The Perfect Murder

And I'm out.

2004-04-16T17:33:00.000-04:00

You know my screen name.

You have my address.

You know my email account.

You have my phone number.

I'm done with this. Goodbye.

You know my stance on obligations.

2004-02-28T11:21:00.000-05:00

I resent my need for quality sleep, hate the fact that my body requires it. Infuriating.

Eight hours of staring off into space. Shallow breathing behind me, and Amanda's empty bed enveloping my line of vision. Too much thinking time and I can't deal.

Like a dinosaur wearing body glitter. Bone, bone and... what's that? More bone. Fascination. Who needs a washboard stomach when you have a washboard back? This is Joe/Bob all over again.

Speaking of Joes, the one Amanda knows is Brendan's roommate. Irony? More than a feeling, less than a person.

I'm a half of wholes, or some other more useless fraction or faction. My brain has been swallowed in its entirety.

Amanda disappeared last night. I've ceased to exist in bright light. My people will call your people.

Strength in numbers and volume. Card games perplex me.

Speak out. I'll get to the bottom of this. Read the fucking yellow pages.

Squee. Also: hrm. And: zzzzzzzzzzzz.

I'm sure you'll understand.

The double vision I was seeing is now finally clear.

2004-02-09T22:13:00.000-05:00

For the first time in a long time, I'm feeling somewhat content with myself and my life. Six hours of sleeping under blue glitter words that say 'Life is amazing and so are you.' That was the last thing I saw before I shut my eyes, feeling peaceful and thoroughly exhausted, but good. I spent around thirty minutes in the gym after class. And another hour and a half tonight. I feel good about today, about getting my work done on time and making plans for spring break, summer, next semester. I think Geneseo has been really good for me, at least so far.
In just fifteen days I'll be 18. That doesn't scare me as much as it used to. I feel older. Not adult necessarily, but on my way to growing up. I feel like I've wasted a lot of my time on things I should've known better than to do. Stressing and hating myself aren't really getting me anywhere, so I'm making a conscious effort not to be so critical any more. I'm making progress, at the very least.
I'm just so... chill today. It's amazing. I've been thinking the same things that usually depress me, but in a new perspective that doesn't make me feel bad about the way I am right now. I'm getting there.
This life, the independence and feeling of being surrounded by people who care because they want to, not because they have to. It's phenomenal. I've had at least four good '3AM conversations' in the past 24 hours, and being able to talk to people so freely is definitely a big thing for me. I'm not afraid of Dave any more, either. I think we can be great friends, and that's all we should worry about now. There's a lot that still needs to be said, and someday I'll have the words to explain as well as he deserves me to.
I just wish my friends back home could see what it's all about for me. It's funny how 'getting the hell out of Herkimer County' is my cure-all for everything, but it was certainly a solution for me, and I can't help thinking maybe it'd help them too.
I see how I'm too intense sometimes, how I get too critical of myself and let little things bother me. I'm working on it. I'm feeling pretty good right now, overall. I feel stronger, physically and psychologically. I'm just... growing up, again. I'm starting to see how trivial things are, so they don't upset me as much as they used to. I can deal with my problems by myself, and there are plenty of people I can turn to for help if I need it.
I'm used to being 'alone' for Valentine's Day, but it isn't that, and this year will be better. Wednesday is the open mic, and Saturday I'll be surrounded by people I adore. Quite possibly, an appearance by select members of my man-harem, maybe some Odesse. We'll see. It'll be brilliant because I won't accept anything less.

Lost in translation.

2004-02-08T12:45:00.000-05:00

Guess who just got dumped? That's right. I'm upset. Actually, I'm angry. Mostly with myself. I wish my timing didn't suck. I wish I didn't have such a godawful time expressing myself. I wish I could make him understand, somehow. I wish I weren't scared to get close to people. I wish they wouldn't push me away as soon as I finally started to let my guard down.

Two months and four days. Sometimes I'm surprised I lasted that long.

It's hard for me, I doubt anyone has a clue how hard it is for me. It's like poker. You try so hard to see what's going on, even harder to keep everything hidden. I guess Chad was right when he told me we're all alone. No one can ever really know another person, we're all living inside our own heads. Any pretense of an emotional bond is just what we get out of what they choose to tell us.

I hate being cynical. I hate thinking all these hideous things every day. I hate feeling so painfully inadequate all the time. It isn't my choice, goddamnit. I didn't choose to have to go through anything that's in my past. It's who I am, and what I've become. And I can't change it and I can't talk about it, and that's how it is, at least for now.

He said we should be friends, that it was mutual. That we needed to work out some stuff before we went any further. He said he still cared, still wanted to hang out with me but that's all bullshit. Who are we kidding? Neither of us knows what to say to each other. We don't understand each other, and we can't talk about it. That's the fundamental flaw in what was our relationship.

I guess this was inevitable, but it still took me somewhat by surprise. Looks like I'll be spending Valentine's Day with Amanda after all. Side note, I think Ashley and Bob are together now. Say it with me: aww.

I fucking suck at life. And at being a girlfriend, apparently. Go me.

Happy mo'fuckin birthday.

2004-02-01T21:36:00.000-05:00

I'm already feeling old, and I'm not even 18 yet.

Things are breaking down, my body feels so... worn out, terrible.

I'm borderline overweight, thought everyone swears it's my large frame, muscular build, strong bones.

Whatever, all I know is that lately I have to be even more careful about what I eat, and how much, and when.

I have to exercise. A lot.

I feel like a hamster running a wheel, it's getting me nowhere.

Some days I wish I could open every vein in my body.

Let my blood flow out until there's nothing left in me but flesh and brittle bone.

I get depressed, stressed and fat far too easily.

I can't seem to shake the feeling that there's something genuinely wrong with me.

Dinner's for suckers.

2004-01-12T17:05:00.000-05:00

This semester will be devastating; I can feel it in my bones already. My classes are either up in the air or crashing down on my head. No drop-add until tomorrow afternoon, no way out. I need to add more, drop two, find a way to balance. I can't breathe.

Small consolations lie in my friends, few that they are. Amanda's back, and she brought Cait. They're loud. They're fun. They make me feel alone when I think too much, but I don't mind. Sean's hair looks fantastic. Light blue. It works well on him. And at least someone bothered to say hello to me today. I thought I saw Jaqui, but I'm not sure. Rose is in the anthropology seminar I need to overload or add. Catherine was in Evolution, but I won't be for long. Insanity. I hate being dumb.

Still haven't seen Cris; I missed him last night because I was out walking in the snow for half an hour. Don't ask. I came in with melted mascara in trails down my cheeks; there was ice in my hair and my keys were half-frozen to my neck under a thin crust of snow. I felt better than I have in a long time, because I actually felt the cold, felt alive.

Lucas is awesome, and Amanda loved the Care Bear and we'll be having the cookies (and my pink cupcakes) tonight. I'm trying to think of something worth celebrating, but I'm not coming up with much.

I'm turning into a zombie. Living dead girl, that's me. No sleep. No appetite. Lost in my head. Spaced out. Scary.

I think I need more friends. I think I need to be alone.

Homecomingish.

2004-01-07T23:17:00.000-05:00

I wish I could be one of the people I'm always so afraid of, I think to myself as I lean against the empty bathroom stall. Disgusted, I stare at my hands as I wash them, callused and trembling under the running water. Closing my eyes, I'm somehow afraid to see my own reflection. My face in the mirror is too much to take; I'm already reminded enough of my own inadequacies by the nagging voice in my head.

As I make my way back to the gymnasium, I certainly feel inadequate among all the beautiful people, perfectly dressed and dancing like fiends. The darkness and music hide me as I slump into a chair in the corner. I sigh, defeated.

I can't help wishing so desperately to be special. There are no hidden talents, there is no undiscovered beauty in this sagging shell of a body. Behind my hardened hazel eyes, the inner demon rages. My so-called conscience, or my self-esteem, I suppose. The voice of reason in my head, constantly telling me I'm a sham, a tragedy, a loss. A waste, not worth anyone's time or effort.

I watch as people prance by in twos and threes, happy, healthy, strong. They look past me, a neurotic tangle of complexes and conflict, and move on with a superior, sidelong glance that makes me truly hope I'll drop dead on the spot. You'll never be like them. A burst of girl's laughter lashes out from somewhere behind me like an explosion, a small metallic death in my ears. You don't deserve happiness like hers, the voice whispers, a harsh insistent hiss.

Two black shoes appear in front of my toes, and I hear a deep voice ask, 'would you like to dance?' Disbelieving, I slowly look up to find a tall, striking young man standing in front of me, and suddenly sink back into reality as I watch him lead someone else out to the floor. The chosen girl innocently looks over her bare shoulder with curious cat eyes, then disregards me with a swish of her full skirt. Did you really think anyone would be interested in you? The venomous voice seems to temporarily multiply as it sends a sharp wave of laughter echoing inside my skull.

I lower my eyes once more, so no one can see the glimmer of tears that are starting to form. Oh, grow up, I hear. I squeeze my lids shut again. I'm trying, can't you see I'm trying? Dammit. I could never be like them, no matter how hard I try. All I can do is sit here drowning in desperation as I watch them parade around before me, flaunting their beauty, their charm.

No. No more of this. I'll try. I'll fight this voice in my head with hopes that I find my own, but somehow I doubt I'll ever be 'good enough' to finally be free of it. I stand up straight, determined, and walk past the scattered couples on the dance floor. With one final look around the room, I turn to the door and leave. It's small, but it's a start.

In my dreamscape escapades I make the grade...

2003-12-10T11:24:00.000-05:00

...I save the day.

If finals don't finish me off first, I think I might die happy.

Conversations put a lot in perspective, and I've had several of the sort. I think I'm growing up, honestly. I certainly feel ancient... but I'm realizing that I can handle a lot more than I give myself credit for. It's reassuring, somehow, to see how far I've come.

I'm getting better at surrounding myself with people I need, not toxic friends and apathetics of all kinds. I care, those a mi alrededor do the same. I'm glad for all the boys I love, and more so for the girls I never thought I could get along with.

This is me, content.

I can't be bothered by things unless I let myself get that way. Such brilliance went unappreciated for too long, and my eyes are open. December is a magical time, and I'm five years old and glad for it. Hand-knit scarves and fuzzy black gloves, twirling around while snow sparkles in my hair and tickles my eyelashes, making Christmas cookies and sending homemade cards with snowflakes and reindeer... I enjoy this. Maybe too much. But it's worth it.

I've missed a lot. Seems to me that I'm finally catching up. I'll be all right.

♥ to everyone. Don't be afraid to get happy.

I'm dying.

2003-12-02T14:03:00.000-05:00

My head feels like a helium balloon.

I can't walk further than to the common room without feeling as though I might pass out.

I'm coughing like a chain-smoker.

My sinuses are more congested than traffic on the thruway coming back to Geneseo on Sunday afternoon.

I haven't eaten in three days. I can't fucking sleep.

All I can do is chug gatorade and cough syrup and... wait, that's about it.

Sweet computer geeks and Southern gentlemen take care of me.

I was worried about Lucas, for the record.

Damn, I love my boys.

Coughhackwheeze. I'm dying.

I'm a fuckup.

2003-11-24T17:04:00.000-05:00

Change isn't always a bad thing. I think I have some growing up to do. Would it be so terrible to trust someone? I guess we all know the answer to that. I think I identify with Austin a lot better, now. And I'm glad for Amanda's psychologizing of last night, glad for the drugs that made me sedate, made me sleep.

For a laugh. I need one. I guess the joke's on me. I can still pretend it's 2001, I can still laugh and mean it while I walk around in the rain. Angry-screamy is back in fashion. I don't think I can listen to my playlist anymore, so I'm resorting to CDs. And WGSU rotation makes me feel even worse.

I'm frustrated. Right now I'm coding HTML and drinking hot chocolate in my pajamas, because that's the only thing I can do when I feel like this. It's everything, it's nothing. It's stress, it's home. I just... feel myself slipping away and I can't do anything about it. I feel useless. I feel misunderstood. I feel apathetic, I feel pathetic.

