Happy New Year.

Pizza Pringles and Tropical V8 Splash...

...to my face.


Seriously I am drinking straight out of the jug, and I got these Pringles maybe 15 minutes ago and they're already a third gone.


On the bright side, Mom's cooking the duck tonight. Probably going to whip up the fresh turkey liver from the turkey we killed the other day as well.

I should really start a food blog...


These Pringles are so devilishly addictive.

HATEHATEHATEHATEHATE YOU PRINGLE MAN.

Morse.

._..  ..  _  _  ._..  .     _._  ..  ...  ...  .  ...

I Close My Eyes to See

Christmas? Really?

I didn't ask for anything.

I didn't want anything really, nor did I need the miles of ribbon and yards of wrapping paper concealing "surprises." I hate all the Oh-it-was-nothing-don't-worry-about-it's, and the ceaseless flash of the camera, capturing the moments of undressing the little boxes and hidden treasures. It makes me feel sick.

Knowing that someone else out there wanted these things, and got nothing.

Knowing that I didn't want these things, and got them, and still am kind of happy about it.

I feel guilty with all my gift cards and shiny new things. (But, I still... like them... which further sickens me.)

And it isn't even over yet.

This is the fourth Christmas this week, not counting the visits to my porch some of my friends made to pick up paintings I had done for them. I still have at least two more to go. Christmas at Mom's and then Christmas in the mail.

Honestly the only "present" I was looking forward to was seeing the smile on your face when you opened things from me. Really, all I wanted this year was to lay in your bed a while longer while you ran your hands through my hair and predicted the future. Like some sort of magician or fortune teller, come to seduce me. I'll take off my clothes and lay here for you, waiting for sweet words and little kisses and morse code. Really all I wanted was just to wish you a Merry Christmas and eat even more dessert and hold hands and joke about the mistletoe overhead.

I wanted to give you this puzzle piece that fits to mine. I want to remember this holiday happily.

I never liked Christmas, though.

I just like you.

It is Hard Not to Hate

I'm trying not to hate you.
But I can't help it, really.
I mean, I know it wasn't your fault.
But I honestly don't care.


Because, I swear, if I ever run into you somewhere...



You don't know me. I don't know you.
Let's keep it that way.

Everything

Wet Moccasins

I am a child.

Inevitable.

Your eyes are a milky blue, with sagging eyelids too tired to hold up your expressions of surprise and joy any longer. "I'm getting too old for this," you whisper as you quietly shuffle, grown shorter in your spine, through a mall full of teens looking for thrills and the latest trends. You longingly look at their posture and their lively legs. You glance at your worn cane, and back to them. You must take a rest now, so you sit on the bench by the indoor fountain. You watch the water ripple and the young couples kiss and throw coin-wishes into the dirty water. You cannot help but wish it was the Fountain of Youth. You remember your husband and how you used to sit with him down on the boardwalk, sharing secrets and straws at the soda fountain. You lower your head to look at the candles you bought, hiding your worn face from the glowing population surrounding you. Tears begin to follow the trenches in your face, falling from cloudy eyes plagued by bad sight. You hate so much to come home to no one but an old fat cat and a frightened canary. You haven't danced since before he got sick. Then, when he was bedridden you brought him his medicine. You took care of him so well. You remember that morning waking up, and feeling as if something was missing. You tried to wake him. Old woman, it was not your fault. Even if you hadn't forgotten his daily dose the day before, he would have gone all the same. Patience and pills could not save him from old age. And the same goes for you, and all of us.

Am I the Sunshine or the Sickle?

The dark creature speaks with eloquence and has an old-fashioned air. He remains nameless throughout his existance, an imp stationed firmly in the midst of something beautiful, sent to ruin and destroy. But he understands now. He said he knew where the light was, and that it would prevail. But, am I his minion? Am I to follow his path? I do not wish to know his intentions.

In and out of reality, the poor unfortunate host gasps for breath. Sucking the air like a desperate drowner. And I am sat down to listen to the sounds of the mixing, stirring, switching plot.

Are we to fall? Only he knows.

I wish to live forever with the love I have found.
I wish to be the sunshine,
and never the sickle to cut you down.

Become Tragic.

Y

Inspire.

A part of you has grown in me.
And so you see, it's you and me
Together forever and never apart,
Maybe in distance, but never in heart.


