Cast List

There are so many new people to write about now, but nobody back home knows them. Well, not nobody, but hardly anybody. Therefore, it is time that I make a cast list con picturas galore. Character bios should help.

Megan/Meegz/Megladon

Best friend of two and a half years. Everybody has probably heard me talk about her before. Love this bitch. I cannot imagine how college would be if we hadn't gone to Guilford together. She understands me more than just about anybody (with the exception of Alice, mi hermana). She's from Maryville, TN. We're planning on being roomies next year in Mary Hobbs (classy as fuck all girls upperclassmen dorm). Mary Hobbs has wood floors and awesome antique doorknobs. So psyched. We are also moving to NYC together when we graduate, to act and live and be merry.

Noah

I met Noah my second weekend here at a bonfire (there are drunken bonfires every weekend in the Guilford forest), although I had technically already met him because he lives on my hall. We went to Carolina's Diner at 4 AM and were instant friends. Well, first we were hookups for a couple weeks, but now he's like a brother to me, and it's weird thinking that we were ever hooking up. He's from Danbury, NC; I think that's what it's called. It's pretty nearby. He plays bass in a metalcore band called Sephiroth (geeky, right?). They have shows most weekends, so he's often not here to party with us on Saturday nights. It's not what he plays in the band, but he's a fucking brilliant guitar player, I am so jealous. He ran in high school, and wasn't going to here, but now he is joining the track team. He smokes a ton of pot. Then again, it's Guilford, so that's pretty normal.

Ryan Wroblewski/Baby Ryan/Ry

Ryan Wroblewski is another one of my brothers here at Guilford (I have so many, it is ridick). He also lives on my hall, in the room across from me. We have a shit ton of Ryans here for some reason; just on my hall alone there are three, and that's out of like fifteen people. Because of this, we have to call them other things. For Ryan W, it happened to become "Baby Ryan." He doesn't like that name though, for obvious reasons, so I have been trying very hard not to call him that (to his face). He runs xcountry/track and is from Virginia Beach. He has the most impressive sneaker collection that I have ever seen, it's an obsession. Kinda republican, but I love him anyways. I think he's double majoring in sports management and business.

Zewek

The one in the leather jacket. The guy next to him is James, his roommate (so weird). They live on my hall. Some of you probably know Zewek, like Julie. He's a fellow citizen of the Dirty D. Again, one more of my brothers. He plays rugby and he's silly as fuck. One of the most high-energy people I've ever known. Naturally, he seems to be fairly injury-prone.

Alright, I'm done for the moment being. I'm just going to publish this now, instead of saving it as a draft. I intend to make another installment to the Cast List later today, but there's no knowing, really. After all, this is me.

Love!

Spaceship outside the WIndow

The lights keep flickering. The blinds are dancing up a lovely horror.

When the wind whistles through Bryan it makes a spaceship that you can hear even here in Binford.

It's been a while, people. I have been wanting very much to blog lately, so I am doing so. This will not last. It may be the only time. I do not care.

I am happier than I ever thought I could be. Guilford is a home I have been looking for. Isn't that funny? I have a home outside of convention.

Tomorrow I have my last class of the semester. I can hardly believe that one eighth of my college career is pretty much over. I am afraid to leave college and be out on my own like a real, live grown-up. It is years from now, but nearing quickly.

Of course, I will not be truly alone. Megan and I are moving to NY together after graduation. We have made the executive decision that if, by the time we are thirty-five, we are still not married or in serious relationships, we will get married and adopt a little asian girl. We are assuming that gay marriage will be legal by than. If it is not, then the world is just plain ridiculous.

We'll have to get other roomies too, obviously. We're going to be poor as shit actors. Parker asked me yesterday if he can live with us. He wants to be a politician. I said yes. He is silly.

Yesterday Parker and Sarah were making a sculptey bowl on Jesse's floor (with metal parts, of course). They smoked it later and apparently it really worked. Probably smoked it in Stuart's room.

I spent a lot of my day yesterday sitting on Jesse's bed drawing. I drew pictures of Ryan Joy and Stuart. The one of Stuart was the best. Ryan put his on his fridge with his minute clinic magnet. I smiled.

Will kept looking at me and Ryan Joy oddly yesterday. I think it was because of the combination of our penchant for cuddling and Ryan's having a girlfriend back home. He kept giggling at us.

I guess it is obvious what is going on.

fml.

Actually, what is obvious is probably not even what is true. I am pretty sure that everybody on our hall thinks we are hooking up. We are, in fact, not.

Who knows what the future holds in store, though.

Saturday night, technically Sunday morning, I came back to my room at five AM. Half the lights in the room were on, and Lia was sprawled out on her bed in her clothes, over the covers, face down in her pillow. She looked up a bit after I entered. Without even saying so much as "hello," she looks at me and says "Did you get with Ryan Joy?" Oh, marijuana. Oh, alcohol. Oh, college.

I wrote this yesterday, but Meg came in and so I saved it as a draft. I'll hopefully write another today. Maybe a character guide for the story of my college experience. :)

LOVE!

If I Could Sleep Forever

(title is from the song Sleep by The Dandy Warhols; go listen to it, it's amazing.)

I am in over my head. The play I'm directing is already freaking me out completely, mostly due to Mr. Martin, and it's only been a week; we haven't even begun rehearsing yet. 

I am so weak right now. I didn't start feeling this bad until four fifteen or so. At four fifteen I took a half hour nap. Then around six I went back to bed, and slept until nine. It hurts so badly to walk. My limbs are like jello, but then at the same time they feel like dry old bones. Like those cow bones I used to dig up with my mom and my cousins when I was younger, in the forest behind my grandmother's house. They easily could have been a hundred years old. We would bring them to the ancient gazebo in the woods and pretend to be archaeologists, cleaning them up and displaying them on the gazebo table. They were so dry. There would be pieces chipped off of many of them, and you could see their insides. I can't even explain how it looked, but that's how what I feel like I'm made out of; the insides of old cow bones. 

