| zern's |
[Mar. 3rd, 2007|02:28 am] |
sicksicksick
this place was hell. you need to have seen it to know what i mean. afterwards my skin felt greasy and my insides felt greasy and there was the smell of meat lingering, stuck in the tiny little hairs inside my nostrils. meat and pickled eggs, pink pickled eggs and 6 years old kids with rat tails and leather and cowboy boots and mothers not much older, bellies swollen with fried food and babies, and dying animals. stalls and stalls of everything no one ever needs but feels compelled to buy when they have no money to begin with. I couldn't have left soon enough but there is a part of me that is compelled to go back and capture everything on film. think diane arbus. except, she respected her freaks. am i an awful human being for feeling nothing but disgust? oh america the beautiful.
tara saved a guinea pig. bright side, silver lining. if tara hadn't been there saving a guinea pig i would have had a panic attack. |
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| you used to be one of the rotten ones and i liked you for that |
[Feb. 24th, 2007|11:38 pm] |
i just made delicious food items. warm ginger and garbanzo beans salad, roasted garlic green beans and fred made this vegetable thing that is really simple but also my favorite food, mostly because he makes it and usually i cook because i enjoy it more than he does. i love being next to him in the kitchen. or anywhere.
i definately forget how to be social and amicable and just generally nice around people sometimes. being 100% comfortable around everyone i come into contact with most of my daily life leaves me feeling lazy and not prone to small talk. sometimes i just fold into myself and forget to talk and interact with the people around me...i wish i could aptly describe to you the image i have in my head - it's like, my face on a handkerchief, and someone is pushing the middle of the handkerchief into their breast pocket for decoration. i fold. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 21st, 2007|12:45 am] |
I picked up this flyer at The Great Pumpkin, my organic and natural foods store. It's scary, and I've already begun slowly phasing out all of the non-organic, mass produced junk that I've been using for so long, never bothering to care or even question why I was using this stuff on my body. It makes sense though. I don't eat meat because it's toxic, i don't smoke or do drugs or drink large amounts of alchohol because it's toxic, so why would I continue to smother my body in chemicals? Who knows what effects it's already had on me? So yeah, knowledge is power.
"When the alarm rings, she slowly gets out of bed, turns on the shower and under the steady stream of water she gently scrubs her body with AMMONIA, FORMALDEHYDE and PHENOL.
Next she shampoos her hair with DEA and SODIUM LAURYL SULPHATE. Rinsing the shampoo, she applies a good amount of mutagenic DEA and PROPYLENE GLYCLOL and lets it penetrate while she pops the top on the shaving cream and shaves her legs with A-PINENE.
The shower finished, she towel dries and spreads on an even coating of POLYCYCLIC AROMATIC HYDROCARBONS (PHAs) and an even dusting of an asbestos like substance (TALC) over her skin. She sprays the scented ALUMINUM under her arms, brushes her teeh with FD&C BLUE, SODIUM LAURYL SULPHATE, SACCHARIN and FLOURIDE. Then she rinses and gargles with ETHANOL and PHENOL ALCOHOL. She combs setting gel through her hair then blows it dry and sprays it with POLYVINYL PYRROLIDINE (PVP).
Sitting at her vanity, she carefully applies a thin layer of PHENOL CARBOLIC ACID, DIOXIN, and PROPYLENE GLYCOL over her face to reduce fine lines....
What are you feeding YOUR skin?"
There's more, about make-up and animal waste...but I feel like everyone knowsthat to some extent, though sadly it goes ignored. There's fish scales in your lip gloss.
I have to open the store in 4 hours.
For everyone whose existance keeps me alive, hopeful and happy, I am eternally grateful for your friendship. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 29th, 2006|12:51 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | futon | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  mellow | ] |
| [ | music |
| | hotel song | ] |
just the facts:
fred and i are still together. we're pretty indestructible. one day i will have his babies.
kevin made/gave me a bike for my birthday and it's purple with a leopard print seat and pink grip tape. car shmar. driving gives me panic attacks.
there is a full drum set in my apartment and i love it.
i am seeing regina spektor on saturday!