I hate hurting people. Especially when it's over something this stupid. I really don't know how to act sometimes, and I always make bad situations worse. I'm scared. I'm uncomfortable. I don't want to go home. I don't want to be understood. I don't want to be found out. Then again, this is right. Or, it was. I think. I should be happy. Goddamn.

Someone hug me.

Magic's in the makeup.

2003-11-22T11:36:00.000-05:00

Last night was too perfect. Too imperfect. Things are upswinging too freely, I'm a pendulum. The rope will snap and I'll fall, or things will slowly center and stay that way, which is scarier.

I'm inventing things to worry about, and I think Karin said it best. I'm turning into one of those people I always made fun of. But I've always verbally abused myself. It's no thing.

I think I know what I need to say. I just can't, or won't, perhaps. Explanations and apologies are so hard. And inhibitions get in the way of so much.

I hate mirrors, compliments, insecure girls. Go figure on that last one. It's not that I'm being rude. I'm a fiend, a seductress, beautiful, more addictive than crack. I'm sorry, I just don't see it, I don't like me, I don't like my face, my attitude, your mom, or beer. I really don't.

What a night, and Thursday was one of those too. I need balance but I can't let go. I love Weezer, Wallace and Gromit, domestic violence of sorts, wearing too much eye makeup. Jello is fantastic, drunk guitar boy isn't bad either.

Making Ashley smile is worth it, so worth it. And the pictures he fought so hard to take came out brilliantly. You know where to find them. I look decent, maybe just happy. And I was. And I am. Everything is coming up Milhouse. Beautiful.

Holy sweet goddamn.

2003-11-18T01:54:00.000-05:00

Too much has happened.

You missed it.

Details are pointless.

I feel... conflicted.

I feel peaceful.

If you really need to know, chances are you already do.

That is all.

Lacking boy-drama in the worst.

2003-11-12T21:23:00.000-05:00

Entertainment, pure and not so simple. I really wish I were talented, wish I could find some ephemeral groove to glide through life on. White boys can dance, after all. And not so white, and then, not so much, and it's good. It's all good.

I upped weights again, went to the gym twice yesterday, and don't start because I've already heard everything you're going to say. And I really don't want to hear it.

I'm not cutting. I'm not alcoholic. I'm not doing all that bad. I'm fucking STRESSED, k? Don't delude yourself, you would be too if you had to put up with this. It isn't fair. No one said life was fair. It should be.

I feel like a puppet; Ashley laughed at me. But I think it's a pretty damn fair analogy. My muscles feel used, loved, tight. When I walk, I stand straight now. Pulled upward, and my legs feel like they're attached to strings. Like a marionette. A fucking PUPPET.

And yes, I'm insecure too. But it feels so damn good... I have way the fuck too much energy, I'm a two and a half walk a night PLAYER, baby. I'm only wanted when I don't, I'm only hot when you're drunk. I'm useless, obviously. It shouldn't matter. And it does. I hate everyone.

Screw next semester, I need a drug habit and a road trip. ...I upped weights again, and that's all that matters... tell me that...

Living in your letters.

2003-11-07T05:23:00.000-05:00

Not what I thought you meant. Not at all, and never what the eyes see. Strangers are sexy, it's that spark, that unknown quotient, the infinite what-ifs that spread out like peacock feathers. Oh curse me, I'm being pretentious. I'll put it bluntly, for once: I hate needing this so much. I resent it, I resent you and what you mean to me.

Broken hearts are invisible, stairwell phantoms and leftover cocktails can't let me down. I'm far beyond it all. It's five o'clock in the fucking morning. Hot action (copped) and a dozen CDs for a few selects. Ice cream. Gankage. It's been too many hours, I've thought about all this for too long after the fact. Prospect isn't gold. It's just... better that way, sometimes. Get. Out. Of. My. Head.

You can't control me like that, it won't work. Introversion is to my advantage, it's just a label stuck on my trousers. Meaning is graspable, but empathy slides through your fingers like cold, raw egg. I have to believe that this weekend will be better. I will make it better. So many superficialities. So much angst, so much anger. Is it worth it? Tentatively, no. But in the long run? Definitely.

I tire of rat-racing, I wish I could drift, if you catch mine. So much meandering, digression, expression. Too many words, I can't keep up to the nineteens and eightysomethingnothingness. Too many archetypes. Stillness; I don't just take notes, I leave them. Destroy them. I long for profundity, for understanding, for so much truth. I'm crumbling, refining. Things aren't so bad, I'm dulled, the threshold is there, unmet. It doesn't hurt so much, lately.

And I know that you hope for longer good-byes, embracing for forever and falling in your eyes... but I'm not sure I can carry this much. I'm not as strong as you thought I was, or maybe you never did... It should rain all the time. I need it. I need you... more than I'd care to admit. Don't expect to hear from me any time soon. I'm not here... but I'm hanging on, for a while longer, anyway.

The brilliant dance.

2003-11-02T13:53:00.000-05:00

I feel... profound. I feel nothing. I am nothing. I am not a philosopher. I am not philosophical. I do not giggle, I am not a drunk, I am not a beer slut. Such profundity, I can't get it into words, honestly. I need more practice, more Weezer, Junior Senior. Story of the Year. No pumpkin smashing, no Smashing Pumpkins. Oldskool, two guitarists, one hxc drummer. No shoes. Music. I need to review Coldplay. Live music does indeed pwn, but this is better. So. Much. Better.

This is the bottom, the middle. It's can't get worse, it can only stay, go up, get better. I can handle it, I can deal with how things are, I can take this. I'm realizing now that I might be all right. Who's laughing now, who's standing in doorways, who's dancing in the hall? I love pancake mornings, I love febreze in my closet, I love so much, I love too little. I'm starting to catch on, finally. Too much pregame means no game. I've got game. I missed it. Walking doesn't suck. I want to have Karin's babies. Oh, and OA. Best. Packages. Ever. Three. Lots. Brilliance. Girlspacefriends. It really doesn't matter. Everything matters.

Funny how important people aren't always what I thought they were. Shruggage.

This is incredible. Starving, insatiable, ...yes, this is love for the first time.
Well, you'd like to think that you were invincible.
Yeah, well weren't we all once before we felt loss for the first time?
Well this is the last time.

This really is the last time.

Cry, emu boy.

2003-10-24T23:39:00.000-04:00

So I'm getting depressed again. Fucktacular. Just what I need right now. No, really. Greeeeat. Fuck this shit, fuck college, fuck logic, fuck people I thought were my real friends. Not like I had any. Fuck fake-ass losers who pretend they care about me. Fuck feeling like I'm not even a person. Jesus, I hate this. And I have a really hard time believing that it 'wasn't me.' Don't fucking lie to me. Ever. Being unoriginal is killing me. That and the sunlight.

Everything is going to shit all of a sudden, strains and holes all over the place, everywhere I look, things are dying, falling apart. Matt and Amanda tense, fighting, avoiding each other. Worrisome. Ashley and Andy, just Ashley, no Andy, both, neither. Chantel nowhere to be found, per usual. Oh well. Scheduling fuckups and conversations that don't make any sense, people who don't give a fuck about you even though you really care about them.

What do I have here? Nothing, that's what. Loud drunk-ass neighbors, a view through broken blinds of three fucking windows and a stairwell. Lame movies and ghetto ass internet, intro level classes that kick my ass on a regular fucking basis. Groceries. My laptop. An empty room and a lock on the door. Two sharp knives, sixteen gauge syringes and enough sense to know better. I'm not like that any more. I don't know what I'm like any more, really. I don't recognize my face in the mirror lately. It scares me, but I don't feel a thing.

Fuck this. I'm out of here.

Another karma day.

2003-10-22T16:22:00.000-04:00

Stuck in a moment, in the library, in limbo... being stupid is all it's cracked up to be, and much more. Everything meant nothing, not as oxymoronic as I'd thought.

Best. Freestyle. Ever.

I got sleep, got two hours, got Patricia taken off the list. Not my doing. You made things wonderful for an afternoon, so I really tried to return the favor. Quilts? Very cool. I should stop being so technicolor, but I can't...

DJing is fantastic, last night was almost as amazing as this afternoon. It's still going. The White Stripes, Saves the Day, The Jesus Lizard, Junior Senior, Nirvana, Belle and Sebastian, Weezer, so much more I've forgotten. I have a face for radio, a voice for promos, the boards aren't so bad. I'm loving this feeling, this outlook.

Rocky Horror Saturday, I want to bring a few, but too many. It'll never work. Maybe dinner with Lucas on Sunday, I won't tell Dad this time. Things are always taken out of context, I'm too hesitant to write, to speak, to share my observations. This is absurd.

Too much drama. Wouldn't have it any other way.

You didn't have to tell me it was imperfect.

2003-10-20T13:03:00.000-04:00

Tiara girl - birthday of Miss Trisch; my lab done by nine thirty. Five hours of sleep. I woke up on time. Amanda's unbroken hand on Matt's shoulder, and he was still there when I got back. My playlist is swollen with bass. Watching a rather different him walk, I felt the LP, hoped for Kylie, heard pop. He has one of those interesting faces on which I can't quite decide attractiveness. Not that it matters.

But I digress.

The trick wasn't to keep breathing, rather, to let go of everything but her grip on his arm. Shivering from adrenaline, hummingbird heartbeat, she can still feel his pulse, sense the warm blood rushing through him. Cold hearted? Never.

Don't forget me.

I always seem to run into the wrong people, as well. It has to stop. I don't know your fucking name, who cares, let's fuck all day. I got more hugs in the past thirty six hours than I had in the past three months. Not so bad. All that DDR music, and it still boils down to one big mess I missed out on. Bliss. I had no idea things could be so... uncomplicated, I think I want to say.

I could elucidate. I'd rather not.

Dream a dream.

2003-10-19T13:32:00.000-04:00

No one asked. Not that I would tell, anyway.

Whatever.

2003-10-19T03:08:00.000-04:00

Fuck this shit. Stop pretending.

I'm-a kill you.

2003-10-15T18:33:00.000-04:00

Two weeks' notice. Seven day faith. Will you be my windbarrier? I shall. Fencing? Why not... What were those brownies made of, anyway, I wonder? A sixteen does take exceptional skill, Bonita isn't immune but I tend to forget myself. I wish everything else followed suit. Stranger on my bed, no one in it, and I slept on the couch last night. Slept, hardly. Cleaning lady, Ashley lost her card but not her keys. I'll walk you to class but it won't mean a thing, and book discussions are devoted to a book hardly worth discussing. I'm disgusting. Girl pants are foreign objects, objectified, I feel... weak. Combative, excessive, bitchy. Cranky when I don't get my sleep, I suppose. And people enjoy mindfucking with me, inferior substitute for the real thing. I like Malibus, Phigs on Friday night, working out. Dinosaurs and Axe, Drew on the floor, I'm NINJA. I can't type. Laundry, lab rats, blue haired freaks. Three guesses who. And I didn't chicken liver out, I watched the movie, I got to the bank. Got a check. Checked. Found nothing. Complimented, complained... yes. I think Miss Trisch was right. I am in spite of myself, I'm beyond it, I'm a parody of myself. I'm a joke without a punch line. My arms hurt. Sore is good. I haven't cut in ...too long. Not long enough. I'm getting better, I'm getting worse. I'm getting restless. I'm letting go. Moldy bread is quite beautiful, sometimes. I see all too well how little I tend to look at things around me. And I'm trying. Come visit me after your test. We'll have SANDWICHES, it'll be chill. If I can just hold out for one day, it'll be all right, I'll handle this so much better than I have been. I feel so incredible right now, only tainted slightly by the fact that everyone keeps asking if I'm drunk. That cheapens it, spoils the moment. Go away. Come back. Get out. They're all mandatos, make me crazy. You'd be a really boring enemy, and not all potatoes can swim. This has relevance. This has meaning. Maybe it's something in the water. I've been drinking. Gatorade no more. Botellas de agua and some caffeine. Works for me. Worrying doesn't do any good, and I don't think I'm warranting it. I'll be fine. I already am.

Pleading the fifth.