Once we found a deer skull. It was also really old. Part of the hard outer bone of what I guess you could call the muzzle was broken off, so you could see what was under the bone. It was so strange. I don't quite know what it was...maybe long ago deteriorated cartilage or something. It was basically like tissue paper. Rolls of delicate cream-colored tissue paper. It was truly quite lovely, as morbid as that may sound.

I have to go now, there's this terrible pressure behind my eyes, I can't keep them open any longer.

Until next time, loves.

Tagged

I was tagged by Julie at Candy Hearts to make a poem starting with the second letter of my last name. Sorry it took me forever to do this, I've just been so busy.

Apples float into my head

through the tiny stereo in my ear (its twin is in yours).

I can't see them,

But I feel like

they're probably red.

You say you want to show them to me

because I'm glow-in-the-dark;

We just can't see the dark

in this summer sunshine,

sand between our toes.

I could say the same about you.

There's sunshine straw

that's soft between my fingers

sleeping on your head, slipping over your crown,

and your eyes, 

each a dark little dot

with a pale and bright blue light behind it

pushing around its silhouette

and contained by a fine but strong navy ring,

burn circles into my mind.

I can't see them,

but I feel like

they're probably red.

I tag Adma.

And by Adma I mean Adam.

AAAAAAAAAH

OH DEAR LORD. 

THE JACKET IS BACK IN STOCK!!!!!!!!!!!!

Unfortunately, it's only back in stock in camel and not the navy or black, but it was in medium, and I just ordered it, and I feel like I'm going to die of joy. Seriously. I will die of joy and be buried in that fucking glorious piece of outerwear. It doesn't even show up when you're browsing the urban outfitters website. I was searching for it on google, trying to find somebody selling one secondhand or something. Lo and behold, I came upon a link to the product's page...and it was magically back in stock! My guess is somebody returned one...and I got it!!! Oooh lord...I haven't been this happy in weeks. First a totally amazing episode of BSG, and then the return of what seems to be me in jacket form.

Mmm...everything is beautiful.

:D

I Divorced Him

I facebook divorced him.

I clicked the x next to his name for the first time in four weeks.

I told him what I could

of what is in my head

and he said nothing back.

I said goodbye.

He said nothing back.

That was when I cancelled our relationship

And clicked away his box.

I am trying to feel liberated

but I can not get out of that box

that I just clicked away.

Separation is not organic

for me.

It has always been a conscious decision

Not to play with Barbie dolls anymore

To put my stuffed animals in a bag in the attic

To teach myself to stop being ticklish

To stop watching Dragon Tales

To assume No Contact status

and forget about that person

and that attachment.

I do not grow out of things

and I never have.

It was always more like

I was never a child

just a little adult

who knew what year it was

and when it was time to move

to the next stage in my childhood.

Artificially created childhood.

Yeah.

This afternoon I finished the drawing/painting I started yesterday for Michael. I think I might visit him tomorrow in the hospital and give it to him. Poor kid. 

Always love.

Wishlistin' and Guitar Playin'

I've been making my birthday wishlists online. So far I've done my F21 one and almost finished my UO list. It's actually really fun picking stuff out. Of course, everything I've picked out is clothing...>_<

I want to start writing some music again. My guitar finally has new strings, and it's b-e-a-utiful. I know I'll totally suck when I pick it up again. I have to wait until I have a good chunk of time home alone to play. No way am I playing with other people around to hear me. Not until I get better again. I miss writing and playing my music, as terrible as it is/was.

I went to the new Ikea this weekend and had a panic attack. Then I got carsick on the ride home from Charlotte, and we got stuck in a traffic jam for forty miles. Fun. I did get some cute lace curtains though, finally. 

I wonder if I'll even be able to find any of my picks. I hope I can find my favorite one. It's a thick medium sized clear red plastic one with little holes in it. It's been my favorite since seventh or eighth grade.

My new steel strings are so shiny. They're just glinting at me from the corner of my room. I can't wait to play again.

:)

.

Fuck boys. 

I'm going to go become an atheist lesbian nun.

I'll write a book about it or something.

Meh.

Sorry I haven't been posting.

Not that anybody cares, but neither do I, so it's whatever.

I've been insanely busy with homework and health and whatnot, it's got me completely exhausted. Blogging just takes too much energy sometimes; energy I don't have.

In psychology we're doing psychological disorders.

Problematic?

Most definitely.

Especially with her in the room.

It just brings everything back.

Sometimes I wish people knew what she did to me.

Sometimes I think it's better for their sakes that don't.

I don't think a lot of people could handle that...people want to be happy. I don't want to make them unhappy.

My biggest fear about trying so hard not to tell people about what happened is that if people don't know, then she may very well blindsight them all and do something terrible again. That's just how sociopaths are. I don't know if I could live with the knowledge that I maybe could have prevented somebody getting seriously hurt, emotionally or physically.

Oh lordy lord. I go into entries not intending to be all dark and moody and whatnot, and then it just comes out. Whatever.

In English class we're reading Brave New World. I'm just on the ninth chapter, but I absolutely love it, it's fascinating. Hopefully my interest in the book will help me to bring up my English grade...

Ciao, bellas!

<3

It's demanding to defeat those evil machines.

Hello crunchy children. 