my brain is mush, i am writing poems again, and a short story about a skinhead. |
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| you never give me your money, you only give me your funny papers |
[Aug. 11th, 2006|11:43 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  drained | ] |
| [ | music |
| | abbey road, obviously | ] |
the beatles ruin me. why do i listen to the beatles? every song means something when you've been listening to the same music since you were six, every song has a back story that i forget until the chorus and it all comes flooding back and it kills me. i don't even know at this point whether i actually genuinely enjoy the beatles as a musical group, or rather, i just like remembering so easily all of the hundreds of moments i so closely attribute to each and every word/verse/song/album.
everything feels nice, just everything. it always does around august. |
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| i'll be sighing for another year |
[Jul. 19th, 2006|01:18 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  rejected | ] |
| [ | music |
| | weezer | ] |
i don't want to whine and i don't want to disclose everything. but this fucking hurts. i'm better i'm stronger i'm smarter i'm prettier i don't taste like beer or cigarettes boys want me and approach me all the time but they make me sick. i only want you, i want your curls and your pink lips and your tummy and your hands and your music and your depression, i'll take all of it, good and bad. the bad is worse than most people know, nobody else would put up with it. i'm sick because he wants her, just like he wanted her and her and her. my stomache hurts, there's something warm and slimy and hollow in the pit of my stomache and its climbing up my throat. this is all very childish and badly written but at the worst of times, i resort to bad punctuation and simple sentiments and teenage curse words. |
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| you belong to me and all of paris belongs to me and i belong to this notebook and this pencil |
[Jun. 11th, 2006|10:19 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | hair, hemingway | ] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | bedroom | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  lazy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | weird thumping techno briton and dexter are creating | ] |
i'm reading hemingway and i don't hate it. this is shocking and frustrating because i fervently and LOUDLY loathed the sun also rises when it was required reading senior year and we had debates about whether it belonged on the reading list...it didn't...i might be changing my mind though...i'll never like sun but a moveable feast is enjoyable and i thought it was going to be a chore - instead it's a very pretty, comfortable reward. i thought i hated papa hemingway because i was more of a beat girl, kerouc and bukowski, long rambling, colorful, sometimes meaningless sentences. and obviously i enjoy that style and employ it often in my own writing. i like the freedom it offers and the natural, chatty and song-like prose it creates. but hemingway, with his 'rigid, disspassionately compressed' (thanks, nobelprize.org) narratives, offers something important as well. there are periods of time when my writing takes on a hemingway-eque simplicity, factual and concise - dissattached. i ruled him out for being a pig (he was) but i'm glad i gave his art another try.
i want to get a heart-vagina tattoo, i think it means everything important.
(i found these after reading the vagina monologues for the 3rd time. they're sculptures and they're beautiful and exactly what i had envisioned in my mind. the artist's website is here)
my hair is blonde. my hair has been blonde for the past 18 years, minus brief -BRIEF- intervals of red/brown/white/pink. but every customers thinks it's a crazy new development. "yuk yuk, is it true, do blondes have more fun, yuk!" your face has more fun. |
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| i've got my finger on the trigger, tonight faith just ain't enough |
[Feb. 3rd, 2006|10:23 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  guilty | ] |
| [ | music |
| | bruce - devils and dust | ] |
there was a night months ago and i swore i would take it back for anything. erase it because it ruined things i hadn't even begun to start yet. and now i'm listening to bruce springsteen who i haven't listened to since and it's THE album and THE song.
it's just so hard when you don't sleep and you're working everyday and you're learning because you want to but you can't even enjoy it. and then there's someone who you know - KNOW - is going to be there until you die, it's just up to you whether it will be him next to you in bed every night flesh and bones or just a memory making your pillow damp. but it seems on a daily basis there are tears or someone rolls to their side with their back to the other and you're lonely and hungry for someone to listen and be the things in those stuipid springsteen songs.
and you're so fucking selfish. because you think about that night alot. and when he breaks promises, you break yours. and it feels good.
the other person says these incredibly beautiful things and makes promises you know he'll keep and when you talk, it's every thing you want to talk about. it's intense debates but mostly passionate agreements. sometimes you don't know what to say because you want to be so many things that your sentences fall short of your own expectations.
and the person laying next to you is silly and loud and cocky and he knows and worships every inch of your body. he takes care of you when you're sick but turns away when you need him to yell. he's beautiful when he sleeps and when he laughs and when he comes. he's your best friend.
sometimes i want to move far away and never look back. and i could. but there's a boy here who is my home.
and you can't forget your home.