- Anonymous

Die.

Go ahead, you scum of the earth.
Please do me a favor.

But on the other hand, is the simple way out
ever the real answer?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The real problem is in the hearts and minds of men. It is easier to denature plutonium than to denature the evil spirit of man.
       - Albert Einstein 

Wish.

I will just close my eyes and pretend you do not exist.

Then I will open them, check to see if you're still there, and do it again.

Maybe someday I'll forget your name and your need for attention.

Maybe someday you'll realize how it meant nothing.

You mean nothing.

Now...



Disappear.

Shiver.

It's weird when you can't decide why you're shaking. Whether it's from the cold dampness of the leaking basement, or the fact that something so amazing as him really exists.

I feel sick a lot. It comes in waves.

I have never felt as lonely as I do now, sitting with a comforter wrapped around me in an office chair, water dripping into the corners of this sinking house.
It's really my own doing for letting things get this way.

The captain goes down with the ship.

Chemicals

Bad Engrish

I haven't eaten much all day, and this strawberry slushie is my dinner.
My friend looked pretty confused when I ordered a drink made of ice, on this cold winter night. My hands were cold and I froze my throat as the sugary drink went down. Cold inside and out, but I didn't care. I remembered all the things that went along with the memory of it. Every time I got it, something good was happening. With Olivia, Maran and Kristin at 11:30 that one night, or the one o'clock trip on the Fourth of July with my mom. But especially... Holding hands with a wonderful boy, walking around in the heat, smiling at the gracious clock that gave us more time than expected.

No matter how icy cold it is to the touch, it makes me all warm inside. The memories of it are dear to me, and I needed them all to become tangible again. The taste makes me remember.

Of Moons, Birds & Monsters

I realized something in my dark, unheated room last night.
Monsters are real.
Everyone has monsters that haunt them, or that live inside them, or evil forces that make them do terrible things.
I have my own monsters. They hurt me every day of my life.
Admitting that all those things that happened to me when I was younger were real is the hardest thing I've ever done. I remember everything, I just pretend I don't. I guess in a way, I'm lying to myself. But you, I can't lie to you. I never could. And I would never do anything to hurt you. I know how it feels to be hurt. I know how it feels to be terrified. I know what insecurity is. And I have done some things to hurt you, but it really isn't me; it's the monsters that are inside us that come out to hurt. Fear, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness.
I grew up afraid and confused. I never believed that anyone could love anyone without hating something about it. I was convinced I was worthless and that I had nothing to look forward to. I was convinced I'd die alone, and unloved. I've been used and lied to, and tricked, and hurt, and let down. Been kicked around and dented and beaten up. All because I live with constant confusion and suffering. There isn't a day that goes by that I think about things that have happened to me. Whispers, laughter, mocking, lies, questions, shaking knees. I never told anyone but you.
They deserve to burn in hell for what they've done. The monsters that haunt us, tangible and intangible. I want nothing more than to take all the ugly away. I want nothing more than to completely drain the toxins that cause our memories to blur and skip days. I want nothing more than to have our real consciences be in control again. I hate the the things that have happened.
But, you know... I don't think I have ever loved you more.

Lost Coastlines

It's really ridiculous that I cannot write a personal statement to save my life, yet I can post billions of words on here almost every day.

But, how am I supposed to summarize my life in a paragraph? How am I supposed to let them know who I am?
Do I even know who I am?

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just scared to admit that I do. Sometimes I'm scared to be myself.
I'm afraid I might hurt someone.

I'm getting closer and closer to the independence I've always wanted, but I feel as if I will always be weighed down by everything I've seen and heard.
The mile markers give me objects on which to count the mistakes I've made. And the further I run, the more things I remember about the past. The drive will be filled with blaring speakers and my red eyes staring out the passenger window. I'll avoid eye contact and communication with the driver, and ignore the piles of boxes behind me.

The scale is still balancing out.
On one hand, I can go somewhere where I will be happy, and get an O.K. education- but likely disappoint my whole family.
On the other, I can go far away from nearly everyone into a whole new place and get a comparitively better education (most likely), but I'll probably be uhappy the entire time.

Really, I don't even want to go to school. All I want is to wake up next to you. Let's stay in bed until the afternoon and forget to call our families. Let's let everything be beautiful for once. Let's try.