Yesterday I went to the cardiologist. They did an EKG(what else is new), but this time they also did an ultrasound of my heart. It was so weird actually seeing my heart on the screen. There it was, just pumping away in its full black and white glory right before my eyes. The ultrasound technician showed me the chambers of my heart and all. It wasn't really what I expected a heart to look like, it was nothing like the pictures I've seen. 

After wiping all the ultrasound stuff off of my chest, I was set up with a little heart monitor or whatever. The monitor itself was clipped to the waist of my pants, and there were I think five wires coming from it. Each wire had an electrode with gauze at its end and each end was securely taped to my skin somewhere around my chest. Whenever I had an attack or a spell or whatever, I was supposed to press the purple button on the monitor, and then write down the time it happened, the symptoms, and what I had been doing on this chart thing. I couldn't take the little fucker off for 24 hours. So yeah, I had to sleep with this rectangular plastic tumor on my hip and wires across my torso and liberally applied tape irritating my skin. My doctor said that some people have to wear them for thirty days, only taking them off to shower. That would really, really suck. It's impossible to be comfortable wearing it, I can't even imagine wearing it for a month. 

My mom sent my teachers an email about my health. She thought they should probably know why I'm absent so much. I guess they should, but I just don't want to look like some kind of pathetic pansy who can't handle a little pain. I certainly feel pathetic. There are so many people out there who have it so, so much worse than I do. Stupidly enough, I hope my teachers don't look at me differently or strangely on monday. 

I have electrode pictures, maybe I'll post them tomorrow. Maybe not, if I'm too lazy.

peace.

Chanel Spring 2009

Chanel's spring 2009 collection is immaculate. I did like their previous tweed faze, but this...this is the Chanel I love to see. It's all black and white(at least in the show), and everything has these beautiful clean, geometric lines, consistent with the perfectly tailored cuts that Chanel pulls off so well. There are a couple pieces that I'm a little iffy about, but only two or three that have this shinier black almost plastic looking material featured in the outfits. The collection was riddled with cropped jackets, round collars, defined shoulders, simply tiered layers, round mod buttons, tulle and beaded subtle little flowers and frills, lace contrasted with more modern materials, and utter fabulousness. The clothing was drenched in Chanel's classic class, but updated and innovated in ways that I have never seen Lagerfeld work before. Overall, it was clean, fresh, light; everything spring should be.

Today sucked, but I'm home now, so it's whatever.

I'm really excited to get my Delia's order. Ah, the joys of online shopping. New clothing is so exciting...even just one new article of clothing can create like, a gazillion(just an approximation) new outfits. If only I wasn't so awful at sewing my own stuff. Oh well. I'm especially excited about getting this dress and these shoes.

In other news, I've had terrible writer's block ever since we started fiction in WtL. I don't know how I'm going to crank out a couple pages by monday...I don't even have an idea to work off of yet. On the overall creative front, however, I do have a photography project planned, and I'll probably start working on it this weekend. I don't really know how to explain it, and if I try, it will just sound stupid, so I won't...but I still can't wait to do it. :)

See you kids on the flip side.

<3

Shangri-la

All I want to do right now

is go to Shangri-la

in Yanceyville

and lie on my back in the grass between the white quartz buildings

in the darkness of early nighttime

and feel the rain on my face.

Then the pouring rain

will turn the ground to soft mud

and I will sink into it

inside the earth,

forever a part of a miniature world

that means peace

and simplicity

in a world of highways.

The stone that has sat at the foot of the sign

in the front of the little village

for over thirty years

says "Let me live in a house by the side of the road and be a friend to man."

That stone

will be my tombstone

because when I am dead

I want to live in a house

by the side of the road

and be a friend to man.

I don't know, that's just how I'm feeling right now.

Neurotic Bugs

I did not sleep at all last night.

I am somewhat doubtful that I will be able to tonight.

The bugs won't stop crawling.

At least it gives me something to write my awful poetry about.

If you can even call it that.

I just want some Vallium or something.

Anything to stop my current period of neurotic mania.

I just want to be able to lie down and sleep without these little hallucination bugs crawling all over me.

In other news, we're doing fiction in Writing through Lit, and it is brutally kicking my ass. I seriously sound like a middle schooler when I write short stories. I am NOT looking forward to having to share with the class. 

On a lighter note, here's Adam in a dress (September 2004).

Kinky Boots

I'm watching the movie Kinky Boots.

Obviously, that made me think of drag queens.

Then thinking about drag queens made me think of a fucking awesome job...

Professionally dragging people out.

Oh my God, that would be SO fucking fun.

I <3>

If I were a guy, I would probably be one...I'm not so huge on female drag, but drag queens, I love.

Ru Paul is FIERCE.

Always There

He is always there, in the back of my mind and my heart, on the soles of my feet, the back of my neck, my ribcage, my hipbone.

I have been doing better lately, I have not been thinking about him nearly as much. I still think about him every day, but it isn't every half hour.

I had the dream again last night. I was so hoping I would not have it this month, but I guess it was inevitable, especially with Valentine's Day just around the bend. I cannot remember how long it has been since I have gone a month without having the dream. Jesus, could it be a year now? I guess so...damn. Wow.

I hate it when we talk about repressed/suppressed memories in psychology. I hate how the people in the textbook or on the videos, or even Mr. Magrinat, say that memory repression hardly ever exists, and it's kind of a myth, a psychological misconception born from Freud. They haven't experienced it. They don't know what it's like to suddenly one day remember the death of the person you loved, to remember that that person even existed, after years of repression. So fuck you, people who say that stuff. It's not really your fault, but it still hurts.