summary - i don't know what to do. |
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| we need some reception, a higher message, just tell us what to fear |
[Jan. 25th, 2006|03:23 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  irritated | ] |
| [ | music |
| | conor oberst | ] |
the emerald city
sara seinberg
dear dorothy,
do you remember when you found those shoes on your feet?
the terribly red shoes you got in that boutique on haight street?
and you met me for coffee in the mission
and you told me,
lion, there's no place like home.
and i said, dorothy, i'm getting evicted.
and you said look at these shoes... aren't they so pretty?
and i said dorothy, i'm getting evicted.
you turned your tiny feet towards me in the california sun
and said
lion, toil is a gift.
do you remember when i got here?
winded from the cyclone,
dizzy and twisted and panting on the street,
a tangle of mane and teeth
afraid of everything?
a coward.
a liar.
do you remember that, dorothy?
my throat was papery and ill
with what we used to call faith.
i laid on the pavement,
my paws jabbing at the sky
begging for a home.
a place where people would
smile at my teeth.
put ribbons in my hair
and ride horses changing hues
like a gay windsock on castro street.
dorothy, i learned to lie from you.
you said there's no place like home.
you said you'd risk it all to get home.
fuck you, dorothy.
home is a bunch of mutherfuckers
talking talking
fucking each other
sewing one girl to the next
never realizing that the elbow
belongs to someone.
dorothy, you fucked me over.
you said i could afford it here.
you said i could be king of the jungle.
you said all the coconuts and bananas i could eat.
you said there was loyalty or dignity or love.
you said kansas ain't shit, old man.
make a den, lion.
put your enormous paws to your tongue
and lick your wounds here.
you said lion, we can win.
you said lion, we will be beautiful in a place like this.
and now look at us, dorothy.
the tin man
looking for his heart in the tenderloin alleys
shooting quarters from a spoon.
squeaking and rusting in the rainy season
his hollow places jaundiced,
no ticker to be found.
and the scarecrow.
you told him, he was smart.
if he believed in you,
he could get a job at a start-up,
keep up with the joneses
wish on a program
and it would appear
like a keyboard clacking,
a rooster at his fingertips.
you're the liar, dorothy.
he's driving that muni trolley
up and down market street
all day, every day
in that brown shirt
going over the same steel tracks
like every mistake we ever made.
dorothy, why'd you do it?
invite me here and tell me beautiful stories of
victorian bay windows, vaulted ceilings
parks for dogs and streets paved with art?
you said sliding scale therapy for all.
you said my issues would get locked up
far away on the rock of alcatraz.
dorothy, what does oz look like from
a gingham dress
pigtails
and that goddamn picnic basket
always filled with food?
what's it like dorothy?
i can't even imagine your glory
shopping for new shoes.
sara seinberg is a writer and visual artist who lives in Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts. Her work can be found in a gang of anthologies: Sex and Single Girls, Will Work for Peace: New Political Poems, Thrills Chills Pills and Heartbreak, and Lowdown Highway, and her photographs appear in galleries and magazines including Ms., TimeOut New York, and The Stranger.
the first girl i ever met who didn't shave her armpits for a reason played a sara seinberg monologue for me and i listened with those headphones stuck to my ears like i was listening to god tell me the meaning of life. i haven't been the same since. fuck you, i'm wonder woman.
sometimes i feel like i could just sit and talk about things for the rest of my life. sadly, i have to pay someone to listen, and it's no conversation when the only opinion they have about anything is from a medical professional standpoint. i don't even have that luxury yet because of paperwork and insurance forms. and the people that can and would converse with me want to have sex with me/want to have sex with my boyfriend/want to fine me 50 dollars for living in the living room/are miles and miles away and you can't start a phone call/online conversation without 15 minutes minimum of small talk. i know i'm being whiny and i'm going to get responses like, but you can talk to meeeee, and yeah, i know i can talk to you, obviously, i'm talking to you now sort of, and you obviously care to a point or you wouldn't be reading this far. i don't know what my problem is, i just feel silly and insecure and i want a fucking best friend. there are people that i miss who aren't even very far away (closer than you know) but there are worlds between us and you know, i've probably put them there because i'm ridiculous and shy and weird sometimes. some girl in my english class starts coversations with me all the time and i'm just so flabbergasted that she's talking to me that i don't know what to say so i make hand motions and look ridiculous and shy and weird. i have friends but i'm so awkward it hurts. so i'm just going to shut up now. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 9th, 2006|10:18 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  hopeful | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Yes | ] |
I don't know how to grieve in any sort of behaved manner. Instead, I take forever getting dressed because I want to be respectful of the death of a man I loved, but I also want to be bright, a beacon of youth and hope and everything Muzzy stood for. Both of these notions are ridiculous and dramatic but when have I ever been anything but? I wore pinching heels and refused to sit with my mother and sister because I knew I would lose it. So I stood in the aisle, took off my shoes halfway through the service and lost it anyway. They showed a slide show of family pictures and played Iron And Wine and I forgot to bring tissues. Afterward I bought clothes I didn't need and I've spent the past two days sleeping.