2003-10-14T16:51:00.000-04:00

...think I'm gonna need a little time to myself. Thanks for the memories, the phantom bruises, the nosebleed. The guilt trips that go nowhere, ring around the rosie, spinning like my head. I need to sit down, stay awhile, but I'm out the door again. Set me off like a ...car bomb? What's that, had enough already? I don't usually like being stalked, but thank you two for caring at least a little, at least a quarter's worth. I didn't sleep. I didn't eat. I didn't care, don't say a word to me. Austin's was chill but I didn't spend the night there, I'm fine, seeing my precious was almost enough, but the bastard stole my ring. Dropping blue balls like bombs, again, it doesn't matter, doesn't make sense. Don't fall down now, you will never get up. Never come back here, never. Please. Adam lied, but not to me. Jailbait is fun, but no fun. I'm the purple haired boogie monster, under my bed the dust bunnies are swept away. Breaking the hundred was too loud, white hands creeping up, up. Up. Down, again. He wouldn't even talk to me, what did I do? Don't hate me, don't hit me any more. I can't take this place, can't take your face. I never knew if it was real, but I guess I finally got my answer. Dinosaur below me, three little kittens, Miguel. My reflection. Distorted, I am. Caffeine won't save me from you. Valley cruising helped, but I really needed to talk. Tawk. Rawk. Hawk. I want one. It's all mind over matter anyway, I'm losing my mind but it doesn't matter. Ouch. She was my... she just disappeared. The best birthday party I missed, glow in the day, the dark. I'm not scared of them now. Nice day for a wedding at a gas station, laugh it off, mountain dew fingers and the BISCUIT. It's chill, babe. You are, too. With plastic forks in my hair, still needing space. What do you do when home isn't home anymore, when you realize it never was what you thought, because you didn't? This is important. This week might just kill me if I don't do it myself. I'm ordinary, in the worst sense of the word. Cantonese, some weekend before the snow falls, I'm falling. And I cook. Marry me, no, I can't do that, for you, for my sake. I need the silence, please don't stare, don't say a word. You can't. DJ, hit the button. I did. And I am.

Midnight.

2003-10-07T15:09:00.000-04:00

I don't feel the ice princess any more, I slipped, I tripped, I didn't fall.
I jumped.
By the time you read this you still won't understand.
Sometimes ordinary doesn't exist, sometimes existence is too ordinary and you can't help but laugh. Throwing your shoulders back and cutting your hair twice in the same week is all it takes to make everything splendid, if splendid means embracing agony and never letting anything go. That shine, that sparkle... That crimson glow that turns purple and fades away.
I burned out. Change doesn't happen, people do, the weakest are the first. This is not a song, but a whisper. Keep struggling. You never know when things can get worse. And sometimes worse isn't, really.
This all made sense in my head, but nothing in my head makes sense. It evens out. Getting lost is fun, and cookies mean love but it's platonic and limited to forty five minutes a night. I need to talk, to run, to ramble, to sing.
Nothing suits me, I'm unsuitable, insatiable. Don't misunderstand me, not like you had a choice in the matter. Choice is an illusion, a joke. Isn't it funny? Logic is, I assure you.
There's so much beauty in the world, so much ugliness, so much waste, so little time. Too few of us see it. And when we see, do we, really? I get too introspective, I get too lost in my head, in my obsessiveness. That's the fun. Tengo una cita. You need to leave. I need to breathe.
Mirrors do lie, occasionally. And I love it when they do.

Binary.

2003-10-04T05:44:00.000-04:00

Red light, green eyed monster, I'm happy for you, I am. And apparently I'm beautiful when you're drunk, swaying and shimmying with my strong red friend. Amanda and I, we ponged, we paced. Jen and Tony and where did Miss Trisch come from, anyway? Trogdor on the door, Big Matt and Alex were bad, so bad. My head is spinning or maybe the room is, my eyes are crossing, heavy with whore makeup, bloodshot, blinking sporadically. I joined the gym and Amanda slept til after dinnertime. Krispy Kremes from the SA beat anything at 4 in the morning. I don't miss home, but I need a job, a purpose. Skeeveage and cleavage everywhere at Phigs but it wasn't too cold out for the backseat. My hat. Five dolares, sin dolores. The dog was bothering me, old blue eyes, stale pizza and Emo, hot, Emo. He isn't, and the hawk is down. I'm not. You said you'd catch me if you weren't wasted, the night wasn't. I still feel it in my knee, I fell, I couldn't walk over the glistening grass. First frost is too soon to tell, Halloween costumes might be of the eskimo persuasion. No gypsy this year, assuredly. Wipe your nose and spill a little more beer on me. Amanda ganked my German uniform, but I still have sweaters and I closed the window. Drew did, we watched TV, it was chill. 32541, is it? 100 A O and I can't forget my hat, my hat. Everything in my head is swimming around, I tried to write earlier and it was too ridiculous. Post loggage and crumpled notebook paper, surroundig me, suffocating me. And I'm officially a has-been, if I ever was at all. Good night, frat house, good night bench, good night Eddie and Tony and Dan and the names that don't matter (much) any more. Good night moon. To bed, alone. I guess I'm not hungry. It's all the empty calories.

w3rd.

2003-10-02T00:12:00.000-04:00

Quote of the Night: "This is like a case study on how to fuck up your face!"

No joke.

I hope Danny's ok.

Ashley might have a point, as much as I hate to admit it.

Bad juju. Mike was right.

Things even out.

iQUE DURAZNO ENORME!

2003-10-01T15:12:00.000-04:00

Wow, what a day, breakfast at MJ and we need a FC sorority, yes yes. Best coffee ever, hazelnut too. Mmm. Perfect score on my Spanish quiz, food words are fun and I studystudystudied, too. Tengo una cita estudiar, que fantastico. Who kicks ass and takes (screen)names? That'd be ME. College Meg called, right when I was gonna leave. Mike isn't coming, talked to Brian, lovely boy. Lovely. Amanda still hasn't erased what I wrote last night on the markerboard, I think it'll be appreciated later. Tomorrow's open mic, I might get a pair and read my stuff. Well, oldskool, anyway. I need to do my JITT and logic tomorrow, JH after class and I'm done. Fastest CSCI quiz taking ever, I really got creative. I definitely failed, failed to care. And I forgot about it anyway. Heh. MY BAD. I really feel like giggling all of a sudden. DC++ is fantastic, and I found a LAN game. Now all I need is a five dollar mouse from... someone in the suite that ISN'T anywhere near the laundry room. I love it when people stare. I know I do. Awww yeah, go fuck yourself. I'm corrupting Austin, I think. It's too easy, too damn much fun. I'll have him all gothed out in no time. I think I need a hat. Go, Tom, go! And I'm not even close to being done yet, no. Three guesses where Ashley went. I want to be trained NOW. Impatience impatience impatience. 4nn4 dj... soon.

OK, scratch that.

2003-09-30T15:08:00.000-04:00

It's hard to walk when your arms are wrapped around your love, you're too afraid you might fall and shatter into a thousand metallic mirrored pieces. RIT is better, I can't afford it, but I can rent myself the feeling. I'm hooked on it, I think. Eat your guisantes; red-speckled flesh and more tape mean everything today.

Print it black.

2003-09-30T13:26:00.000-04:00

So logic is picking up on my five hours of waste and I managed a 92 with many stupid mistakes. This is only a test, and WSGU wants you. By you, I mean me. Two in the morning, dj insomniac is signing on? It's not impossible. Jogging last night made my lungs burn, fantastic, and I am going to the WOS with Ashley Cherie later. Work out. And wow, just wow, printing was never this much fun before. Two in the morning I finished, Amanda's head had already hit the pillow. I left my baby in the basement, ran away from Newton, hung in the Circle with the lovely Valerie. What a morning, what an afternoon. How can ninteen hours do something to nineteen years, nineteen minutes even but it didn't feel like that long. I saw sk8r b0i again, I need a camera, I need a winter coat. My mittens and scarf are coming out of the closet, baby. It's such a day for cargo pants, for silver sluts, for toothpicks and peaches and sammmm-okin! Aww yeah. You two are made for each other, for me. I love playing with Control Panel. I'm going home, but Suffolk doesn't feel like it. Big comfy couch is Ashley's room, so much for carrots and crackers. I need knives, sharp, shiny knives. And another window. Maybe a closed one, this time.

Twenty seven hour courtesy hours.

2003-09-29T21:25:00.000-04:00

No sleep at all makes me bad. C isn't horrible, and Amanda isn't, she really isn't. Waffles and french vanilla, chocolate, chai. It's getting cold. Eat your mariscos. Reading THE BOOK makes me calm, but I have to start writing. Anthro, RJ, camo. My clothes match but I doubt you saw me. Barefoot and raining, and away messages that crack me the fuck up. My mail is coming... or going. I need some marmalade free brownies.

Does this smell fuchsia to you?

2003-09-28T17:54:00.000-04:00

Pink monkeys and Applebee's salad, but $10 buys Sharpies and magic satin, baby. Open mic is almost as fun as rainbows and cocaine. Update: I don't care anymore. Spanish workbooks and fake plants make fun, like drawn blinds and I'm not the one who couldn't see, anyway. Garbled. Garbage. I'm leaving, again.

I hate you too.

2003-09-28T12:36:00.000-04:00

And sometimes, los muebles make all the difference. Andy's back and so's the country singer, they pace in the common room, but it's not common anymore. Grandma kicks ass and everything's okay.

I don't need you any more.

2003-09-28T04:15:00.000-04:00

So nobody cares and I never did. Learning which door not to open and passing on is all part of the college experience. Gondola? Gazebo. Word, it's chill. Your dad. And hey, wanna go to Letch? The English boy doesn't mind either, why is Matt's face fucked up? Ice pops are so worth it. Don't talk at me like that, Rambo and Blade are so... what? I almost did it, I was so close tonight, it almost hurt -- but things go so much better when you're out in the woods in the rain. And not... alone. But you are, in your head. And perfect conversations are so... infinite, it's just fantastic. So are you. Breakfast at dinner is wonderful, and shared granola bars make the night. Goldfish, extra cheddar, no blue gatorade for me, thanks. Have you ever sat next to someone, so close you could feel their body heat against your bare arms and legs, so close you feel them without touch, without contact? Because I can't handle that right now, two weeks and I might be able to. You don't have to walk me back, keep your hat on, baby. It's cold outside. And fuck DDR, this is a better revolution. Mine. I needed this.

Best. Sammich. Ever.

2003-09-25T14:57:00.000-04:00

So Lucas the uber lunch lady made me this enormous ham sub, I got a half and I couldn't eat like half of it. Quarter. Or something. It was gooooood. And I think I did well on / passed my logic test. w00t.

SEX DICE GUY IS BACK, BABY.

2003-09-25T01:47:00.000-04:00

Or maybe Wednesday? Works for me. Been tooooo long. Too bad I got un-hot, right? Thanks for that. Roller blades are NOT my friend, neither are you, I sent out half a dozen letters. Crisp yellow. I love the smell of ink. Haven't tasted it. I really resent my weblog sometimes. Fuck enetation, too.

Nobody likes you when you're 23.

2003-09-23T16:46:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday, Josh. ♥

Say anything, sucka.

2003-09-22T12:57:00.000-04:00

Miss Amanda's deadly sin is envy but I'm worse. Spandex is my own worst enemy -- I look like a refugee. Withering. I hate shoes and the stars. They were too bright last night. Three hours later and I can still smell it on my clothes, stale cologne and cigarette smoke mixed with warm cinnamon. Yum. It hurts to listen sometimes, but it's better than the silence. This is what happens when I don't keep up with the reading, when I don't pay enough attention. I can't handle it, I'm too happy, too miserable. Un lugar. Flores. Quizas una fuente. I can feel it in my back, the wind, aching, slow, dull. It'll rain later. I'll see him dripping away, melting, I'll lift my arms high up above my head and laugh, twirl around in circles surrounded by umbrellas. I'll drip like a wet dog and not care about my makeup because I don't believe in waterproof mascara anyway, and I'll be happy. I'll be happy. It can't happen. I should have taken the vodka. Like a teenage girl with braces, I'm sorry, Trisch. I hate that too. Back to the post office. Eighty five and one hundred percent, computer lab was too easy. I woke up today and wished for tomorrow -- I don't want to even be myself. Kaboom. I didn't go back out, either. I almost forgot why I had CCG written on my hand until thirty minutes ago. Clicking long fingernails, they aren't brittle, they aren't tearing at my forearms, they don't snag and get dirty like at home. I feel positively negative, not as much of a contradiction as you. No one talks. I think I need some security in my writing, but I don't feel it anymore. I really don't. I used to, I used to feel so much. I'm shutting down, I'm fading away. And there are only about half a dozen who will even notice when I'm gone. Three edits later, I'll be okay. Thursday's the day, don't take this the wrong way: I hate you. I mean that. You're so vain, you probably think this blog entry is about you... maybe it is.

