of a thousand pizzas right now. It's disgusting. I have a blister on my right hand from cutting pizzas. Stupid, workatorium. Well...

Mmmmm....drugs. Need to work more. Why, you ask? Well, that's simple. I need more money to buy more drugs. Drugs. Drugs. Sedatives. Make-a me happy. In the brain. And everythings okay again. It's like being a child. And I don't have to worry about a god damn thing. Not a god damn thing. So, I had better go to bed before this delightful feeling wears off, and I'm myself again. Sex is a wonderful drug as well. I'd like to bottle that stuff. Yeah sex, best thing ever. Except for the whole baby making thing... Emotion-smotion. Shlonga is the key to happy as far as I'm concerned. And I'm not. Prostitutes have it made. They have lots of sex and get paid for it. Could it get better? Probably. But that's not the point right now, is it? My ethics are fading... fading. Not gonna think about this right now though. Keeping the happy is way too important. God, I'm retarded. And tired. Bed now. Question ethics later.

Tomorrow is a Friday. And it's gonna suck. Man, oh, man. Martin Luther rocks! I imagine Joseph Fiennes is much more attractive then the actual Luther ever could have been, but Luther rocks nonetheless. Anyhow, yes. I love people like that. People who know how to analyze. Not only analyze, but analyze the important things. I'm sure some jock could analyze a tape recorded football game, but what if we all figured out what was truly important, and analyzed those things, instead of all that pointless pish posh. I don't know. "Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind." What was I saying, yes, people who know how to actually THINK! They know how to absorb different ideas, and determine things. Make results happen. Stand up for what they believe in. That is a truly beautiful thing. "Give me something [good] to die for, to make it beautiful to live." I know that's a rock song and what not, but it's funny because it's true. There's nothing I enjoy more then talking with an intelligent individual. And it could possibly be anyone, so I usually let just about anyone talk to me. Then I make my silent judgments. I'm such a bastard. But a smart bastard. Sometimes.

I really love ceramics. I love working the wheel. I just flip out too much. I have high expectation, and when they aren't met, I wig. It should be a soothing time, instead it's exasperating and agitating. I wish it wasn't. Not to mention there are a ton of old ladies hogging the wheels. That superbly pisses me off. Why aren't there more wheels? Why are there so many old ladies? The thing is, I spend twenty minutes or so wedging the clay to make sure there aren't any air bubbles. After that I spend quite a while (depending on the day) centering the clay on the wheel. Then I spend however long, usually quite a while throwing the clay. And at any given time, in a split second I can fuck it up. In a second it can be at the point of no return. That! pisses me off. Talk about discouraging. Speaking of talking, I talked to the girl that took one of my handbuilt pieces. I told her that it was mine. She got really red and was mummbling words about how she had just picked it up. Well, I thought, if you just picked it up, wouldn't you think about whether or not it was yours? People are such assholes. Last night at work I was so pissed off at everything, I didn't even want to be there. If that makes sense. All these nice friendly people, telling me how good the food was, and that I was a good server. One guy even mentioned that business seemed really slow, and I must not be making too much money. He gave me a whole fuckin dollar. If patronizing smiles and compliments and kindness were money, I'd be a very wealthy individual. Stingy bastards. By the way, "spank" is an incredibly hilarious word. I don't mean the definition, just the word itseld. If anyone reads this, think about the word in your head, and say it aloud. It's just really a weird tone and augh! Maybe I'm just really weird in the mornings, because that's when I was thinking about this. Weird, weird, weird...

My mentality takes such a dramatic turn come nightfall. I don't have the same amount of pleasantness and hope that I had during the day. i can't imagine that fatigue would cause such a severe alteration. I wonder if that's a word. I can honestly say that I am much more tired now then I was 5 hours ago, but it's like I get depressed at night. It's that kind of tired. I don't really have much to be upset about. Nothing I can't ignore. I don't know. I feel so young. I feel like an old women in a child's body. I don't know. I don't feel like writing anymore. I don't think it's going to get me anywhere.

Feeling strangely better. Last night I took part in the secret veiwing of the movie Lost in Translation. It was a blast. Just a bunch of people, some friends, and I. We drank some beers, smoked some pot, and drank pina colada mix with a cigarette butt in the bottle. If that makes sense. It was gross and pathetic, but hillarious. A fun time I won't forget. I love those nights.

This is why I hate the night. This is why I can't do this anymore. What's wrong with me. Why can't I simply live. Why can't I not care. Why can't I care enough. I have no hope right now. Nothing to sustain me. I don't want anything tremendous. I didn't ask for much. And apparently the only thing I wanted was way to hard to give. I've made it so simple. I've writen five thousand recipes as to how to make Megan content. They're so simple. One instruction. Just one. And fuck. I have nothing to help me be cathartic anymore. Everything has done it's job for the time I had it. Everything has soothed whatever it is inside me that doesn't want to make me happy. But I've run out of ideas. And all I want to do for the next hour is cry about everything wrong with me. Everything stupid thing I've done. Every mistake I've made. Everytime I've told you that I love you. Because it doesn't matter how much it means to me. And I know that now. Fuck.