I think I'm ok though. I keep having nightmares that people I love are dying and whenever there's a moment for my mind to wander, it inevitably wanders to death.
Help me drown in literature. If you comment, tell me your most favorite books, poems, short stories, at least 3. I know who reads this and I know that your tastes, though varied, are all exemplary. I just finished Like Water For Chocolate and The Vagina Monologues and they were both amazing. The VM resparked my feminist self and anything of that nature would be wonderful, though I already have The Second Sex to begin soon.
In N1 news, Briton's moved back in and since then everything feels cozier. I just need to stop hiding in my room. Lauren makes really good bread. Lauren, I love you. I hate personal livejournal notes but here is one anyway. I feel like I've been a cunt the past few weeks for various personal reasons and I apologize. I miss talking to you in your bedroom and I want to do Tae Bo. I love you. PS- I had my first Paterno class today and I can definately see the appeal...
You know those moments when everything feels right even though alot of things are going wrong? Maybe it was just listening to Yes on the drive over with the sun coming up and the clouds looking especially pink, but right now is that kind of moment. |
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| idon'tknowidon'tknowidon'tknow |
[Jan. 3rd, 2006|10:32 pm] |
The only person in the whole damn school district who actually cared is gone.
He used to come to my house and drag me out of bed, take me to school, and let me sit in his office all day. I would do school work as I cried and spilled my guts out. He listened.
He visited me every Hospital stay.
There wasn't a kid who went through the SAS/SAILS (read: fucked up kid) system who doesn't claim they wouldn't exist if it weren't for Terry Muzzy. Not one kid who hasn't cried on his office floor or waited outside his door. It was a safe haven in there, but only when he was present. It wasn't the solitary office that made it safe - it was his presence.
And he's gone.
I'm freaking out. I had a dream last night that my dad died and I couldn't even bring myself to cry. When I called my sister and there were tears in his voice, I panicked. No, it wasn't my father. But it was pretty damn close. And I cried.
And everyone is in the other room playing video games because he was "just my guidance couselor". They've lost family members, mothers, fathers. This is "no big deal".
Bullshit.
I want to break something. |
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| who loves the sun?who cares that it makes plants grow?who cares whatitdoes since you broke my heart? |
[Dec. 16th, 2005|03:29 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  content | ] |
| [ | music |
| | always see your face - love (high fidelity) | ] |
there are these really little things in my life that make me feel insanely content and ok and sane (i just reread over this whole post and realize i wrote "insanely...sane"...i think i'm some kind of genius) and comforted. because, they always feel good. i can be fighting with fred, and they will still feel good. i can be flat broke and 5 pounds over/under weight and they'll give me a break from thinking and everything will just be ok for a while. of course, i know i can get to a point when nothing regi(stirs) on my radar but that hasn't happened for a while. and that's not what's important. what is important are these little silly happy things.
- judy garland or morrisey singing moon river. neither of these people should have ever been allowed near the song moon river because fucking i don't know, kanye west could cover moon river and it would probably make me cry. and here's morrisey, the sappiest, saddest, softest human in the world, and JUDY GARLAND, fallen star and dorothy no place like home...and it's a recipe for stephanie crying. i can't take it. morrisey's version is over 9 minutes and i can't even make it that long, it's too much. but it makes a lovely lullabye for when i'm already halfway to tears anyway.
- tilling out at work. we have to have someone witness our deposit into the safe, and i always shout obnoxiously, (with my hand curled in a fist in front of my mouth, to respresent my invisible microphone) CANAGEDA WITNESSSSSS????!!! and then someone turns and yells back, equally obnoxiously, WITANEESSSSS. it's ridiculous and it makes customers wary.