Twister and techno.

2003-09-21T02:03:00.000-04:00

So I did DDR at the union. I'm terrible. So completely terrible. But I don't care, it's fun. Especially when you're 'dancing' with an awesome hawktail boy who reminds you of your best friend, and is still in high school, at that. Kick ass, babe. And who says boys can't dance? Guitar babe can, that's for sure. Don't forget it. I'll be there.

Yar, or something.

2003-09-19T15:59:00.000-04:00

'Save a drum, bang a drummer.' I love it. 'Save a drum, bang a drummer.' I love it. 'Save a drum, bang a drummer.' I love it. 'Save a drum, bang a drummer.' I love it. 'Save a drum, bang a drummer.' I love it. 'Save a drum, bang a drummer.' I love it. Lather rinse repeat end stop repeat I honestly think I'm losing it. Who needs shoes, who needs sleep, who needs people in other states with big white cars that reverse and a discount by buying bulk? Who needs it? All the cool neighbors are disappearing, and I'm not one of them to begin with. Sulking, flip flopping down the Hall, waiting for mail and heading back to my room, slam the door because I can. Winds are picking up, should be a fantastic blow. No pun intended, god knows I don't need humor right about now. I went to the Plaza with Ashley this afternoon, I'm quasi-set. And more plastic. Two weeks just isn't long enough, it's too long, I need to start writing again (but when did I ever stop?) and get my fucking life together. I looked in the mirror today and almost thought I looked thin. Maybe I'll start wearing girl clothes. Maybe I won't.

Premonition

2003-09-19T11:08:00.000-04:00

Hello in the hallway, awkward silence breeds upon fear. You aren't lacking, nor am I. A small smile, pained, half dying. It's all too much to take. I feel it in the wind. My arms are twitching, my knuckles tight and white. It's the storm of the century if all goes according to plan. It never does. Take my keys away from me, hide the knives. Run. Far, and as fast as you can. Don't turn around, never look back. You won't want to see this.

Second October.

2003-09-18T23:07:00.000-04:00

Don't let me forget. And a little cyber mud slinging never hurt anyone. I can still hear the beeps, maybe Wendy's tomorrow will help. I need the space. Don't Google search for ♥. I'm not feeling lucky, today.

She bar(room)ed her shoulders, and a little of her soul.

2003-09-18T22:56:00.000-04:00

Suddenly things are looking too fake. I need my logic homework done, I need your wicked voodoo dance, black magic milkshakes and I can't stop trembling, trembling. Finally saw Bowling For Columbine and listened to the saddest songs that weren't even Dashboard. Kim can sang, and she did. I didn't slam, I squirmed, hiss now or forever hold your angst. Writing all over the back of my hand and it still hasn't smudged, but I expect some marks on the back of my neck from the pen in my hair. All night. You don't know how much I needed you tonight. Asking someone oot is a lot harder than it should be. Who would have known? Try harder. It's worth it, it's so worth it. Amanda's mother loves me, I have a koala in the drawer with spikes and my headphones. And treasured Treasures for tomorrow and pirate-talk, yes. I'll be needing my red sharpie and a box, too.

This is your last warning.

2003-09-18T16:24:00.000-04:00

Aprons intrigue, sex and coffee shop conversations. Suits of armor don't suit you, like unicycle boy and less than Valerie. Today is like that, like that. Seventy one and you got it. I missed it. The pink and spam, the trash and Americanized flatware. I got my rum, and it's not even after ten. Ten to one you forget me. I have meetings, I have logic but I'm illogical, to the Lamron. Undreaded, dreading life. Tripping twice, laughing as I fall. Unskinned knees and my pleated skirt swishes, each step another squeak collapsing on the pavement. Who needs reality? I have books, promise, twelve hundred shining memories and a holiday in my head. Get out.

I didn't change.

2003-09-18T08:57:00.000-04:00

What would make you say that? Fear? Disbelief? Trying to hurt me then, were you? I haven't changed, you're just finally opening your eyes. Now you can see what I'm really like out of the box you put me in when I was back home. When I cared too much and tried too hard. When I was afraid of you. I'm beyond it, don't you worry. I admit I'm different, but I didn't change. I'm more 'me' now than I've ever been in my life, and you goddamn well know it. Don't lie to me, ever. Change isn't as bad as I thought it was. But I didn't.

Dead man food.

2003-09-18T08:42:00.000-04:00

It's genuinely horrifying, that slow dull obsession turning into hysteria as one realizes fully what their actions meant, what the reaction meant. Freud would have a field day with all this. The pizza place is shutting down. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or not. I'm guessing he probably did, and I don't think I blame him, given the circumstances and timing. It's too bad, it really is. Maybe I'll end up on the wall after all. Never came back last night, never stopped in to say hello, and too many close encounters of the hetero kind make it even more difficult to breathe. I think I'm getting pneumonia, I'm probably going to just keel over dead one of these days. Especially with all the walking. It's too cold for the ugliest hawaiian dress ever, my boy scout uniform is better than Weezer. I want my black clothes here; all of them, suddenly. I tried so hard to not bring everything dark and velvet but I can't stand brightness, now. People here don't appreciate it anyway. I tried. My hair looks more like dreads today. You can't donate mats. I'd like some tea. Trogdor made me crash and burninate. I can't honestly say I never wanted to be average.

Can I get some egg cartons?

2003-09-17T23:50:00.000-04:00

Falling in love fifty times a day
With pudding in a bowl and apple
jacks on the table in front of her
Can never seem to eat - hands shaking
As she swears she'll never find anyone and
It can't happen to her, while her
Friends are off getting married to
Boys (not men) with cars and mommies
And daddies with golf shirts and
Khakis - dry clean only, she's
A mess in her thrift store sweaters
With the sleeves stretched too
long over her knuckles, feeling the itch
Always looking for a fight with the
Nearest wall, but she's sitting and trying
So hard to breathe - to eat - because
It's not worth fighting over when it
Always seems to come undone again.

Clocks.

2003-09-17T23:37:00.000-04:00

It doesn't work, I'm a terrible stalker, but things are coming up Milhouse in my new blue and white flood pants. That's right, baby. I'm back, and eighty three cents toward being uber poorcore. Amanda can't donate dreaded hair, but I can always go Monroe with the Miss Patricia. What good is a bald RA? Go to the meeting, we need the phone ringing, we need the drive to work, I have a paper to write but that's Ashley the science whiz. Charred, grey ashes and black lashes. The things I notice, it's funny. And it was too crime scene, my hands and face were rosy, I tried to explain the other night, he laughed. Such perfect teeth, sharp white edges on a smile that I'd love to see again. Stop over sometime to say hello. But how can you forget a number like 200? It's too even, I'm too odd. Too many numbers, and I saw the website for the SA already, but it's chill. I'm starting to tawk Lawng Oyland. And I can't deal with Starburst wrappers right now. Back to staring at a face that's not white, that glows green, that never smiles like he did in the hall. Tick. Click. Boom.

Fuck campus police.

2003-09-17T15:01:00.000-04:00

Under a dollar to send the best present ever, I love it, the ghetto card should arrive tomorrow, and if you have to ask you'll never know. Can you tell I really fucking love saying that? Better than John pants, it's too hot for spikes. Too pink today. Blotters amuse me but no acid. My parents spam me so, not everyone loves it like Monty Python. Logic tells me he looked hot because it's eighty degrees out and black absorbs warmth. But I thought wow, just wow. Too bad I had to rush off to fail (I might have) my comp quiz. I thought it was a test. But the real test comes Friday. I guess Mike isn't showing up. Not like I actually expected it. I went back to Second Chance, because god knows I need one, Matt came by while Amanda was sleeping, went to bed around twoish, it felt early until seven thirty when I had to get up. But I didn't. Internet was down and I need some more CDs. Black October, baby. Are you in? Ninteen fifty and 1200 mp3s, gatorade and question marks. But never acentos, maybe a tilde here and there? Just go with what feels right, don't be an alcoholic turbo slut and for the love of god, put on headphones. That's the story, like gummi worms. Back to Wegmans, some intro bullshit and I'm out.

I think I'm going to throw up.

2003-09-16T18:31:00.000-04:00

The best post of my life. Gone. Fuck you, blogger, hard, up the ass. Brilliance, like the sharp metal spikes around his neck, and wrestling isn't such an illusion as this when you're in a class AA school. My favorite Armenian, Perkins Street doesn't count any more, and I have music since one in the morning. (And what are all-state quality neighbors for, anyway?) I love that, even though I slept too much, through my first class I slept, and floated through logic, thick, white and blurry in my leopard and black pajamas. I just showered, and it's five o clock. Weakness, but I found Rose. Importance of proper nouns and an assignment for chapter five that I have to do. Thursday can't come too soon but it doesn't matter. Tomorrow I need to remember binary, and not just my phone number. Things are collapsing all around me. Music is love, love doesn't exist, but mp3s do and I have so many now. One second each, if I blink I miss it, and I can't miss this. Ever. Old man pants aren't so sexy, neither are algorithms. My head churns, my stomach too. Where's Ashley? Give you three guesses. I'm feeling generous, there are two folders for that sort of thing. Double plus what? I won't pretend I get that. It's a very very mad world all right, and I'm feeling calmer even though I can't breathe yet, and Mike's cutting his hair. Then again maybe I'll be the one who's unrecognizeable, go hug a stranger, ex-hobbit. That comma needs to be there, and I don't. I'll be sharpening my scissors, now. And it was everyone, and no one, and it doesn't really matter, anyway...

Dude, that was such a typo.

2003-09-15T18:16:00.000-04:00

He never said he loved me, no matter how many times I wished I heard him say it. Like is fickle, like means nothing. He said it, I didn't believe him, I didn't cry, I was numb. He doesn't love me and he never will.

If I don't die of tuberculosis.

2003-09-15T17:59:00.000-04:00

Having a 'fun' roommate kicks ass in an inferiority complex kind of way, I ate dinner with Ashley when RJ opened. We were the first ones in, opposite of last night when Amanda and I sat til closing time. Lucas wasn't working. Amanda did slip and slide with Mike in the rain, and I brought her ice cream. Cris with the camera didn't get to see her, he wasn't home but roomie was. Sorry, no C's in da houuuuse. But the Armenian with his camera got a shot, and I took a picture with Miss Amanda's camera in the hall. We bother people, people bother me, everything bothers me, especially rebellious mp3s. I'm gonig to mud wrestle later. And I don't even feel sick. Watch me die by tomorrow morning. I might take some echinacea, garlic and vitamin pills from the neighbor. It can't hurt. Ashley's getting sick. And I wonder where Trish is...

So this is safety in numbers.

2003-09-15T15:32:00.000-04:00

It's perfect out, an even number, warm, sunny, the type of weather that makes me want to curl up and die. I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course, you understand. But you don't. Cut short, I'm too free now. I walk alone in crowds, always watching the tallow, cobwebbed corners of my field of vision. I can't stand people, I observe them, but when it comes to interaction I'm completely fucked. She was right about one thing, about the hipbones. Fantastic, slow grazing of black fingernail on white skin, feather light touch you're not sure is really there. And wet hair smacks like seaweed in your face, the wind whips it in the eye of the storm, hazel, gold, deep. Do I detect a twinkle? I believe I do. Red tentacles, Medusa, hitch up your pants, keep walking. Swagger. Stop it. Just. Stop. It. He did say he was rather fond of you, after all. Now believe in it. If you can. Too much eye candy is giving me cavities, making me diabetic. Stop.

Scream.

