I thought I was balanced, but I guess not. I just attempted conversation with an acquaintance. It didn't work out so well. I'm outside typing, and it's freezing, my hands feel like rocks. I literally passed out yesterday, rather, this morning at about 7:30am, and I woke up on the floor in my room and crawled into my bed. Woke up 13 hours later, and now here I am, and it's strange. Only ten hours in a span that lasted over a hundred hours. ONE HUNDRED. That's like four or five days practically with no sleep. That is just insane, which is funny, because that's exactly how I felt. Note to self: Don't talk.

I really could have done without that. I was just typing a post, not five minutes ago, and my computer here just decided it was going to freak out. That's lovely. Lucky for me, I'm so tired I don't even remember what I wrote, so I'm pretty much just starting over right now, but it's as though I didn't write at all... Nevermind. Okay. So, as I was saying, still no sleep. It's been eighty-two hours and only ten of those have involved some unpleasant form of sleep. I attempted yesterday afternoon around 5pm, but I kept waking up crying because of these horrible dreams I was having. They were terrible, and they still make me want to cry. So I eventually gave up, and decided maybe I'm just really not capable of sleep anymore. I really should lie down, however, because I've almost collapsed about three times this morning. I just cleaned the house. I felt like a machine. I have an art exam today, and am not looking forward to that. I haven't studied. I keep crying. It's almost exasperating. Yesterday, when I went to "sleep," my cat came and lied (I don't know if that's grammatically correct anymore.) down next to me because she noticed I was crying and sad. She purred and licked my knuckles, because she loves me and knows that I love her. And I told her all that was going on with me. I knew she'd understand. Cats know everything. There are important things I should be doing right now, like studying, but I just can't. I keep writing and writing and writing. Apart from the time I spent cleaning the house, I've been in a constant state of writing and working on my "journal," and reading what I've written since about two in the morning. That's at least a good six or seven hours. I don't know. I don't know if I can sleep. I have enough caffeine in me to kill a small animal. I don't know if that could happen, but I imagine that it might be something like drinking too much water. Hmmm. I've probably smoked a hundred cigarettes since Wednesday. No joke. I don't know how much longer I can deal with this. I just can't sleep or eat. This is horrible. Just horrible. I wonder if I should even be writing about this. Maybe I'll buy a bottle of wine tonight to "clear my head." Or something. Weird logic. I think I'm going to go cuddle with my cat and tear up while she licks my knuckles. Yes, that's what I'll do.

Let's do some simple addition, shall we? If on Wednesday I woke up at 12 pm, and went to bed at 5am the next morning, woke up at 8am that same morning, took an hour nap last night and an hour nap about forty-five minutes ago, by my calculations that mean I have received five hours of sleep in the past fifty hours, it being two o'clock Friday evening. That's forty-five hours I have been awake and moving, and five of rest. Not substantial. And let me tell you, I can feel the lack of sleep. And it feels like lots of confusion and sadness. But what did you expect? Me to sleep after all that? I can honestly say that is stupid. I have also smoked four packs of cigarettes in that span. Two last night. I am struggling today. While I was walking all over town last night I thought my lungs would burst. I went and made Lauren breakfast at seven this morning. She came downstairs really dreamy-eyed and bewildered, and I sang, "Here she comes, Miss America!" It was really wonderful. Then her dad came downstairs and I said, "Mornin' Sunshine!" He cracked a grin, which is pretty good for that surly old man. I had this dream in my - I just had to talk to this lady, because I'm at work right now, and it was very difficult. I felt really nervous, like I was high or something. - most recent nap, and it was really emotional, and I want to cry right now thinking about it. I dreamt that my dearest friends read my journal and were making fun of it because they didn't know it was mine, and they thought it was childish and dumb. I don't even know how to deal with that. I woke up and thought it had all really happened. I still kind of feel that way. Today is a sad day, which was preceded by a sad night, Thursday itself was okay, just brief fits of frustration and sadness. Wednesday, if I remember correctly was blissful. Today is not a good day. Today is not fine. I am not fine. I was attempting to move my car, so that I didn't get a parking ticket, and noticed I had a flat tire. "Awesome," I thought. My body is full of tar. I remember being about six years old, and I had done something wrong, and my mom was scolding me, and I said, "I hate myself." She spanked me a lot of times for that. I don't know, just a blip in my brain right now.