- running until my chest hurts and my face burns and i collapse on someone's lawn and i've accomplished something without doing much. the body is only limited by the mind. it's amazing.
- lauren's 6 life size star wars cut outs, placed strategically throughout our apartment. they cast shadows in all the right places and when you turn to look at the clock, chewbacca stares back. r2d2 sits behind the dvds. darth vader has been known to mysteriously show up inside the shower.
- high fidelity and its soundtrack. i watch this movie at least once a week and listen to whatever random song from its soundtrack something like every day.
- conan o'brien
- peanut butter and banana sandwiches. i do this weird involuntary happy toe-curl thing when i eat them.
- kittens. fred mewing.
- knitting things for people. people knitting things for me.
- acoustic guitar. hearing fred or jeff recording/playing music
- talking with lauren, because it's been so fucking long since i've talked to a girl about anything.
- our knitting circle
- francesca lia block books
- david copperfield. i don't even need to read the whole book, just a few pages.
- driving with dexter and listening to peter gabriel
i want to keep adding to this list. |
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| god it's so painful something that's so close, is still so far out of reach |
[Dec. 13th, 2005|01:23 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  indescribable | ] |
Well she was an american girl
Raised on promises
She couldn’t help thinkin that there
Was a little more to life
Somewhere else
After all it was a great big world
With lots of places to run to
Yeah, an d if she had to die
Tryin’ she had one little promise
She was gonna keep
i went to the doctor today because it felt like there was a little animal inside my ear canal scraping its tiny little animal claws against my ear drum. so this doctor who i've never seen before but was the only one available at my practice because i didn't schedule an appointment ahead of time, had the great idea of sticking my ear with a needle. i don't know why. he said something about draining pus. needless to say, there was no pus, but there was lots of blood and i balled my fucking eyes out. i'm not scared of needles due to a very long year spent having my blood tested every two weeks - it just hurt like a mother fucker. so now my ear hurts worse then before and i need to take these stupid antibiotics BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT. there are two points, and they are:
1. i did all of this myself. i forced myself to get up and take care of my body. i went to the cvs and dealt with my health insurance stuff. i took my medicine and i made a follow up appointment. i know, i know, oooh what a big girl - but i'm proud because taking care of myself - physically or mentally - is not really something i excell at. and i did it. (fred drove and hugged me when i was crying. so it wasn't ALL me. but i mean, i took the initiative.)
and 2. i got on the scale today at the doctor's office in my doc martens, coat, three layers of clothing and purse in hand, and the red numbers were rather high. and i freaked out. i'm telling myself, ok, docs are pretty heavy, and i have the biggest purse ever invetned, so calm down. it's probably a lie. a red electronic lie.
but now i'm confused and unhappy and i want to know how much of a lie it was.
anyway.
here's a list of things because i'm listening to music and i don't have time to make pretty poetic paragraphs.
1. i really miss running. people come into the store in their spandex pants and dirty running shoes early in the morning or late at night, gulping for breath and taking jugs from a gallon of water and i envy them. running made me happy. yes, i was doing it for the wrong reasons. but it became a part of my life and i did it instead of other more damaging things and i loved those hours, the sound of gravel kicked behind me, the feeling of reaching that stupid stop sign at the end of my street and jumping with my last ounce of energy to touch the top after two or three sweaty draining miles. runners high is real. after i had lost alot of weight i would throw my shirt off towards the last lap. i had small breasts then. minimal boucning. i loved it. i need to get back to that. someone buy me mace for christmas.
2. after much debating inside my head, i've decided that gynecology is where my heart is. for the longest time i didn't want to let go of journalism, author, artist. but i'm not letting go. i'm just adding something to the list. 7 years is so long but i know it will be worth it. i remember the women who took care of me in september and i need to be a part of that.
3. lauren and i are having a new year's eve fondue party. give me your address if you want to come and i'll send you an invitation. seriously. fondue.
4. the end. i can't concentrate. |
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| it's getting late and the moon is climbing high |
[Nov. 24th, 2005|10:50 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | content | ] |
| [ | music |
| | harvest moon by neil young | ] |
i'm working until 5 something and that means pay and a half and tips divided today just for us(instead of at the end of the week between everyone) and rum in my chai. and then i'm going to my grandparents and eating lasagne and shrimpy ravioli and broccoli rabe and turkey and seeing people i love.
i really love holidays, especially how they smell...