2003-09-15T14:15:00.000-04:00

I think I'm going to. I can't handle all the pressure, all the love. It's too much, it's surrounding me, it's choking me. All these people and yet I'm still completely alone. But they get me, get their hooks into me, with their caring, with their intentions, with their problems sucking me in, pulling me under. Don't fuck with me, I can't take it anymore. Never could, really. But I'm worse now, brittle, weakening in my wiles. It's so bad, so fucking bad. But it'll all be all right eventually if people could just leave me alone. Or never leave me. I'm not sure.

It's so bad, so fucking bad.

2003-09-15T12:59:00.000-04:00

I'm too addicted, like some wanderlusting juvenile delinquent shooting up behind the local convenience store. Like the dealer down the hall, this business has me booming, and not the other way around. It's like last night, but so much better than this morning, the way things are, the way they could be if only something. If I tried hard, if I worked out, if I hadn't taken a chance. And you walked by surrounded by girls, nodded my way, while I was totally entranced by the guy in front of you. I've found the missing third, and it's the final fifth I needed. I'm still lost in a sea of flatirons, flipflops and faux-vintage babydolls. The real thing is always better, but it doesn't matter. Old man hats on young men with mullets and strong ankles, the little things I always notice. Spikes and stripes and black and white, even though nothing is. I love so little, and yet so much. Profound, isn't it, sometimes... but scary when I see so many faces I know, when I find confabulated friends in the eyes of strangers. I can't tolerate it any longer, I really can't. Algorithms aren't all that sexy, really... but the subjunctive? Oh, the subjunctive. Italian whores and butterfly black, a smile and a wink and he looks like... but it can't be... no. Of course not, it isn't. For a minute there, I couldn't breathe. That smile. I think I'm losing it, if I ever had it in the first place. Frightening. Did I mention how much I love the showers here? Fucking awesome. I have scald marks on my back. Kick ass. It's not barrel, but I didn't get run over today, no men in red either. It bothers me on some level, but I can't make it mean anything to me. I want a robot, I want a best friend. Too bad my old one died, isn't it? But I didn't cry. And I didn't break anyone's nose. Too many vegetables, all the same. Blue and Yellow, orange and green. Times like these... times like these... People just don't get me sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean ever. And by ever, I mean nothing. Nothing at all.

I need this.

2003-09-15T05:04:00.000-04:00

So what country are you from? I'll be waiting on every word, two-faced, swirling masses of thought. Pure thought. There's nothing better than long nights that turn into blurry pink tomorrows, and it's too hot to sleep anyway. Too much music and I didn't hear a thing, the noise above was neighbors, not irony. Third person isn't always how the story goes... but it's true. It's all true. Paper napkins folded too many times tear. Shredded letters in the trash room next door, and I think I felt better but it's all coming apart again. Maybe I'm the one who's torn. Between what? We'll see...

Lock the door.

2003-09-15T02:47:00.000-04:00

For the record, my timing sucks. I mean. Really. Sucks. Just, completely. I hate that. And they're back...

WTFOMGLOL

2003-09-15T01:57:00.000-04:00

It wasn't Pantera. The shirt was, but it wasn't. Don't fuck with me about not making any sense.

This all was only wishful thinking.

2003-09-15T01:48:00.000-04:00

So I went out, about. Oot and spoon - accents are a funny thing when your CD case - SMASHING - neighbor is Mario de Queens, a buck thirty and this must be destiny, I tell you. It's not Erich, it's not, it's not. And it wasn't a hash pipe. So I went to 'Daga. So it's bigger, better, swankster, loveloveloooove it. Less than THREE. Four. So I found the unusually ubiquitous Hat Guy. So I forgot his name. So Donnie Darko makes sense now, cellar door. And the basement a la Suffolk is chock stocked with a microwave and the doors are real, laundry and the five. I need to see the common room, the curtains, it's hot down in the dungeons but too cold tonight. And it's morning, it's late, it's too early. I'm awake. I shouldn't be, I can't be, I can't breathe. And that's all I can do. So I have a new baby, too. Green. Not til the day I die and who needs proper English, anyway? It's all relative, like grandma's neighbors and no one upstairs. Learn their numbers and be considerate, Tommy. Please. I forget too much. I can't take this, I'm sure you'll figure it out. Or not. Cryptic, am I? This makes more sense than anything I've said in my life, it's too perfect, too real. Stay wrecked and jealous for this, this simple reason isn't so simple. Am I profound? Maybe. I feel like a whore, back to the gutter for me but I'm finally out from under my bed. Moving up a step, down a notch. Gooooing up? It won't be better than I remembered it before. But it's a start. It's something. Mike went to Eve6, too. I'm out... oot... w00t.

Worst food, but best dinner ever.

2003-09-14T20:46:00.000-04:00

So I went from skeeveage and WHYDIDIBOTHERGETTINGDRESSED to the best time ever, today. Well, tonight, anyway. I think things might actually turn out okay, we talked and things are better, now. I hope so. It hurts to laugh, but I don't care anymore. I'm just so happy I can actually laugh again. I saw Cris outside RJ tonight. Wow. Lookin' good. And I'm at my worst again. I hate that. But it doesn't matter, or it shouldn't, and Beryl and Quin are all right, I think. And I need to get well so I can go PARTY y0. And I'm serious, I really am. Things are fine as long as I wake up for eight thirty. I even did my Spanish tarea. I kick ass. Well, I will as soon as I'm healthy again.

IT'S THREE IN THE FUCKING MORNING. GO TO SLEEP.

2003-09-14T03:24:00.000-04:00

Or, you know, you could be a lameass and go online and talk to Josh and read old chat logs because you're sick and painfully awake. It's all the same to me really. EL SHRUG. You loser. Go to sleep. Jesusfuck. Yeah, not for lack of trying...

And yes, I do have a fucking staring problem.

2003-09-13T13:38:00.000-04:00

I'm sick, I haven't updated. Not like it matters. I feel like shit, I got mail, I sent out some mail. Nothing new, basically. I'M SO BAD. I really am. But I did laundry and cleaned my room this morning. It's a start. But I need a job. Employ me... please? :(

It's a pr0position.

2003-09-10T17:28:00.000-04:00

And the verdict is in, I'm an introvert twenty four to one. Who's surprised? Um, not me. Here's a hint - don't fuck with my paper if you aren't even going to give it a grade. Scribbles and shit when you don't understand what you're reading? A check-plus and more prizes. More INTD bullshit. Thanks, but no thanks. What's the point? Oh right, there isn't one. Six more papers... and you better not leave any fucking comments. I hate that shit. DIE.

Tastes like chicken.

2003-09-10T15:49:00.000-04:00

So Austin's writing an essay about me for English class, I got a button from Cath in the mail (kick ass) along with the second coolest card ever (first prize goes to the POTATO card, Edward Monkton's Interesting Thoughts), and I'm hatehatehating everyone else who ever existed, I think. I want to go on the 27th, tomorrow I'm headed to ...fuck, I forget. For the record, I still want to kill several people, but I feel better. Writing a letter to a certified fuckwit, ripping it up and throwing it away made me feel better. And a hot shower and a smoothie. Yay breakfast at 2 in the afternoon. My knee hurt until I took 6 aspirin and went outside. Last night was a full moon and I walked to the Union with Amanda. It was cool. We randomly made fun of cheerleaders and people waiting for the bus. YAY. And wow, just wow... campuswide clambake I swear, you could smell it all the way from the NORTH side. Someone partied a lot last night. Wow. We're learning binary in CSCI, wow, I'm almost impressed. Wait, no. And it's so so so wrong, but I think I look nice today. Whorey, but nice. And no makeup because I didn't want to be late. HOW SCARY IS THAT. I'm too caffeinated right now, I don't want to go to INTD bullshit either. Gah. Twitchtwitchtwitch I'm ready to gouge out some eyeballs yes I am...

It's just one of those days...

2003-09-09T12:58:00.000-04:00

...and no, I'm not quoting Limp Bizkit here, I'm not about to break stuff even though everyone does indeed seem to SUCK today. I mean, today is just one of THOSE days. When everything is marshmallow and molasses, when you check your watch twice because you can't remember what time it is, even though you just looked. When you have to think about every step you take walking, when breathing is a conscious effort. You feel like you're drowning, like you're dreaming. And you're just... stuck. Internet in Suffolk is shit, and I'm not wireless yet. Back to the lab, again. Ah well. I think I'll go do my logic homework early. Yes, that's right. And I mean it. It's just one of those days.

A bushel and a peck, you bet your pretty neck I dooooooo...

2003-09-07T15:38:00.000-04:00

So I'm all pathetic and sleep-til-noon-get-food-go-back-to-sleep, and at 2.30 Chantal comes in and says THE CITS ARE HERE. I thought I was dreaming, baby. No dice. Skinny black-haired dude, same as before, but with a bronzy, big-nosed friend. Babbling on about Lindows and beta-testing the original Serious Sam, fighting with each other about Norton and Stinger and safe mode and OH MY GOD THIS KICKS ASS. So I'm back under the bed with my Ali while Amanda sleeps. She's genuinely sick, it would seem. 12 hours of sleep and now, a whole lot more. Headphones headphones headphones GOD I LOVE THE CIT HELPDESK. I'm back, baby. And better than ever. HOOAH. <3

The green mile.

2003-09-06T19:14:00.000-04:00

So I'm no good at this meeting people bullshit, and it is bullshit as far as I'm concerned. Couldn't be bothered if I tried. Today is on fire, it is. I thought it would be cooler; the sun was bright and warm when I walked out of Suffolk in a long-sleeved red shirt and my better than John pants. I thought that I shrank them in the dryer, but it's all right. I shrank, too. Somewhat. I'm fine again, I got more Gatorade at the corner convenience store, walked into Welles before I remembered that the computer lab closes on weekends. I suck. Turned around and walked past a tour group of potential incoming freshman, smiled to myself. No one goes home on weekends, no one, ever. Not if they can help it. And Ashley went to RIT and picked on blue haired freak for getting tattooed and eyebrow-pierced on his excursion to Buffalo. For the record, YUM. I saw Hot Neighbor Dave in the computer lounge, he left, didn't notice me as I walked by. I don't mind. Cris was outside last night, I said hi but was headed out with Miss Amanda so I didn't have time to stop and talk. And whenever I do have time, all the guys seem to be hiding from me. Maybe that's all for the best, I keep thinking about all the people I've screwed, figuratively, not literally. LeRoy had a crush on me, I really tried to be nice, I tried to ignore it when Ryan said he wanted to be with me, too. Josh likes me? No, he doesn't... and see where that got me. Mike. Stephen. But not Austin, never. We really need to go bowling, he wants me to come visit, I still have my bag of Sour Patch Kids, to save for a special occasion. Where's Lucas, dammit? Two phone numbers on a sheet of folded pink paper, sitting on my bed, upstairs. Don't even ask. And I'm in live with the N, I really am, I think. I need this, I tell myself. So I headed back to my room for a sandwich, changed into my Mr. Bubble shirt and laughed at my reflection, stupid red hair tamed for once, down, waves, soft. Behaving. Almost... pretty? Nah, fuck it. I'll stick to my cologne and stupid whore makeup. Thanks, I'm cool. And I played the piano upstairs but the cute guy never came back to watch me mess up, to laugh and say someting silly about how it didn't matter, really. Oh well, tomorrow? I'm getting this, I really am. I need to start writing letters again, would anyone like one? I love it, I really love it, putting things out on paper makes them seem logical, it helps me see things clearly, it fixes everything and nothing at the same time. Not that it's anything terribly profound, or that it's interesting to read. It's my life, sorted out in paragraphs and sentences. Put on paper, so that I don't forget myself. And I would, even though I don't want to. Somehow I really need a camera, I need people to see what I'm talking about, I feel the desperation of not being able to explain anything completely, because there's no doubt in imagery. And I watched The Green Mile, part of it anyway, and Ashley did her calculus and her laundry, and I'm typing my life away in the basement again. Clickclickclick. Dinner, soon, maybe. It doesn't matter. Suddenly I want to take a walk. Being unemployed right now doesn't seem as wrong as it did when I first got here. I think I need the break, need time to figure out why I was working for so long, and why I needed to stop. And I did. It sounds silly, perhaps. But I don't care. It's true, all of it. I love Geneseo, I hate it, but it doesn't matter if I hate it, really. So I don't. I accept it, I fight it, I resign myself to the dorm, to the basement, to the mailboxes, the dining halls. I can't win, I can't beat this campus, but I can try. And I will. Kampf, forever. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Seems like the joke's been on me, all along.