I hate when people make fun of suicide and SI. I hate that sometimes I do, too. Maybe I am just trying to play it all off. I don't know. All I know is that they are all afraid. So, so afraid. That's why they joke. They're afraid, but they don't even realize it. God, if they had seen what I saw, they would realize their fear. His gun, his blood, his pills, the note he left behind for me...but I would never wish that upon anybody. I would never wish for anybody to see that every day in their mind, to dream about that blood every fucking month.

No, that's not true.

I would wish it upon his parents, in a heartbeat.

Where do you draw the line between suicide and murder?

Jesus Christos, that was a fucking annoyingly angsty post. If anybody for some strange reason read any of this, sorry to waste your time. I have not left my house in days due to sickness, and I'm getting a little stir-crazy. >_<

Hasta la vista, bitches.

:)

Conflicted, Afflicted

I am conflicted.

It is about a boy. 

What else is new?

I feel that I may be in grave danger of once again repeating the same mistakes I always make. I may be in danger of settling for someone, and not even knowing it.

I feel so strongly for Mika, and I want him so badly. I cannot help it, truly. My heart cannot be stopped by the fact that he is so dreadfully out of my reach.

This other boy, this new boy, is very different from Mika. For one, he likes me. I do not mean to be vain in saying so, but it is fairly obvious. I am so weak when it comes to flattery;mostly, I suppose, due to the way I was treated and seen, especially physically, for so long. This weakness sometimes tends to make me think that I have feelings for somebody, which gets me into trouble not long after starting something with that person. I lose my attraction to them just as quickly as it was born.

And then I end up hurting people.

We are similar, I suppose. We both do not do any drugs, except for moderately drinking and the occasional cig, if you count that, because we have both learned our lessons. We both love art. We went to school together for a couple years. We both like dorky sci-fi, and he is one of the few people I have met who has watched and loved Firefly and Serenity. Most importantly, we have both known loss. We have both lost friends to tragically premature death. I don't know, it means a lot to me when people know what that is like, because it is truly not the kind of thing you can just understand through any kind of explanation. 

I do not think he is as bad as people seem to think he is.

People say he is trouble.

I was a bit afraid of him at first,

but now I realize;

I am the trouble here.

I am the threat to him.

I do not like being so dangerous.

I probably seem so ridiculous and annoying and disgustingly self-important and conceited when I tell people what I am. I must seem like an open book who thinks other people care about my stupid personal shit or whatever, because I am so forthcoming with the facts that I am bipolar, and that I have experienced a lot of crazy, terrible things. I suppose they do not realize that I am trying to warn them;I am trying to protect both them and myself. A lot of people are afraid of people like me, with problems like I have. I do not want anybody to grow close to me and then find out the truth, and go running. I do not want anybody to go into a relationship (whether it be friendship or something "more"), without the knowledge of what they are getting themselves into. The pain will be worse for us all if we do not see it coming. If we, or they, rather, do not see it coming, it cannot, will not, be prevented, and everybody will hurt.

Agh.

Maybe when I go to college, I will pretend I do not have these problems.

Who knows?

Megan

She is not strong

Because of the sarcastic wit

with which she speaks.

She is not strong

because of the sea foam eyes

that are a magnet to those around her.

She is not strong because she's...

Queen bee

Singing with a power in her voice.

Contrary to popular belief,

she is not strong because

she laughs off things that remind her

of the abandonment of a father who left,

or because when she coughs into a paper towel,

Then checking it for blood,

She jokes about the fact 

that with a simple case of mono,

she may literally cough up her lungs. 

No...

She is strong

Because

When we are alone

in our dorm at night

She cries,

for fear

That she is not.

My tenth or eleventh poem so far for my long-term Writing through Literature project. I'm writing a series of portrait poems. This one's about my best friend, Megan. God, I miss that bitch.

<3

ill

I am deathly ill.

Agh, I hate being sick.

Too bad i get sick like every week.

My throat and lungs are on fire, my spine is shooting pain through my entire body, and my chest and abs are ridiculously sore from all this coughing.

I probably won't be able to go to school tomorrow.

What else is new?

All I can say now is...thank God for Halls cough drops. 

Seriously.

Poetry Drains and Fills

I wrote a lot of poetry today. I've been trying to face the parts of my past that I don't tell people about, using poetry. Today I actually made some progress. It was draining though. I talked about him for pretty much the first time ever. Yeah, I've mentioned him before. I have told my therapist just briefly, once, a couple years ago what happened. Even then, I almost vomited just saying the words. I've mentioned it to Megan. I don't think there was anybody else. Maybe. Either way, I have never once told anybody the details, the story, the things that make it disgusting and horrifying. In my poetry, I always hide the truth behind metaphors and obscurity. I have to stop, I have to try to tap into the truth I've been hiding. God, but it leaves me so dead and tired...worth it? Yes. All of it.

Found

OH DEAR LORD, I FOUND MY NOTEBOOK.

I'm so, so happy.

I finished the poem I thought I'd lost to the abyss that is my bedroom.

It was so hard not to let it go on forever.

I cut it off at almost two pages.

There's just so much to say about him.

It's one of my portrait poems, for my series.

You can't put every detail in a portrait.

You have to try to show them through a selection.

So I didn't get to talk about bagels or noodles or the peach and grape flavored bottles of champagne we finished between us

or sharing cups and plates

or rolling around on the carpet laughing

while other party-goers step over us and give us weird looks

or laughing at Chelsea Lately together, 

or him talking to his mother in Portuguese on skype

or a million other lovely things.

I want to take a nap in his redeeming features.

Today in psychology we were talking about sexual orientation. Ms. McDevitt, aka Ms. Canklebitch, mentioned this recent study that suggested that guys can't be bisexual, but girls can be. My heart sank. If that's true, then he's probably gay, and he will never love me. Not like I want him to.