Today is Thursday, which is like a Friday to me, and Friday being like a Thursday, Saturday is still Saturday, and Friday, too. And Sunday is still Sunday. Today has been full of events, but I don't care to go into them. Not necessarily "bad" events, just interesting interludes with life, I suppose. But through most of it, I was listening to The Moon and Antarctica, which is such a good album. It's so versitle to me because I can remember being so utterly depressed and listening to it, or euphorically happy. Today I was very content, and it appeased that. How marvelous. I did get new glasses though, I don't know how I feel about them. I wonder if I look better without glasses, but glasses involve much less maintainence. I'm not indifferent, but I don't like or dislike them. I'm running on very little sleep, and am starving half to death right now. I am so incredibly tired. I can taste it. I like the phrase, "It's all the rage!" It slays me. I'm listening to this really soothing mix I made the other day, and it is just lulling me! Last night I wrote this really strange poem, I wish I had it now. I'd read it to you. But no dice. It was an explanation for my ... nevermind.

Not good enough. My crying spells have started up again. I think I may know why, but what a strange reason. I wonder if my excess of emotion is normal. If people usually get this way. I don't think I did before. Maybe that was because I was younger, and it was a relief. Or because of robots. There's a really strange episode of SeaLab on. It is the weirdest one. Chubby cox. For those who are familiar, I think you'll know what one I'm talking about. Ooh my... I just found a bottle of wine, so I'm going to drink it, and think about all these wonderful things I would like, or would like to do right now.. All these dreams I have. Irrational and way way too passionate. I want to live somewhere else. I'm ready for a new epoch. Should I try harder or ease up for my own sake. I need to hide out again.

This machine will not communicate
These thoughts and the strain I am under


Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love


Here's another thing from my old journal:

Actually.

Looking for that mouth to mouth resuscitation
Looking for that mouth to mouth sensation
"To restore consciousness, vigor, or life"
I'm drowning in my own desire
Sinking deeper is this loneliness
Maybe I can suck my own blood dry
Or rattle off my own bones
I'd like to leave that up to you
Actually.


Here's a revised rant I wrote a long time ago:

Sometimes I wonder what else there is to lose
Else
No debate over gain
He tells me to slow down
And it sounds like he knows
I'll do anything you say
Anything you tell me to do
We have set ourselves up
To speak and receive
People I don't even know
Telling and giving advice
Me, listening
And I'll do anything, you say
Words are like omens
Projected over radiowaves
A time and a place
A thought process
Will make anyone
Do just about anything
They don't even try
We listen anyway
So slow down, please
Okay.




I think I may have become too overly confident. I should probably stop while I'm ahead.




Immerse your soul in love
Immerse your soul in love.

Yes! I just read a hefty portion of my posts on the thing journal, and my goodness, I am great. I make myself laugh more than anyone else could. I feel like I should recap. February 1st and 7th struck me. So did November 11th and my birthday last year. I tell the weirdest stories. Talking about sex and bladder infections. How jealous of cats I am. How for a long time I dreamt about cutting all of my hair off. How I should call Conan O'Brien up, and ask him to be my friend. I also use the phrase, "happy as a clam" a lot. Wierd. But the weirdest part was that almost exactly a year ago I wrote about how I had been reading all of my old posts from my old blog, "Subject To Change," which is from my junior year in High School. I wonder if that still exists. Anyway, I just love it, and want to read it all, but have to finish my job. How delightful I am to myself sometimes. It's funny though, because when I get this happy, I find that I am very confused about it, and before thinking about how great it is, I wonder what's wrong with me. What is wrong with me? I am especially happy. AH! I FEEL LIKE I CAN'T MAKE THESE WORDS BIG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS WHAT I'M FEELING INSIDE!!! sighing now. Okay, I'm getting really overwhelmed right now, and I think I might cry. So before I get frustrated because I can't explain myself I'm gonna go. This is a riot. My eyes fill with water and I think, "That's more like it." How funny is that?! Maybe it's because I'm out of cigarettes. That's depressing. Well, let's finish this off with a hilarious thought I just had: They say the average human thinks about sex every 6 seconds. Well I think, with a little determination and hard work I have managed to get that down to 3 and a half.

oh yeah okay.