2003-09-05T16:48:00.000-04:00

And it's not even a funny one at that. I really love being a weirdo. People looking at me funny because I'm all poorcore wearing stupid flip flops that squeak, my THINK shirt and a skirt I made, yes, that I MADE. And it's 55 out and windy, and I go to Spanish class and learn about the subjunctive tense, and it's okay, it's really okay. Miss Patricia's going to be in FORUM, and I looked up IGC on the web, and I don't think I'll rush, even though I probably could, now. And we went to BooksNBytes and she ordered a salad and had water and read Advocate while I chewed gum and pulled out my almost-finished copy of The Fountainhead and the next thing I know, it's after one, she's gone, Gabi left too, and I'm sitting there with my book. Wow, just wow. I went back to the grocery store, squeaked up Main Street to the SECOND CHANCE SECOND HAND store. Time warp, baby. Flashback to disco fabuloso, eighties hair, sock hops and stretched-out sweatshirts. The man who rang me up talked animatedly about how wonderful everything was, that I played the drums, wow, that they are a non-profit organization, that they help sponsor children overseas, everything. He was nice, I was nice. And I smiled at Chuk when he walked by and I was on my way to the Union. Everything is wonderful, I can pretend, I'm all right. Miss Amanda is banking sleep again, and I got my gummi worms and settled in upstairs with an iced cappuccino and again with Madame Rand. And I'm getting blisters from all the wandering, no, meandering. And too many barefoot laps around Suffolk last night to count, even though I tried, I really did. And I finished my book and right on time, four o' clock opening to William Schaaf's exhibit and I love love loved one painting. Too many charcoals, wet and depressing, watercolors running into sad grey trails. But the painting, the painting. Black silkened horizontal lines, water, ocean. Above, angry clouds, menacing, silver lined and ebony shadowed. Brilliance. I stood there for fifteen full minutes, surrounded by emo boys and art history girls who elbowed their way around the small copper-and-marble pieces on stands, past others stopping to take in the photography. And I loved that painting. And it's hard to walk with elegance when your shoes squeak and your feet hurt, but after something like that, you don't notice as much. It's like hope, like the last page of that big unspeakable book, like the ice at the bottom of the plastic cup you're holding. And it's too hard not to think about how your shoulders seem to automatically lift, how you don't swagger as much, now, how your legs don't touch, how your shoes still squeak with every step, that little nuance to keep you from taking yourself too seriously. And a chocolate-haired boy winked when you walked back up the stairs, god knows you've been underground too long, and when did I become a cliche? Black eyeshadow and my brown mascara, too much whore makeup but I can't stand people looking at me. It's a guise, now I have mittens, I feel powerful, weak, ready to go back to the dorm, home, I say. Ashley who forgot her keys again, she got locked out and Chantal was gone, and we laughed like rabid hyenas, and she doesn't take herself too seriously now, either. To the dorm. To the basement. And I will eat eggplant something with Ashley, and no more Fruit Loops for dinner, not now, ever again, I'm okay. I'm really okay. And I'll go out tonight as long as Miss Amanda doesn't forget, and ditch me. And I'll make this wonderful, a shiny ball of what? Wham, I think she called it. College is overrated, I admit it, but there's a trick, you have to make it what you want, it's so malleable, like cafeteria jello on your tray, oozing red sludge that you can mold into whatever shape you choose. And I know this sounds pretentious, but it's true, it's so true. And I wouldn't change things here, it reminds me of Katie's story, how her life was a shoe that didn't fit, gave her blisters, but then she wore it in, could breathe again. And I can. No panic attacs at picnics, no gasping for breath after every mile, I'm getting better. Walking is wonderful, it really is. Time to go home. Suffolk. Home.

/me r00lz0rz j00

2003-09-04T21:30:00.000-04:00

And I fixed the sidebars, too. I KICK ASS. Though I wonder what will happen with the inevitable sugar high CRASH. I'll find out, soon enough. Shrug.

Maybe someday I'll have a name.

2003-09-04T21:23:00.000-04:00

And today's looking up, way up, so am I. Skipping around barefoot and loving the basement Suffolk boys. I did laundry in 45 minutes! I feel accomplished, I handed in my logic homework, I even got my package, today. Pimpin Purple, baby. Now I wish I had blue. Ah well. Next time, I suppose. And those fruit loops at dinner made a face, made me hyper, made me love Kiki and Ginger. I think I might scream just for the hell of it, dancing LIKE A FROG IN A BLENDER. It means something, it really does. I hope tomorrow night doesn't suck. Even if I do get sick. It'll be ok. I will, maybe...

And I'm out.

2003-09-04T14:58:00.000-04:00

I'm talking to a wall again, trying to do my logic homework, scratching my arms. I think I said too much earlier this morning. I know what I mean, anyway. And it just seems so horrible. I think I'm getting sick, again. I didn't get out of my pajamas and into the shower until two hours ago. Well, I'm done for the day. For the record, Tuesdays With Morrie is THE WORST book ever written. Don't read it. I had to. And it sucks. ((pvq)^(~rvq))/(~pvr)/(~r)//(p^~q) !!!

RIT Honors housing.

2003-09-03T23:19:00.000-04:00

So, I went to Rochester tonight, after having dinner at Red Jacket with Ashley and talking to Lucas for like, ever. Andy's roommate (Jason?) has blue hair. OH, THE SEX. I want to go to RIT. Everyone is friendly, people actually leave their rooms once in a while, they have LAN parties and groups of a capella singers walking around. In short, kickass. They have ice in their ice rink, but there were too many people so we didn't go skating. Besides, it was getting kinda late. Oh, and for the record I didn't get the job working at the Service Desk. That fucking sucks, but I'll deal. Not like I have a choice in the matter. God damn them.

Done. Gone. Yay.

2003-09-03T15:22:00.000-04:00

And CSCI was cancelled, and I walked around for nothing and wrote my paper and I'm waiting, waiting for 4.45 so I can go to Welles early and be done for the day. 6, my ass. I hate that. And my belt isn't doing much good, either. And I don't like people looking at me, ever, I hate hate hate the random people that walk by and the screechy cars with bass that rattles when they go by and try to run me over. FUCK YOU ALL. I have the right of way. I'll kill you. And I'm looking forward to 8 but not 8.15, I have an interview and I'm gonna fuck up. I'm not getting the job. Everyone wants it, and I do too. So I won't get it. Sigh. Friday I think I'll try to go to the CIT desk. Tomorrow just... sucks. And it's too hot out, now. I hate that. And I'm mad at myself because I had caffeine, and my eyes are playing tricks on me again. I saw a boy with purple(ish) hair. ♥. Not good enough. I'm getting my dye, I'm getting my dye. And Miss Amanda can have my bubble wrap, all of it, all of it. She cut, too. Scars. Yum. I'm too addicted to urban decay, and the ivy is taking over everything. I can't stand it. I need to get out more, I need to never come out from under my bed again. I want a sandwich. I want a fucking hug. Leave me alone, you, everyone. Go away. Please. Come back.

Bullshit college paper, coming right up.

2003-09-03T14:17:00.000-04:00

Anna Meyerhoff
INTD 101-19 Reflective Paper: My College Transition

To be fair, my college transition began last fall. My last-minute decision to take part in the HCCC-Excel! Program at my high school resulted in an impromptu bus trip to the campus, where three of us were registered for classes. We got lost in the bursar’s office, paced nervously, waited in line and were buried under piles of paperwork.
The next day, buying books was a nightmare. The school covered our texts, but the order form hadn’t been sent in. Confusion and chaos. It took another four days to get everything straightened out, but in the meantime, we waited. One class a day followed by wandering around the halls, people-watching, slow meandering until the bus came at noon to take us back to Owen D. Young.
I was sixteen, shivering, worrisome. I followed the two taller, braver boys I knew everywhere they went, barring the restrooms. I clung to them, almost in desperation, afraid to venture out around campus alone. Too many older people, giants, strangers. Frightening. I was petrified of separation, afraid to be lost.
I discovered the student lounge, an open carpeted space with chairs and a big-screen TV. Pool tables in an adjoining room, ping pong as well. Darts. I found others I knew, the ODY classes of 2001, 2002. My brother, his friends. Familiar faces.
After the first two terrible weeks, things got easier and more familiar. I would talk to people, smile on occasion, explore by myself. I took long walks, head down, heading to the four far corners of campus and looping along the pathways, stopping every so often to look down the Hill to everything below. It was beautiful.
My first semester was painful, but I managed a 3.5 and $90 for reselling my books before finals week. I learned, I became more confident. I registered for classes I actually wanted to take in spring.
The best part of Herkimer came after winter break. The spring semester was beginning, the air was fresher, cooler. My poetry class inspired me, I made friends and talked to strangers. I got up the courage to read my work at the Phaethon poetry reading on campus. I went to a bar afterwards to celebrate my boldness, to mingle with others from the class, to talk to my professor in a casual setting. In short, it was wonderful. I was exuberant, I loved that class.
All good things must come to an end, however. The semester drew to a close, May twelfth and finals week finished off my experience at HCCC. I got screen names and phone numbers, knowing I wouldn’t be back for the fall semester. I set my sights back on high school, on graduating, on writing my valedictorian speech, on heading to Geneseo.
All summer, I planned and packed. I wrote a letter to my roommate and got no response. I waited, I worried. I hardly slept. Moving day was terrible, my parents clung to me like wet cloth, like plaster. I couldn’t breathe. When I finally found my room, I opened the door to find Miss Amanda Koch sprawled in bronze perfection on her bed, fast asleep. I was intimidated. I moved my things as quickly as possible and left. Time for a walk, I thought.
I hadn’t attended orientation, I knew nothing of the campus except the library. I walked around, wandering aimlessly. I wrote seven letters to friends, I read a novel, I tried to learn the names on the doors of my neighbors’ rooms. It was madness, that day. I went to a picnic and almost had a panic attack, I couldn’t breathe, I had to escape. I took another walk.
I knew everything on campus by my third day, had familiarized myself with Main Street. Amanda and I stayed up until five in the morning talking, sharing stories. I thought everything would be fine. I bought my books, bought more stamps. I discovered the campus grocery store, the Student Union. I went to the dining hall and found someone I knew, a boy who went to my high school, went to HCCC with me. I found the basement computer lab in my dorm. Things were looking up.
I seem to have survived my ‘college transition,’ the first week is over and the second is half gone as well. I’m starting to think of 200B Suffolk as home, I’m not as preoccupied with my parents, I’m feeling more comfortable, I think. This isn’t a bad place, Geneseo, with the grass so green and flowers everywhere. As long as I keep walking, I think I’ll be all right. Here I am, ready to take on whatever comes my way. This is it.

And no one ever said that things were fair.

2003-09-03T13:19:00.000-04:00

So last night I fucked up. I was doing so well, and things just kind of fell apart and came crashing down on me. I'm not apologizing, I don't know if I'm going to get better, but I'm trying. That's all you need to know. Patricia didn't get into the theater group, I'm shocked. This is terrible. They didn't see her impromptu Singing in the Rain performance on the way to Milne, they didn't see her dancing and just... loving it. And loving performing. It isn't right, the other people they let in... and not her... Why am I taking this all so damn personally? I hate that. I hate me. I really hope I'm losing weight, I'm getting musclier I think, but I'm not sure if it's just my imagination that my stomach is getting flatter, that the little white pockets of fleshiness are starting to disappear like melting snow in January. I need a belt for the only pair of jeans I brought with me. I didn't, before. Good thing I determined this before I left my dorm. They almost fell off. How fucking sweet is that, I have so many lovely clothes at home that don't fit. Maybe they will, now. Soon? I need this. I really do. I saw Lucas outside, talking to the German students. Too bad I had to head to class and couldn't talk. He's not around, Saturdays. I really hope someone comes over tonight, it doesn't really matter who. Under the bed for a picnic on my lockbox, peanut butter and jelly and fluff on italian bread. Fruit punch gatorade, starbursts and chocolate. I LOVE IT. And I still have crackers, even. I think I need to buy a sharp knife at Wal*Mart. Yes, that will do. I had a caramel coffee smoothie even though I knew I shouldn't. I'll be paying for it later. I don't do well with caffeine, but it was so damn good and I really needed something to wake me up. So. Later, tonight? I can hope. I have to go write my bullshit paper, right now. Fuck everything.