Red lipstick is empowering in a way. I liked wearing it to school today. On days other than those in spirit week, I probably wouldn't dare.

Maybe I should dare more.

Hmm.

Lost Notebook

I lost my physics notebook. I wouldn't normally care much about that, but during physics last week I wrote this poem in it that I've been trying to write for weeks now, and now it's lost, my first at all decent draft of that poem. Agh. 

I went to the doctor today. The doctor had a German accent. Around the end of the appointment, my mom started jabbering away with the doctor in German, so that Alice and I couldn't tell what they were talking about. I know she was talking about my weight. I may not know German, but I could understand parts of it, and it's really annoying that she's always so concerned about my weight. The doctors say my weight is fine. In 2005, I had a BMI of 15.5, weighing in at 92 pounds, placing me in the second percentile for girls my age. I was eating under 500 calories a day, and working out for about two hours a day. I've gained twelve pounds since then, I eat a ton, and I never work out anymore. She needs to get over it, because her obsession with my weight and whatnot just makes it harder for me to not think about it. I've been doing a damn good job of that lately, and I intend to keep it that way.

I spend my minutes

Writing words

About you...

So that I'll have an excuse

to think about you.

There are only so many new thoughts

But if I write them down

They'll take longer to exhaust.

I want to think words

about you

And I wonder

If you ever want to think words

About me, too.

Me, December 2005.

Lies about Chris

Chris did that "25 random things about yourself" thing on facebook. God, some of the shit he says is so annoying. It took so much effort not to be a total bitch and call him out on it in a comment on his note. Who knows why he tagged me in it. I guess he somehow still thinks we're friends. Naive little bitch.

The first one was "I'm obsessive compulsive. And, you'll never know what about." Well, Christopher, I do know what about. You told me. Stop trying to be all mysterious and interesting or whatever, you're not.

"I smoke cigarettes. Lots of them." You didn't used to. You used to be so totally against smoking and drinking, and I actually kind of respected that, despite the fact that I do both. Way to stick to your convictions...

"I'm a freethinker. Trust me." You just want to think you're a freethinker. You're not. You think things because they go against the beat, and that's not free at all, because the beat is still controlling you.

"I used to cry a lot. Sometimes I still do." Used to, as in this summer. God, you cried so many times.

"I'm sexy." You are so not sexy. I may have thought you were cute when we were going out, but sexy? No.

"I have an ego, but for good reason." No, you are an ego, and there is no good reason for that.

"Elisabeth Zeitler is my babygirl. Seriously, I've never fallen so quickly." Oh, that's rich, Chris. You've never fallen so quickly? Do you remember when you started sobbing because you "cared about me so much" the second day we were together? Hmm, yeah, sure. 

"I don't smoke pot." It's only a matter of time, babycakes, at the rate you're going at.

"I dance when I'm drunk; I belligerently beg people to cuddle when I'm wasted." Again with the lost convictions. 

"I hate politics. Politics are void of action." ...I'm not even going to start on this one, because I will most likely explode.

"I say whatever that fuck I want." Okay, first of all, you wrote "that," instead of "the," and it's really annoying, and makes you sound like even more of a pretentious immature little idiot when you say it than already. Secondly, yeah, you generally do, because you have no regard for most other people's feelings. You just want to put off this image of not giving a shit and being all cool and independent and whatever, and it backfires, because really, you just come off looking like a total douche, which you are.

Alright, I just had to get that out.

I can't believe I dated him.

Ugh.

Space Heater

I love my space heater. You don't even know. I'm one of those people who just can't handle the cold, and I get cold really easily. I generally have the heater on the highest setting, sitting next to me while I'm at my desk.

Lulabelle won't shut up, it's really annoying...but if I let her out of my room, she will just walk up and down in the hallway meowing and echoing. I love her, but she's such an attention whore.

Yes, I just called a cat an attention whore.

My hands are especially cold. My hands and feet. I'll touch somebody and they'll cringe and ask why I'm freezing, which sometimes kind of sucks. Except for with Mika. His skin is on the hotter side, so he needs the cold, and I need the heat. It works.

I am so weird. I swear, I'm like an alien or an un-sexy vampire or something. I'm cold as fuck, pale as fuck, I barely ever scar, and the couple times I have, the scars have disappeared within two or so years, insects and spiders don't bite me, I sometimes go momentarily blind, I get sick all the fucking time, and I'm pretty weird looking too. Who knows, maybe I'm not human after all.

I don't understand why bugs don't bite me. They used to, although not as much as they did other people. Not even one mosquito landed on me this summer. I was outside a ton, and I was in North Carolina. It's been like this for a few years. In the past couple years, sure, I've had the occasional mosquito land on my arm, but I still don't get bitten. 

I don't get stung, either. I'm not afraid of bees, not at all. Sometimes I'll even let them crawl around on my hand, or I'll pick them up until they can fly away if they're hurt. I just don't get stung. I tried to research it online, but I didn't find much. 

Mika is grounded this weekend. 

I asked him if they celebrate Valentine's Day in Brazil.

He said they do, but it's on June 12th.

I couldn't get up the nerve to make a segway to related topics.

Ugh. I hate myself.

Hah.

Polyvore

Yesterday, I discovered polyvore.com. It's totally amazing. Seriously. You can make collages of pictures of shit you like. It's addictive. I know I could do that already by myself by hand or on the computer with corel or photoshop, but it's easy this way, and there are sooooo many pictures of things from a ton of places on the internet. Check it, folks. I designed a couple valentines with it, so be excited, because I might post them on that day of the year.

I'm not sure yet if I should be excited or depressed about Valentine's Day this year.

Hmm. We shall see.

Everything is Temporary

He might be getting his diploma in February.

That diploma is the main reason he's even in the states.