I wonder if people think I have poor hygiene. I would say that I don't think I do. But who knows really. I have this poetry assignment where I have to pick one song that I love and explain its poetic value. And I can't tell you how hard that is for me to do. First of all, choosing one song?! That's asking a lot. When I think I have one, I scroll through my ipod and find another five that would be just as great. So I end up with a list of 38 songs to choose from. Not to mention pretty much any Radiohead song. Ever. I feel really off right now. And I found my old journal, which is exciting. I read through the entire thing last night and discovered that it really doesn't say much of anything, and wondered why I was so careful about it "falling into the wrong hands." It's also funny that I feel like my writing has completely changed since I retired the ol thing. I wouldn't say I was disappointed in what I wrote, that is to say however, the majority was certainly trite, but it just struck me that I could have changed so much in such a short period of time. I don't know. A lot of if involves me saying something along the lines of, "I am so incredibly tired and need sleep." or "I think I drank too much coffee again." or "I am so depressed and want to die... but I don't want to be dead." Let's read from it, shall we?

this is the weirdest thing I could find in it:

For sure and upright.
Complex and unnegatiable.
These phrases repeating
Dominating my mind.
Soulfully sound and
unsadistic.
Capturing a chapter
And epoch of unbelief.
A drink and a dance.
Satin and lace.
Charming.
Unrefined.
Wasted.


Now, my favorite part is the made up words. I should do that more often, in writing form. I already do it verbally. There's so much stupid shit in the journal actually. It's unfortunate.

Here's a new one:


Are you the kind
That bores easily
Zips up your pants
As soon as you
Roll up your sleeves


hoe hum.

Second night in a row that I drank a bottle of wine and watched Donnie Darko at the Cla-zel at two in the morning. Such a good film. I cried. And then I stayed up all night and ranted about everything that seemed so important. Not that it wasn't. But you know how it is. I was too drunk to drive home. Then too drunk and tired. Stayed in that limbo for a time. Then I was just awake enough to drive home and make a sandwich before class. I feel like shit.
I just looked up quite a bit of information about the study abroad program. I could go to Keele University in Staffordshire, which is forty-five minutes from Birmingham and Manchester and two hours from London. Great. I also have some meetings to go to. I guess there just so happens to be one today, but I'm sure I will be sleeping when it takes place. Wouldn't that be lovely. Let's hope this works out for me. It seems less imaginary, now that I have all this information it gives the venture substance. And I can't imagine what it will be like at all now. That's rich. I could also get some grants or scholarships. Which, to some extent, I think is so incredibly stupid. Seriously, I want to go to school somewhere, so why can't they just say okay. Not, "with a lot of hard work, most students are able to make some money through scholarships for funding their international experience." I just want to go there and learn and try and enjoy myself in the process. Weird. I'm pretty crazy right now. Played pool at L'Marie's at six am. I'm just really confused and so thankful that today was a day that we got to go to the library and "look up things." I know my breath smells like old wine. And my coat smells like Grill. My outfit is a riot. I have this slip on and an army jacket and pearls and dark lipstick. The jacket is authentic. I found it in my basement. I'm sure I don't smell too pleasant. Well, I think I'm going to go now. Class is over. And so is Amnesiac. And so is this awake bullshit.

I did not intend

To live such an insane life.

The cigarettes help.

I can't handle trampolines. I just can't. My friend Lauren and I were jumping yesterday, and let me tell you. They freak me out. I'm afraid I'm going to loose control and fly off and kill myself, or fly into space. They are just dangerous. Maybe If I make a suit made out of pillows I'll be okay. That would be hilarious. Lauren and I are going dress shopping at second hand stores today, and I am ex-cited. I keep forgetting how great thrift clothes are. I suppose that's the media for you. I feel distracted by so many expensive things that I know I can't have and shouldn't have. If that makes sense. The reason we are purchasing these dresses is because today ends my detox program, for the most part. So we are going to get drunk. But not just any stupid kind of drunk, crazy and fancy drunk. We are getting out Fight Club dresses, like the one's Helena Bottoncarter (?) wore. Bride's maid's dresses. I bought a few yesterday, but I want to perfect one. And I have yet to find it. We're also going to put on each other's make up.