(yeah, i really love how holidays smell, ok?) |
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| i see the doorway of a thousand churches |
[Nov. 23rd, 2005|01:32 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  discontent | ] |
| [ | music |
| | bowie - starman | ] |
i'm going to continue updating until my mind stops racing.
the other day (and when i say this i mean at least two weeks ago) he picked me up from work after a long night's fading into early morning arguments and his skin looked so pink and his eyes raw and wet, he looked just hatched and hurt and i ached to know that i had made him that way. and only two days ago he told her she was beautiful(in a way i know i can never be), he spoke of remembered regrets kept in his back pocket and i peeked and it hurt. lies kill. forgiveness is the only way to grow out of pain.
i chased him outside in just a t-shirt last night and shivered-pulled at his coat and his face was blank and dull, like the wrong side of the knife; tears fell and his face broke and he tried to get me to smile but to no avail. i didn't stop shivering for an hour afterwards from how cold he was outside.
i forget these things so easily in the candle light. dancing shadows on lover's skin and soft blue flames can really mess with a girl's head.
i'm going for a walk because i love this weather and i love coats and i have 8 scarves to chose from. |
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| circle takes the square |
[Nov. 23rd, 2005|11:12 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | cynical | ] |
| [ | music |
| | co and cam | ] |
i want to get this down where it matters, where it counts, where it will haunt me daily until i change, am changed. i considered pen to paper but i so rarely do that anymore, it felt foreign and i scribbled things and i don't want messiness, i want every letter the same height, high standards for even my convent cursive.
i'm always a few steps behind, in one way or the other. it seems like my inner self can never catch up to my outer self, and vice versa. so there's no such thing as perfect, none of us are the Christ Child, but we all have our own high standards. what are yours, i want to know. i'm serious. don't forget about this by the end of the post after i've said so much else, it's important. if you were your perfect self, what would you be? physically, mentally, what does that entail?
i never diluded deep inner inventory online, i tried not to. of course, it seems i may have here or there but there was always something else lurking behind the words i typed (i peck, actually, two fingers, one key at a time) but i will now. this is to me, to everyone. my perfect self:
mentally
9th grade school saavy, insatiable thirst for a greater knowledge, dreamy eyes during biology class.
11th grade devil-may-care attitude, provacative as fuck, people fell in love with me, i knew i was beautiful and powerful because of it, i never wore underwear, even with skirts.
charming as a child with curly blonde hair.
grrrrlfeminist, i will make you care, you stupid fucks.
the love i learned from the one i love, and the one before him.
scheduling is my job,this is how we manage money, oh and work is f-u-n, circa NOW.
happiness and sweet dreams, lately.
physically
height - now
weight - less than july (= much less than now)
diet - eat. your. veggies. (but only your veggies)
hair - now
complexion - fuck you. PERFECT, as in never before.
so, i'm a little less than 3/4 there. well maybe 5/8, or something. i don't know.
all of a sudden i've lost all interest in this post.
keep on truckin' though.
my point is, i hate that i'm not where i should be. physically or mentally. i look in the mirror and loathe what i see in a way i never have before. i've never hated anyone, really, besides myself when i was deeply depressed. but now i'm not and i do and i need to change that in the ways it needs to be changed. but obviously, i need to go about it differently than before.
everyone hated me when i felt so physically beautiful, because i was killing them with my habitual fractional killing-myself. and yeah, i still do that. but less, so i'm more...oh my muse, she goes by the name of vague...
i just don't know how to do things correctly. as in, eat, sleep, work, study. EVERYTHING ABOUT THAT LIST, i do wrong.
i am a glutton, food owns me, as in any disordered lifestyle. my toes curl when i eat, my toes curl when it's gone. and i'm 'better' because i weigh more? excuse me? because i eat crap and feel as such afterwards but don't do so much about it? better, is not, will never have anything to do with, that way of life.
i sleep all day sometimes until work at night and stay up all night or i don't sleep for days at a time.
if i'm late to work again, i'll be fired. but, if i showed up on time consistently, i could be a shift mang.
study, as in, i don't when i should.
so right now, we're looking at a whole slew of new year's resolutions waiting to be made, but those are broken promises before you make them so i won't. i'll just think about these things and reread this entry and remind myself.
i wish i had a scale for me, one of those balance scales that you put weights on to try and even it out. i want to weigh my inner to my outer and lead a nice, balanced life.
i hate how this was written, i hate how it makes me sound, i don't care. that's all. |
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| I really love you, and I mean you. |
[Oct. 21st, 2005|05:56 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  sick | ] |
| [ | music |
| | richard pryor recording | ] |
I'm sick and my eyes itch and I don't know what to be for Halloween. So here are some pictures of the people that matter and one thrown in there of me in my panties while I was sleeping, for your viewing pleasure.