I think that when he gets it, he might leave.

Everything will turn beige again.

Everything is temporary. 

Yeah. That's it.

Does Not Work Well with Others

At the pound, on every dog's kennel there's a card that gives a little bio about them. It says things like name, gender, age, whether they were surrendered or a caught stray, breed, and temperment(are they good with kids, do they play well with other dogs, etc.). If I were a dog at the pound, the paper card on my kennel would probably say "Does not work well with others." I never have worked well with others, really. Somehow that doesn't sound right though. Sometimes, especially now, it feels like my card should say "Not worked well with by others," or "Others do not work well with her." 

We're doing group projects on Shakespeare plays in AP English right now. My group is doing Macbeth. And by "my group," I mean mostly me, and partially two other group members out of the five of us. I spent about five hours on this project tonight, I just finished. I feel like I can't rely on anybody to do what they need to do. I guess it's kind of a good thing though, because as a result of my not believing other people would do their jobs, I prepared by starting to do their parts on my own, just incase they didn't come up with jack shit. And what do you know...that's exactly what went down.

My fingers are fucking shaking right now, my eyes are stinging, my mind is spinning, and I feel like my body is deteriorating. I just get so stressed and angry when people are that unreliable. I mean, I don't do a lot of my schoolwork, and my grades are disgusting, but when I'm in a group for a project, I will not let other people down, because that's just kind of a fucked up thing to do. 

Fuck this shit, I'm going to bed. I probably won't be able to sleep for a few hours, but damn it, whatever, I'll think of someway to put my brain on pause.

No, no I won't. I never will. AAAGH. My mind will never slow down, never rest, never shut the fuck up.

Oh shit, I literally feel like I'm spinning.

Goodnight.

By the way, Mika texted me back finally this morning. Apparently he's kind of been on lock down, because Thais's parents found the bottles in the garage, so he and Thais are sort of grounded right now. It's a relief knowing he's not just totally bored with me or something.

GoodnightX2

Rising and Falling Thoughts, continued.

My favorite piece of punctuation is the ellipsis. I don't know, I just love it...hah I didn't even mean to use it just then. Maybe I overuse it, but I don't care, because it's perfect for so many things.

I totally have a girl-crush on Lady Gaga right now. It's my goal to hook up with somebody to the beat of "Beautiful, Dirty, Rich." Preferably a certain Brazilian boy...oh God, somebody put me out of my misery...except for not, because this kind of misery can feel so damn good sometimes.

I wish I knew how to make really cool cameo jewelry, like the antique necklaces/brooches, etc. I'm just totally in love with cameos right now. Old stuff is so cool.

On his Orkut profile, Mika has a couple pictures of me and him. I've been trying to translate all the comments that people have made on them from Portuguese to English, but they really just don't make sense. Portuguese is a fucking weird language. I like it a lot, but there are some truly bizarre sounds in the words. I love it when Mika is talking super fast in Portuguese, like when he's talking to his mom back in Brazil over Skype on his webcam. And he'll turn his laptop so that the webcam will be on both of us, and his mom can see me. She's so cute, and she likes me, which makes me really happy. I guess she'd like any girl he was with though, because she doesn't support his liking guys. >_>

Speaking of Mika, I texted him when I left school today asking what he's doing Friday night, and he hasn't texted me back. 

Oh good God, I don't know what to do with myself.

My heart keeps changing with the music, but one thing stays the same.

ShamWow + Snuggie?

WHAT IF...

Late, one cold, stormy night...

Some mad scientist was doing whatever mad scientists do in his creepy secret underground laboratory...

And ALL OF THE SUDDEN...

The television in the corner turns on BY ITSELF...

Playing the infamous...

SNUGGIE COMMERCIAL...

So the mad scientist turns off the TV and keeps on doing mad scientist stuff...

And then, ALL OF THE SUDDEN...

The television in the corner turns on by itself AGAIN...

Playing the infamous...

SHAMWOW COMMERCIAL...

And then there's a huge crazy burst of lightning and thunder...

And the mad scientist laughs really loudly and maniacally and sinisterly...

Because he has just thought to...

COMBINE THE SHAMWOW AND THE SNUGGIE.

PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT.

Little Girl

You hate me.

You hate me, 

because of stupid shit

that happened forever days ago.

Stupid shit that had happened before,

has happened since then,

and will happen time and time again.

I guess I was special. 

You super-sized that hissy-fit

for me.

Not for the others,

just me.

You didn't throw a hissy-fit

when you did it yourself

to somebody else.

Why is that?

Oh, yes,

All apologies,

I forgot–

Because you are the

Victim.

You are a

Martyr,

because you have cried.

Tears are not a sacrifice, 

Little girl.

Tears are part of life.

You're nothing special

just because you cry.

God, you're like that fat baby in the grocery store

screaming and wailing and blubbering away

because you didn't get it your way.

Because your mommy dearest

wouldn't get you some hydrogenated treat.

Well let me tell you,

You fat little baby,

You are not entitled to it.

To anything.

You are not some fucking queen.

Cry, 

Little girl,

cry,

cry away.

Eventually,

Everybody will kiss you

and hug you

and tell you you were right

and I was wrong.

That he was "stolen" from you.

Guess what,

young lady.

People are not objects.

They are not cushy dolls

to drool on in your sleep.

They are not your possessions,

Not yours to be stolen.

This is not a game

of "finders, keepers,"

And the fact that you "saw him first"

entitles you to nothing,

no rights to ownership.

The truth is, you didn't see him first.

You saw him before me,

but not first.

He didn't come into existence

Upon your first seeing him.

You don't think about that though.

You don't think about people in those terms.

You think about people only in terms

of your life.