For the record, I really tried to hate you.

2003-09-02T13:19:00.000-04:00

And Mondays are viscous things, the vicious ugliness of the wrong side of eight o'clock, and evenings that are quiet, too quiet. They drip slowly away like so much candle wax, leaving behind a bright dawn, Tuesday, with loud techno and dancing in your underwear until you forget that the blinds are open, and you laugh, not caring because nobody was there anyway, and keep on dancing and you're happy, for no apparent reason. But you are. Happy. And you wake up at seven and put on your favorite uniform and a name tag because you can, and you're wearing makeup and a sloppy ponytail. You get a smoothie with peaches because the order came in finally, and your professor emails you before class and everything is wonderful. And oh god, she's using paragraphs. This is entropy.
I love my logic class so much it hurts, I really do. It makes me want to cry, but I don't cry, so I smile at strange boys who wear their hair long in their eyes, and I walk with a spring in my step no matter how trite that sounds. And I head to the grocery store I just found out about, and I walk around forever trying to decide what I really want... settling on italian bread and peanut butter and even some grape jelly, because I can. Don't mess with me, I think, I HAVE JELLY. And it's pathetic how happy that simplicity made me, just buying groceries, I'd almost forgotten how it felt to do things, to go places. And I walked around after that, and my legs started to tighten, and I kept going, further, faster. And I made it back to my dorm, and I thought, home. This is home. And I'm starting to feel that, too, I think. And this title doesn't fit and nobody will understand, but I think I really do, and that's all that can matter. Because I'm here. And what right do I have to be this content, right now, to feel like this? I'd rather not think about that. I think I'll go make myself a sandwich. Because I can.

Harder to breathe.

2003-08-31T23:19:00.000-04:00

My god. I can't handle this:

NuclearBlast13: I'd ask you out, but Josh likes you... and you're far away, and I'm way too unsure of myself and I'm positive you'd say no, and not because you're far away... but because I'm me

Crash into me.

2003-08-30T19:38:00.000-04:00

SEXY. Guitar guy is playing all my favorite songs, all the right riffs and I'm wondering... maybe... I need tape. I went to WalMart, not a supercenter, and I didn't get tape. Just A BLUE CORD that isn't blue, and gatorade. Yay that. I'm under my bed in that same sense of let's-make-a-fort enthusiasm, tinged with agorophobic desire to hide myself from the world and curl into a ball here. It's safe, dark. Tiles cool under my legs, wall against my back. I feel the solidity, it's comforting. And I'm laughing at seagulls and humming the saddest songs, as the guitar wails on and everyone is away, away. Guess it's time for letter number seven. Call me. Please.

WTF?

2003-08-30T13:23:00.000-04:00

Who called me last night and left a message on my voicemail that was just a short beep and a click? (That better not have been Josh! :-/)

Lean out the window and shout.

2003-08-29T23:05:00.000-04:00

And that's exactly what Lucas did. Tee hee. Who's the damsel in distress, now? Too damn funny. Doing laundry is fun, Miss Amanda's guy friends amuse me. I need a pretty blue cord, yes I do. No wireless zone, labs are closed for teh weekend. I need to call someone. Volunteers? I talked to Josh this afternoon. He worries me, with the coughing. He really does. I hate this. I have absolutely nothing to do until Tuesday morning. Well, a two page paper and some random reading. But that's cake. GENESEO IS BORING OH MY GOD. And go me, I got the Welchia worm fixed from mah Ali. All set up, all by myself.

It's too perfect, and nothing is.

2003-08-29T14:48:00.000-04:00

Stay away. Don't come near this train wreck. I will destroy you too.

Just say it.

2003-08-29T14:44:00.000-04:00

NuclearBlast13: Hello
Auto response from masochisticzoe: ...and I get so fucking sick of this, sometimes...
NuclearBlast13: You ok?

Am I okay? Hah. I wish. I'm getting worse, I think. Today started out slow and sucky, then I got caught in the rain with Trish. I love drama majors, watching everyone else huddle under umbrellas and stare as she dances and belts out Singing in the Rain, while I'm laughing, loud and long, until I can't breathe, can't remember the last time I laughed so hard. And we went in the library and shook like wet dogs, hair smelling clean and wonderful, clothes like wet plaster sticking to us, misshapen, damp. And we didn't care.
And then somewhere between Welles and Suffolk I lost it, just completely lost it. The rain had dried up, it seemed too distant, somehow. It was hot and muggy again, scowling mulattos in khakis stomped by, I took a swig and a few aspirin. I hurt. It's irrational.
What's wrong, honey? Aren't two letters a day enough, are your classes too hard, are you getting blisters again? Is your mother spamming your hotmail account, again? Did you do laundry in the basement, find out the lounge piano is hard and cold and the newly tuned keys are too weighted for your pale fingers to play properly?
Do you stare at a screen all day, that's just what it is, a screen? A glass window to the world that's really nothing but a mirror? A picture frame that sets reality and splinters it into whatever you want to see, not really what's there? Do you hate elaborate conversations that don't mean a goddamned thing, do you listen without understanding, speak without being understood? Do you get so fucking sick of this, sometimes, too? Do you understand why I do what I do? Will you ever?
If I stare at my arms long enough, I can still see the faint scratchy lines from two weeks ago. It's comforting, somehow.
I think I'm going to sleep all weekend, curl in a ball in my leopard print pajamas and hide under my quilt until Miss Amanda's alarm goes off on Tuesday at eight. I won't, of course, I think my insomnia is coming back stronger than before. I do believe I'll hide in plain sight, so no one notices I'm not there, really. A slight tilt of the head, that slow imperceptible change in my eyes. And nobody knows it but me. I have to get out of here...

whowhatwhowhatwhowhat?

2003-08-29T08:13:00.000-04:00

224 (go figure) and the three who got away. Chubby Chinese boys with spiky here, where's Lucas? Spam spam SPAM and she's talking to a squirrel. Crazy crazy crazy, 'daga Saturday and nothing but BBQ. Midnight letters, not movies. Espinacas espinacas espinacas THIS BLOWS

For the record.

2003-08-28T21:45:00.000-04:00

I do not flirt. I do not date. I do not, nor have I ever, to my recollection, 'hit on' anyone, especially near-perfect-stranger fifteen year olds. I am SO not into jailbait. I hereby apologize for any and all misconstrued behaviour on my part, and hope I cleared this up. Damn. I hate the internet. Sigh. It's all smoke and mirrors and BULLSHIT. *rolls eyes* No wonder I get so sick of people... Mike said he and Josh might come visit this weekend. I'm not fucking holding my breath. Geneseo. The boringest place on earth. Longest. Weekend. Ever. Sigh.

And she's back.

2003-08-28T16:12:00.000-04:00

No, not really. 1am fire drills suck ass. Sleep rawks. Ruiz disappeared again, I think. Dropped art history. I'm staying in Spanish 201 if I can. The lispy Spanish Spanish accent isn't bothering me as much, now. And it was only the 2nd class anyway. Too much whore makeup and plaid. Walking walking and more WALKING. CIT might fix my comp tomorrow so I'm on ResNet. Come visit and check out the Java House cafe thing. WIRELESS ZONE. And iMacs are too damn pretty. Deceptive. EVILNESS.

That's it?

A Life of Saturdays.

2003-08-21T21:37:00.000-04:00

Oh, your reputation's so golden
You're never lonely and you're never home
I know you've been talking about leaving
You've lost all your feelings for this town.
Paint your nails and put your lipstick
You don't want to miss your ticket out.
Just because you graduate from school
So high in the gene pool, that's your point of view.
But when you're broke and down and no one else is around
You'll come running back to this town and
I'll be there, yeah I'll be there.
Cause I remember how we shared time together
and how you used to say that the stars are forever.
And dreamed about how to make your life better by
leaving town, leaving town.
Pack your bags, your smokes in your pocket
You're wearing my locket around your neck
Take your drag and wait for the Greyhound
the world is your playground and you want to win.
Nothing in life will ever come that easy.
Doesn't mean it has to be that hard.
I know you will find out who you are
But when you're broke and down and no one else is around.
You'll come running back to this town and
I'll be there, yeah I'll be there.
You're leaving town, yeah...

Never gonna stop, yeah, never gonna stop...

2003-08-21T21:34:00.000-04:00

It's hard to end this, you have no fucking idea. And I'm not sure I do, either. Now I totally get why people stay in bad relationships. Emotional attachment and investment of time, it's hard to give up something for a lost cause, even if it is. And I'm rambling again and this doesn't say what I want it to. And no one is where they're supposed to be, and the walk helped a little, and the trunk is full and I'm still finishing up everything. It doesn't make any sense, it never did. I can't breathe, the air is too heavy, too hot. Pollen count through the roof. Sticking to the chair, I am. It's a little too ironic. How do you forget something like this? I thought it was a perfect night, I really did. And I wonder how you can let go so easily. I'm sure I'd be terribly disappointed if it wasn't intentional, if it was just another cute little wile that never panned out particularly well. Tragic. Gag me. So tomorrow, another day, my last, here. I'm out. Ooo, scary, yes? No.

She swears the moon don't hang quite as high as it used to.

2003-08-21T12:33:00.000-04:00

So I'm sailing, I'm sailing on... moving, moving on, sail on, sail on, sail on...
Needless to say, I never made it to Newport yesterday. You can't even imagine how much this sucks. But I'm ok. I hope. Maybe. So this is it, here I go. Flying. Falling. C-train moment, there. Bank stuff done, went to Austin's, had Rita watch me do chores. Found my map thingerroo after 45 minutes of panicked shoveling around. My email password has been figured out finally, and changed so I'll remember it. I have clothes and shoes and shampoo and sheets and laundry detergent and my laptop battery is charging right now. I'm set, basically. Last minute packing, and I'm out. I'll be jobless, carless, friendless... FREE. And I can't wait. Sure, I'm nervous as hell about how hard my classes will be, whether or not I'll pass my placement test, what Miss Amanda will be like. But you know what? It's all worth it. I think. I have to believe that it will be. I bought a jumbo bottle of aspirin, just in case. I've abandoned the Sugar Is Poison mantra temporarily, I bought junk food. Yay. Maybe. I'll be gone for about three days, probably. If the internetlessness doesn't kill me, I'll be back. With ethernet. Laptop= lifeline. Really. I need to make some geek buddies on campus, or get Half-Life set up on the Alienware. Maybe. I need sleep. I need to get out of here. My arms are healed, I'm disappointed. They were beautiful before - I should have taken pictures. I'll be making mix CDs and I need ArcSoft, dammit. I love most of you. ♥ to everyone except... well, you know who you are. Anyway. I'll be all right. I hope. Call me, baby. Goodbye. *licks*

The king was in the counting room, coun-ting-out-his-cash.

2003-08-20T20:18:00.000-04:00

I lost fifteen pounds, and I have more rolls than ever.
(Say WHAT?)
Yeah. Amazing how much change the pockets of my cargo pants can hold. Good thing I had a belt. I have about $50 in change, w00t. Moneymoneymoney... I ♥ quarters. And pennies, winkwink. :)

If I fall back down.

2003-08-20T07:08:00.000-04:00

And the pictures are so hauntingly beautiful she wants to scream and cry and dance, all at the same time. And the nurse's eyes stare back, the walls crumble and the paint peels. Kampf. Kampf. Kampf. You are much better than this, they cry. Go, claim it, embrace it. Carpe noctum, that's what it's all about. The faces blur, the paper crumples. Ripped, torn, tattered, they fall to the floor. It was never meant to be like this, the whispers insist. Never. But I'm okay. I'm okay...

And tell me this isn't what you deserved...