( Read more... ) |
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| your smile fades in the summer |
[Oct. 11th, 2005|05:19 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | mood? | ] |
| [ | music |
| | traffic outside the window | ] |
generally, i am unhappy. i was happy, i thought it was going to become some strange new way of life.
i reread that sentence and thought it to be a bit untrue. because i have so many happy moments. but they're moments. like rain on a windshield. and the windshield itself is the thing we need to look at here. maybe that's being over-analytical and maybe i should stop here and go in the bedroom and get under the covers with my naked boyfriend, but i can't just look at the rain. forest. trees. forest for the trees would have been a better way of describing this because rain isn't a good thing to compare happiness to....anyway...
i didn't really want to write a stupid depressed post but the truth is sometimes i wake up, realize i have work because god knows i don't have school, and think, well, i could die. and then i wouldn't have to go to work.
ladies and gentleman, i'm never going to die. i can't and i won't. i think about it alot and at the most inopportune times but when you get right down to it, while in general everything is awful, some things are just too wonderful to miss out on. and i live for them.
the truth is, i'm not on my medication.
the truth is, i withdrew from my classes.
the truth is, i haven't contacted my parents in 2 weeks and i know it hurts them.
the truth is, i'm still sick in more ways than most people know.
and at 5:23 in the AM, dirty, the way you get dirty after a day of doing nothing, and crying, the way you cry when you think about all the nothing that happened, i am going to list the things i live for because everyone has them. some have more than me and that's ok because i have these and it's only bad when you have none. i've never had none. there's always been something. i just forgot from time to time. i'm trying to remember now. (does this make sense? i hope it does.) if thanksgiving only comes once a year, i'm fucked, because i need it everyday.
i live for driving to wawa at 4 AM and not buying anything.
i live for blink 182 in the car with dexter.
i live for andric fredrew and his voice and his body and his arms around me and the love we make and share and take and i know, he is, for real.
i live for shopping with dexter and talking to jason and everything falling into place after not seeing them for a year.
i live for the day things get better.
i live for the things i write and the way i write them and my laugh and my eyes and my teachers say potential i say NOW.
i'm alive. i'm willing to settle for rain on a windshield. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 2nd, 2005|05:35 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  busy | ] |
i bit right through the side of my tongue today so there is a large chuck of tongue hanging off and getting in the way of eating, talking, swallowing, yawning and oral sex. it hurts it hurts it feels like a small animal is gnawing on my tongue and it's never going to heal because i'm a masochist and i am chewing gum. and drinking coffee. and giving oral sex. and doing other things that are not conducive to healing your tongue wound.
also i haven't slept in two days because i've been watching all of the friday the 13th movies and eating pretzels and going to work at 6 in the morning and then again at 6 at night. i have to catch the bus for school in an hour and i'm still wearing my clothes from work last night.
but i love both of my jobs so much.
even though starbucks is a chain and i'd rather support small businesses, they're a really good company to work for and i love:
-big fat paychecks
-big fat tips
-free pound of coffee each week
-free everything when i'm on the clock
-cute shy boy co-worker in black oxford shirt
-benefits, health insurance after 2 months even for part-time
and then Sprazzo has:
-all the ice cream i could ever want
-my really cute boss Danielle who makes me spaghetti and meatballs and buys me gatorade because she knows my electrolytes are low and treats all her employees like her children
-really cool co-workers
-open mic nights and all the crazy weird customers
-tips (ok, they're not always great tips but, i mean, they're tips)
-being right in west chester
so...i'm working at sprazzo for the people and the atmosphere and i'm working at starbucks for the money. i'm ok with that. selling out. whatever. screw selling out. i need money. is being a prostitute selling out? because i'd do that too.
i'm really excited for my 3 hour sociology class today.
friday the 13th part 4, the final chapter is the best because it has corey feldman being cute and chubby and crispin glover being a "dead fuck".
good morning! |
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