And you think you deserve to do that...

Because you are the

Victim.

Because you are a

Martyr,

Because you have cried.

Tears are not a sacrifice,

Little girl,

Tears are a part of life.

You are nothing special

just because you cry.

Dang. That was longer that I expected it would be when I started writing it.

I could say oh so very much more.

But I won't.

Not for now, at least.

Oh well.

Deuces, all.

Rising and Falling Thoughts.

Chris, your new girlfriend should stop hitting the cigs and start hitting the toothbrush. Oh yeah, and it really aggravates me that you recorded a song called "Hannah's Tits" and posted it on your band's website. It's a good thing you wear such tight pants. Hopefully the damage it will do to your sperm count will be enough to keep you from ever procreating.

I re

ally want some dark purple plumish colored nail polish, but I can't find just the right shade.

My mom told me I wouldn't be so cold all the time if I gained some weight. I asked her how much weight, and she said ten pounds or so at least. Fuck that shit, I'd rather not walk around looking preggers all the time.

I really love eating baker's chocolate. It's totally underrated. Seriously, just eat it plain, it's fantastic.

I just got into Guilford College like forty-five minutes ago. Now I have to decide whether to go there or UNC-G. I'm leaning toward Guilford. They're giving me almost fourteen thou, and Megan's there, which pretty much guarantees happiness. Minus the "pretty much." :)

I'm trying to find bloggers I know, but it isn't very easy, seeing as there is no search engine...which is stupid...and frustrating... -_-

Does it seem immature to use emoticons or whatev

er they are on here? I hope not. I don't want to have to take a picture of my face and post them every time I make an expression that I want to express online. So if you think they're immature, then fuck you.

I've been making REALLY stupid grammatical errors lately. I'm slipping. I hate it.

The Obama girls are sooo cute. I hope that one day my adopted children will be that cute.

I've been doing alright with my initiative to not initiate discussion between me and him. No effect so far. Last night he was online for a good while, and he logged off without talking to me at all. 

I went to bed last night listening to "Sleep" by The Dandy Warhols. It was very appropriate. However, after trying it, I have decided that I don't like trying to go to sleep with my iPod playing. It's awkward and I'm afraid I'll break it somehow.

The Brazilian Miss World finalist died after having her hands and feet amputated in an attempt to save her life from necrosis. Necrosis is the rapid deadening of tissue, and is caused by septicemia. I read about it on Perez Hilton. He said that apparently septicemia is the tenth leading cause of death in the US, killing about 800,000 in the US every year.

Now I'm really afraid of septicemia.

And necrosis.

I don't think I'd be a very good amputee.

Or dead person, for that matter.

In Lauterbach hab' ich mein' Strumpf verlor'n...

My mum found a website with some pictures of Lauterbach, Germany. Lo and behold, there were a couple pictures of my grandparents' house! It was a nice memory jog, and so I decided to do a little post on this wonderful little town, best known for its famous garden knomes and its "theme song," "In Lauterbach hab' ich mein' Strumpf verlor'n." It means "I lost my sock in Lauterbach," and it's really weird. But I'll go into that later I suppose.

First of all, our house! 

There was a closer picture of it, but for some reason blogger is being retarded and not uploading it. The house is somewhere around 100 years old. It's so adorable(it's the one in the middle of the picture, with the pink flower boxes). It's filled with this 

super super old crazy religious 

paraphernalia from like mon

asteries and churches that my grandfather's parents or grandparents(I forget which) collected around Germany. 

Oh, and our street is really cute. It was even on postcards in gift shops there. All the streets in the town are cobblestone.

I'm bored, I'll finish this post later. Time to make myself a french bread pizza. Yum. 

I Really Should Stop

I really should stop obsessing over him. That's what will make me lose him. That's what made me lose T all those years ago. It's part of the bipolar thing...I hate it. People say you can't love at a young age or whatever. It's different when you're bipolar. My heart is so, so full of passion. When I "like" somebody, I REALLY like them, and it's so painful, because they never like me back.

And then...in the rare case that one of them actually does like me back...I fall out of it in a matter of weeks. It's like...I thought that they could be something for me that they couldn't. I thought they could fill the hole in my heart that...he...left behind. God, and I hurt people on the way. I really do. But I'm so pathetically desperate. I'm not desperate in the sense that many girls are towards boys...I just want to have peace. I want to rest. I want to know that whatever happens, I have something in my life to be happy about. Somebody. I want badly to not hurt people, but my mind won't stop, it won't stop! It's like...it's like I've got something in my head, some living thing, eating away at me, writhing inside of me, and it hurts like nothing else, and it NEVER STOPS hurting. It's the kind of pain that will make you do almost ANYTHING to escape it. Even if it's just for one or two weeks.

It may be selfish...it IS selfish...but it pushes me out of control! At least I know the people I've hurt will bounce back. At least I know that most of them will never know this pain. Sure, it would make it easier for them to understand me if they did, but I don't want that for them. I want them to be able to live like I can't, and that's give and take. I may go out with somebody that somebody else likes. They would have done the EXACT same thing to somebody else, and for half the reason. Because they're so young. They really think that it's the end of the world when they don't get what they want. They're fucking babies mostly, in that way. They don't get something they want, some transitory desire, and they through a hissy fit, a tantrum, and upset everything around them.

But maybe that's best.

Maybe that's best for them, because tantrums end. Tantrums end, and they're happy again. That makes it more alright that they don't get what they want. That I have what they want instead. 

I don't have what they want.

They don't want this.

They don't understand that pain is the minority in their lives, and they're elastic. The pain passes for them, and they bounce back to their normal lives, their majority.