Sometimes I wonder why...

... I can't just speak in plain, simple English. Simple sentences. No more metaphors, no more hiding little inside notes.

But I realize, that really...
I'm just too scared of what would happen then.

I have no title for this because I am not clever enough to come up with it.

So, I thought last night would end up a total drag. I debated just skipping out and staying home, sipping tea all by my lonesome. But then I realized really "I am only thinking that it will turn out bad because I am worried from past experiences". I guess I label things alike too much. I decided to go and give it a try.

First off, there was horse shit everywhere in the streets. The carriage rides have started downtown, so that was interesting enough. I giggled to myself at the piles in the middle of the road, thinking how lucky I was that I had a cold and couldn't smell it.

I ended up having a great night, with some unexpected people. Laughing and yelling at each other, making awkward motions and sound effects. Laughing at our friend up in the front of the room, the Korean kid in the rice hat, singing five seconds of "She Bangs", styled in the way of William Hung (Really wanted him to sing Deck the Halls, A Christmas Story style). Paining our way through some tone-deaf performers. Singing the hell out of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Really, the two the three or four or five (or more) of us had some laughs. We went to Burger King, saw more familiar faces, and a man in a Turquoise sequined jacket. We threw french fries and took pictures of our shoes. Sang parodies of Poker Face. When she drove me and another hitchhiker friend to our homes, I wanted so badly just to stay in the car and keep driving with them. "Just keep going," I mumbled. "Forget the turn. Forget the rules."
My heart dropped as "It's down here right?" was asked by the other passenger. "I KNOW WHERE SHE LIVES! DUH." "Well, SORRRRRY I was just making sure because you said to tell you where we were going, so I did."

No matter how disappointed, I laughed quietly in the back seat, and looked at the plastic Halloween masks in the floor of the car. My laughter stopped. I wished I could wear one and just be somebody else, somewhere else for a day.

But they'd know what I was trying to pull.

I got out of the car, said goodbye and half-begged to "all do this again sometime", and shut the door behind me. The sound of the tires pulling away made me feel sick. No more pretending to be older. Back to being young again. Back to reality.
I sighed myself to sleep.

And Sometimes I Feel Like Nothing at All.

Sitting on my bed today I re-stuck the handcrafted robot sticker on the headboard over and over, running my hand from the bottom to smooth the detachment back to being plastered above my pillows. I kept thinking of you, all the little notes and scribbles I would find in the back of notebooks or on mysterious  scraps of paper. I miss that.

Truth is, I need you. You're the only person that's kept me in the right place. You keep re-sticking me to the place I belong, even when I hang precariously half-pasted, ready to fall and be crumpled at any second. You always smooth me back out, make me sturdy again.

So, there I sat with a blanket or two on my head, wrapped around me. My whole body shaking with cold chills and the occasional dry cough. You're like a bowl of soup. A much-needed remedy, but far away. A magical fantastical cure just out of reach.

Sometimes I really wish I would've gotten my license.

Constellations in Letters

The past few days have been absolutely wonderful for me. I read old letters, and looked at scribbles in all my filled notebooks. Little punctuation marks everywhere, leaving spaces for breath and finalizing meaningful phrases, etching them in lead or ink into the generic lines- they look like little constellations between all the words.
It was beautiful as I layed back on my pillow and gazed at the little marks. Periods following, emphasizing, such sentences as "I love you." Or the word "Forever." So pretty it made my eyes well up with happiness. It feels good to be alive.
I think that headache I had the other day was all the terrible things being blown to smithereens inside my head. Or at least I like to think of it that way.
Last night I sang on a stage for the first time in ages. I was shaking. Not because I was nervous, but because I was so incredibly excited. I wasn't used to the feeling of being so optimistic and confident.
Last night when I was falling asleep I had a feeling I have never felt. I was so absolutely carefree. I didn't have any worried thoughts or sadness before I went to sleep. I thought of how wonderful my life is, and how lucky I am to be here. I thought of all the people that mean so much to me and how they've changed my life. (You know who you are.)
I am going to forgive and forget and let people be who they want to be. I am going to be content with the life I have and see every day as an opportunity to do something wonderful. I want to make people smile. I want to smile. I will make things better. I will be a better friend and a better person. Everything is going to change.

I have never felt so alive.