"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


end

It's been a while. Well, let's see here. School has begun again. I remember sitting out in front of Grounds (?!) this time last year, pondering school starting, eager to learn, the rusty gears in my brain turning once more... and here I am again. Time certainly does fly. And what a strange year it has been. I smelled this lotion today, as I was smearing it on my pastey legs, and it's scent ignited a memory, that scent was from Pittsburgh. I decided it was the smell of me realizing I didn't like who I was seeing anymore. That's all I have to say. I am so tired. It hurts. So do my intestines. Stupid digestive system.

Secret Terry the Secretary... I wish my name was Terry, not really, that name rings funny in my head, but it would be cool in the respect that I could refer to myself as "Secret Terry the Secretary" while secretarial. Listening to the Lost in Translation soundtrack. So good. I started making Mixed CDs yesterday. I spent hours doing that. The mix I created was for the employees at Grounds for Thought, because the only music they had was this traditional Irish music, which for a while is okay, but not for hours. Anyway, the mix I made was the "Punch In The Face Mix," which soon became the "Punch In The Face Remix Mix." I put some songs on it that I just didn't dig at all. They didn't flow. It was crazy awesome. It had so much hip hop and scratching and synthesizers and songs about video games. Mechanical Cat's CD is so good. Lately I've been really proud of my friends. We all have our silly flaws, and despite those the majority of the people I associate with are awesome, good, kind-hearted people. For instance, I was chatting it up with Eric Barton yesterday. What a doll. Can you say that about guys. What a gem. He makes me smile. There's this catalog on the secretarial desk called J.W. Pepper Choral Music Catalog: You Complete Resource Catalog for Choral Music, and on the cover is this incredibly unattractive man singing his guts out. He looks so awkwardly passionate. It makes me uncomfortable and feel sorry for his face. And there's this woman in the background and she's trying to look all angelic and regal or something, prolly because she knew her picture was being taken. Unlike Mr. J.W. Pepper, or whoever that is. I'm currently looking for an efficiency apartment to move into. I don't know how realistic that is, in reference to my finances, but my mom is driving me nuts. I just think we need these stints apart from each other, and it's not like she's going anywhere. I intend on going to church next Sunday. And going outside to sneak a smoke. They always seem better when there's sneaking involved.

I want to find someone cooler than anyone I already know, and say to them, "Get me out of this town,"  and then they'll say, "Let's go."  Goodbye.  I'm so incredibly lacking tolerance for everyone I know right now, with the exception of Lauren.  Who I am simultaneously trying to call on  the telephone.  She's not home.click.Oh well.  I know I'm just upset about the stupid drama that went down last night, but I feel like I was forced into this drama, and if there's one thing I hate, it's drama.  But 0n a lighter note, my friend told me I looked like someone from Ghost World yesterday, and that made me really happy.  I need to watch that movie again.  It's been years.  Speaking of years, it feels like it's been those since I posted last.  Let's see, what have I done, I had Jury Duty this week, I don't know why I capitalized that.  It was funny.  And cold and frustrating.  I dressed up like I was nuts.  They didn't pick me.  I'm listening to this Pinback I just acquired, and it's making me smile.  I love that.  I also got in my first car accident this week.   I've also been drinking a lot lately, which isn't so good.  Nothing really has substance for me anymore.  It's been really depressing.  And I often wonder how I got the the place I am in.  It seems like the people I've invested a lot in lately are being weird and sort of stupid, but I think that just has a lot to do with me at the moment, and how I'm dealing with things in a pissed off way.  There's this guy I know, and for some reason, I feel like he would understand me.   And I feel like I'll always think that.  Now this post doesn't make sense.  I got a second tattoo.  I'm at the church being a secretary right now, and I think I'm going to sneak out and hide in this strange fenced off crevice of the building and have a smoke.  trying.