Whatever the antithesis of pain is––that's my minority. My happiness, or peace, at least, whatever it is. It passes quickly for me, and then I bounce back to my majority; pain. 

My life is a photo's negative of theirs.

And it's best for them that way.

My Brazilian Boy Wonder

Where do I start? There are so many ways I could describe him. He's got one of the most striking faces I've ever seen in person. He doesn't like the way he looks, he's so critical of himself. It's ridiculous. If only he could see himself through my eyes. I feel so lucky to have this beautiful creature in my life. Ugly, annoying little me. For the third time in my life, I feel like I am actually somebody's first choice as a friend, which is astounding to me. 

I spent Monday night and Tuesday night at his house this week. Thais's parents, his "step-parents"(but not really, it's weird and confusing), were out of town, as usual. Naturally, there was partying. Monday night, a lot of people came over. Two bottles of...beverage...later, Mika and I were lying on the carpet upstairs just laughing and talking and drinking impressive

amounts of water. Talking led to laughing, laughing led to cuddling, cuddling led to kissing, and kissing led to full-on making out on the floor. It was fairly brief, only a minute or two. I was sure it wouldn't happen again that night. I was wrong. We eventually went to bed. We slept in Thais's parents' bed, because people sleeping over needed Mika's room. Before going to bed, I looked at the time on my cell phone. 2:59. I told Mika, and he was instantly excited. Mika saw "The Exorcism of Emily Rose" awhile back, and apparently in the movie 3:00 am is the "devil's time." That's when bad things happen or something. So Mika likes to stay up until three. He says it scares him a ton, but it's also exciting. It was three am, the "devil's time," when we crawled under the covers, lights off, shivering, space heater turned onto high next to the bed. We talked for probably an hour or so. Then there was silence. But the good kind of silence. The kind of silence where you can feel everything around you, like a shark in the water, feeling every movement through even the tiniest currents and ripples. Everything is sensation, your feelings are your thoughts. Our faces were so, so close, our lips one or two inches apart. Obviously, it happened again. It happened again for most of fourty-five or so minutes. And then we fell asleep. We fell asleep with our faces so close that we 

were breathing oxygen mixed with the carbon dioxide expelled from the other's lungs. We were breathing each other's breath. Isn't that amazing? Maybe the carbon dioxide made me kind

 of light-headed and giddy, but I swear, I floated into sleep. And it was the best kind of sleep. Every night, I go to bed with the intention of going to sleep. I try to sleep, and I wait for sleep. That night, sleep came by itself. We both fell asleep at the same time, and the next morning we didn't even remember falling asleep; life had just...melted into sleep. Natural sleep. As wonderful as that sleep was, I still woke up throughout the night...err...morning, technically. Every time I woke up I'd see that he was still there, and remember again how happy I was. 

Okay so I have been typing this for like an hour now, and I'm ready to stop. Plus, the gray crescent-moon next to his name just turned into a green circle. I'll bet he won't talk to me. I'm really trying to not talk to him. Yesterday I was bad at that, I think I fucked up a bit. We shall see.

By the way, Battlestar Galactica was faaabulous. >_<

Trying Again

So yeah, I'm trying again.

Obviously I won't keep this up this time.

The only blog I've been able to keep consistently was that Xanga I updated religiously for maybe a year and a half. That was then, this is now.

Now, I hide that shit on the inside. I think it's better that way. I don't really care about many people at school knowing the "real me." I have people who know me, and I know them, and we love each other very, very much. I'm not looking for quantity, I'm looking for quality. And let's face it; there isn't exactly an abundance of quality human beings in this world. Not by my ridiculous standards, at least.

I don't really feel like doing a huge about me thing right now. Too much shit in my background, I've retold it all countless times to therapists, friends, blogs, Microsoft Word, etc. I'll write about that all gradually I guess(as if I'll write in this blog over a period of more than one or two weeks). Mostly about the people in my life. The characters that my life revolves around. They are probably the most relevant to my day-to-day life. My fucking BORING day-to-day life. More like minute-to-minute, really...

So here's what's going on right now.

I'm sitting on my computer, like usual, being a total fatass loser. Whatever. Also as usual, I have another window open on facebook, lurking to the side of this one. I have just enough of facebook showing to watch the little minimized chat thing in the corner with the name "Mika Schakowoski" on it. Next to his name there's a little grey crescent moon thing. That means he's "idle" on facebook chat. Fuck my life. I've been saying that a lot lately. Fuck my fucking life. 

He likes boys a good deal better than he likes girls. That's my biggest problem right now. He says that he's "probably more gay than [he thinks he is]." He's probably right. I adore him. He adores me. I am never so confident in saying that somebody adores me, but he does. As a friend. Friend.

The feelings I'm having for him tend to put the "end" in "friend."

Maybe this would all be easier if he didn't have that unbelievably endearing Brazilian accent...

if he didn't smell so spicy and clean and wonderful...

if he didn't have that little gap between his two front teeth...

if he hadn't introduced me to Yelle...

if he didn't have those high polish cheekbones that he hates...

if we didn't watch ShamWow commercials together at three in the morning...

if he hadn't made me bagels and coffee without even asking, just knowing...

if we had ever needed two cups, two bottles of water, two meals between us, instead of one...

if we hadn't fallen asleep with our faces three inches apart.

I'm getting tired of this "if..." format. Next entry, I'll just talk about him I suppose, and how crazy beautiful the boy is.

I have to go watch Battlestar Galactica now.

Seriously though, I look forward to this shit ALL week long, and in the season premiere last week, we found out that Ellen's the final cylon, and they found Earth, and Starbuck found her corpse, and all this other stuff.

Yeah, I've been freaking out.

I can't wait to text Carl after the episode's over.

SO SAY WE ALL.