2003-08-19T20:07:00.000-04:00

It fucking figures. And I think I'm defective, isn't this what I've been waiting for? What I've wanted for so many years, what I thought I needed so much all along? Isn't this it? And for what? Why can't I enjoy it, why can't I relax and appreciate everything? I guess I'll never understand, or maybe no one else will.

I've become so numb I can't see you there...

2003-08-19T06:42:00.000-04:00

Last night, circa 9.30 or whenever my dad told me to get offline.
MY BROTHER'S IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM. Pity cheapens it, don't say a word. I'm sitting here updating my goddamn web log, and my brother is in the fucking emergency room. But like my dad said, what the fuck else is there to be done? He's there. I'm not. With a flair for the dramatic and a craving for salt water he almost fucking killed himself. He still might have. I don't know. It was a brilliant showing, slurred speech, lolling tongue, wild eyes as glazed as the half-eaten Krispy Kreme that fell out of my hand when I saw him coming. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I paced, I panicked, I watched him drink more salt water, maple syrup, Gatorade and cranberry juice before collapsing on the floor and shaking. I let my mother call poison control, I flattened myself against the wall and willed invisibility while my father ranted about how fucking stupid it was for him to drink all that stuff, how he had given himself sodium poisoning, how he had to go to the hospital or he might DIE. He was sick before, and he's sure as fuck a lot sicker now. My mother shrilled and prayed and stomped around the kitchen, and I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn't have to watch her drag his half-limp body out the kitchen door. It was frightening. I opened my eyes when I heard the muffler as they tore off together headed for Cooperstown. I can't fucking handle this...

And my sympathy meter is about to expire.

2003-08-18T20:41:00.000-04:00

The downside to wearing singlets and jeans year-round: August is a VERY BAD TIME to find out it's FUCKING HOT and you have no 'summer clothes.'

I shouldn't be allowed to watch the news anymore.

2003-08-18T18:57:00.000-04:00

And the most beautiful music is always the saddest song, playing over and over again until she can't take another note. When it stops, the darkness hides her face and she curls up tight, eyes squeezed shut, hiding. She never saw the need for waterproof mascara in this sunny entrapment. No rain, no clouds, no fog to wash away this feeling...
Stop it, stop everything, can't go out without taping your arms... you want to have tracks, just keep it the way things are, right now. And she can't help but change, after all, alcohol is a step up, forward, out of the darkness. Or so they say. Four out of five buddylisters agree that cutting is worse. Then again, maybe the most terrible thing of all is not understanding why it's so bad...

Guess what...

2003-08-18T16:32:00.000-04:00

...I got at the Salvation Army? The coolest old man pants ever, awesome little kid tee shirts, a funkerrific skirt and a box of doughnuts. I kid you not. Apparently Nancy's on a junk food free diet so she can gain weight and get as fat as me even though I 'don't look like' I weigh almost 160. Hrm. It amused me, nonetheless, and Harman will undoubtedly appreciate the dozen glazed Krispy Kremes that now sit on the stove in a big white box. Yay, and stuff.

Feeding the flame.

2003-08-18T06:49:00.000-04:00

I've decided that sugar is poison and I need to cut myself off. Hopefully sometime this week, in the transition. Since all I seem to be eating is empty calories, I think it's about time to stop with that. Sigh. I'll miss my junk though. Another thing, I'm going to start trying to eat at actual meal times instead of my currently sporadic schedule. Or stop snacking. I'm starting to remember how good it feels to be hungry, with the churning in my stomach and the ache in my back. It's slightly dizzying, a rush, I think. And it's wonderful, like ignoring your alarm clock and listening to it buzz, then going back to sleep. I can't be bothered. I need to start running again, too. Technically I'm still a 'healthy' weight, I only need to take off five or ten. But I'm willing to donate about twenty. I feel pretty good about myself, I've been actually wearing colors, but I'm cute-fat, dammit, and I hate it. Pudgy little girl cheeks and baby fat tummy. Chubby. Shoot me. Dressing like a flambuoyant bag lady is too much goddamn fun... (♥♥♥)

Sigh.

2003-08-17T20:57:00.000-04:00

Feed me more lies, fatten me up on untruths and euphemisms. Tell me I'm beautiful, special. Tell me you would catch me if I fell, promise me you'll keep in touch, say you worry, say you care...

Don't stay.

2003-08-17T06:44:00.000-04:00

And I'm sitting here with Dexter Freebish and White Zombie, stroking the scratch marks on my arms and wishing I could explain this better. I can't. I don't have the facility with words to make this sound right, so please don't misunderstand me when I say this: I need to get away. From everyone. Somehow last night made me see it, I think. Leaned up against the Ghetto Cruiser, slouched in the hard plastic chairs at the bowling alley, cornered in the Denny's booth, sitting bitch between Austin and Josh. Why does everything have to be an ultimatum? My mother thinks I'm mad for the McNugget, what a whore in her striped socks and three shirts that don't match the camo skirt... I felt sorry for him, empathetic. Maybe he wasn't feeling as isolated as I thought, but he sure looked uncomfortable. Josh sat there sullenly with his arms crossed. Stupid me, why bowling again? I should've known. Austin stole my bowling ball because in his state of colorblindness, bright red apparently looks black. Hrm. I got gutterballs and a spare or two, I can bowl in a skirt but I suck in general. My three cup caffeine surplus wore off quickly. I couldn't talk if I tried. On to Denny's? Of course. Me in the back with Mike. Josh complained. Everyone got food except me, I feel horrible when I give the waitress a tight-lipped smile and say "nothing, thank you" when she asks for my order. But I do it anyway. I can't fucking eat, that would make it worse. At RNB I'd already been so struck with malaise I wanted to bust out my 12 gauge syringe. Don't get me wrong with that. Don't lecture me. Josh oohed and ahhhed over my scratched-up red arms as I nervously ran my fingers over the raised marks. I clutched a butter knife and chewed on my lower lip. Why can't I fucking talk? Finally we left, and headed to Ilion to drop them off at Frank's apartment. Josh asked for a hug and got two because Mike isn't so fucking special, anyway. I should feel better, I should be able to handle this, but I can't. I tried. I can't. I'll keep in touch... How, email? That's a joke. This is a ball and chain, a rope around my throat, another ten gallons in my drowning pool. I think I'm going to be sick. And Adriane drove Austin home and took my picture with my wild eyes and wilder hair which Josh likes so much - and he can have it - and no one was online but us, and I was starting to get to that dangerous place between sleep and coherentness. And I said too much, I know I did, and I can't take it, something about being sprawled on the Dinosaur Couch with my toes wiggling and my arms crossed mummy-style was a little too Freudian for me. And I spilled. And I can't take it back, not any of it. And I can't remember it because I don't want to think about all that, not now. Not with five days between me and forever, don't tell me Josh likes me, don't call him Squishy, don't say anything. Because I can't hear that, won't believe it. I can always tell when I'm about to do something incredibly stupid. And somehow I never manage to prevent it. Fate? Irony. Fate? Irony. Where was that from, you wonder? If you have to ask, you'll never know. And I'm moving on, leaving town, all the trite feelings of growing up, or something like it. I wish I'd hung out with Austin more often, I should've talked more, thought less, had one more cup of coffee to put me over the edge. Something. I'm breaking down. And I don't know what these puzzle pieces are going to fit together as. And that scares me so much I shake. And you wonder why I hurt myself, why I hate myself? Take a look around, carefully, closely. You'll see it all over my face, you'll see bits of it scattered around the Valley, between the aisles of the grocery store, the post office, the bank. You'll see it between the boards holding up the bridge at the Marche, on the sale racks at H&M, in the shelves of the HCCC library on the second floor, way in the back. Me. It's all there. Pieces, tattered, broken. I'm cracking, in no particular direction. And they were right, after all. I'm running away. From what? I don't know. My past, myself? My future? Everything. And I think I need this, really and truly need this. And maybe this is one-hour-of-sleep incoherent, and maybe it makes a little too much sense. But I'm leaving Friday and I don't know when, if ever, I'll come back. Screennames, URLs, addresses, that's the stuff of dreams... and I never fell asleep... I can't take this. I'm sorry.

Blackballed.

2003-08-17T06:20:00.000-04:00

And how do you explain a night like that, anyway? A little too ephemeral, too perfect, too bad. Razor-sharp and soft around the edges, gaussian blurred to obsolescence. Never again. I want to throw up...

Sigh.

2003-08-15T06:41:00.000-04:00

So I've almost completely forgotten the 600-or-so words I had all nicely typed out in this little white box yesterday when my dad thought it would be SO GODDAMN FUNNY to restart the computer on me. Ironic twist: just as I had them retyped and was ready to post, the power went out. Dammit. I just can't win. Guess some things were never meant to be said, then? It's kind of sad that swing music pretty much gave me a 180. Or maybe it was ripping up a shirt, I love doing that. This one turned out really good. Almost worthy of t_shirt_surgery, I dare say. Maybe I'll take pictures of my arms. Mmm, scratchalicious. Yep, that's right. And how sad is it that I only feel good about the way I look when I'm covered in scars, cuts, bruises? So yeah, I have Star Wars music and swing on my puter now. Yay, and stuff. And Harman has Alicia Keys, Linkin Park and retro stuff. Muahahaha. I'm really looking forward to bowling, I invited Mike and Josh and if Ashley were online I'd ask her to come too. The more, the merrier? Something like that. It sucks when there's like, 3 people. And this is important, it's my Last Weekend Here. It's almost like a birthday party for me, except I never have those. Well, a going away party? Something like that. One last fun night with people I'm going to miss terribly. Yeah. And Austin's coming. Yay and stuff. I forgot where I hid his candy - I gotta dig it out or something. So yeah, bowling Saturday. Whee. And for the record, I apologized. Maybe that's why I feel better.

(No) picnic.

2003-08-14T15:40:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, Sangerfield. Today, Cedarville. Saturday, the Damn Amish Fest. I hate picnics. Piggy Pat's or Brooks BBQ, it makes no difference. I tire of tuna salad and fried chicken, cold potatoes and watered-down lemonade. It's too hot, my patience wears thin. Eight days, eight days. One last picnic, one more week. One day. Got some name-recognition this afternoon, since I'm the Daughter Who Was Valedictorian, but my mom would much rather talk about her Good Little Niece Who Is Going To Ag School. Since, you know, I'm a murderer, and I don't want to dig dirt and milk cows the rest of my miserable life. Sorry for the letdown, mommy. On the upswing, daddy's proud because I got $800 from the VanHorne Scholarship foundation. That'll keep some money in his wallet this year, hopefully. I'm not such a financial burden, like, yay and stuff. It's too goddamned hot out for me to do anything.

Doctor Depo.

2003-08-14T07:25:00.000-04:00

And he paced the room, telling me of his three beautiful children, gifts from God himself and so wonderful, and how I should make babies so my husband would buy me diamond rings and love me better. And he told me three things in rapid successsion:
ifyousmokepleasedon't
ifyoudrinkbecarefuldon'tdrive whenyouhavethesexmakeyoupartnerwearcondomandgetonbirthcontrol
And he wrote "very healthy young lady" with a flourish, underlined it twice, and walked away after offering me a shot of depo-provera. I'm sorry, what was that, sir? Very healthy young lady? Healthy is not biting your knuckles Kaysen-style, until they bleed, just to feel the crunch of bone and make sure you're really real. Normal is not feeling like this, like you're half-floating, half-sinking, and drifting through life with your eyes unfocused and your mouth ajar. Young is not feeling used up, burned out, tired and weak and older than old, at seventeen. Being a lady is not wearing men's jeans that slide off your hips, dirty sneakers and old t-shirts, hair tied up in a half bun and falling out in pieces because you can't bear to be seen in anything else, can't stand the thought of people looking at you, seeing your body, slouching, sauntering, seething. Cutting, burning, chemicals, bruises. It's not normal. It's not healthy. And nobody sees it but me.

Just stay away. You can't fix this. Stop trying. It's useless, all of it. Completely. They won't let me go, you can't change that. It won't work. If I make it to the 22nd, so be it... if I don't, it won't matter, will it? I mean it. Stop. This can't be fixed, and I was stupid and fucking naive to think differently. I'm sorry I dragged you into this, and I'm hereby dragging you out of it. This won't work. Don't bother. I'm sorry.