I will be in Vancouver for the next few days. Probably be back on Sunday, afternoon/eveningish. Hooray. :3

206.355.5216

Lol ugly illegible website.

Anyway.

I have decided to keep track of the things that I make for no reason; thusly, Sawa's Cooking Blog.

WHEE!

Since everyone else is posting their grades...

ENG 132 - 3.1
PHI 255 - 2.4
ENG 102 - 2.8
MAT 123 - NC

I still need to figure out the whole math thing. I'll e-mail him later tonight. Anyway.

Chris isn't coming up; he cited unforseen circumstances, which means that his friends crapped out on him. So this leaves Josiah and I free to spend four or five days in the mountains in Leavenworth, frolicking in the snow and relaxing in some out of the way bed & breakfast. Mmmmm. <3

Have to finish my Christmas shopping today:

Vance
Jade
Gary & Tanya
Tony
Josiah
Mother
Lael
Secret FS Forum Member

Holy Jesus, proof it's not going to suck.

I just came in my panties.

Chewing gum I hate the most. XD

Johnny Depp, marry me. <:3

So, I'm aiming for my AA by the end of this year, which means 20 credit quarters from now till summer. D:

Basic Requirements:
ENG 101 - General
ENG 102 - Research
MAT 123 - Pre-calc 2

Arts:
ENG 132 - Intro to fiction
ART 163 - Photography
*ENG 151 - Creative writing

Natural World:
*GEL 101 - Intro geology
*OCE 100 - Oceanography
PHI 120 - Intro to logic

Culture:
*ENV 150 - Environtmental bullshit
*HIS 111 - U.S. history to 1867 or whatever
*PHI 215 - Philosophy of ethics

Electives:
ART 111 - Intro drawing
PHI 900 - Philosophy: socrates, plato, aristotle
PHI 255 - Marxism
HEA 160 - General Well-being
*ENG 120 - Intro to literature
*ENG 204 - Linguistics

Everything that's starred I still need to take. I'm a little bumble bee.

Bzzzzzz.

But when we wake
It's all been erased

Message on MySpace from one Jason of Seattle, WA.

"Hey what's up? I'm Jason. Your profile caught my eye, so I thought I'd drop a line. I just got out of a serious relationship, so for now I'm mainly looking for something physical. If you're interested, I'd love to here from you. Write back.

Peace. Jason."

I don't think I've quite come to all of the conclusions regarding smoking, but I'm beginning to feel that they're just too gross to continue with. Hopefully this Jason guy will give me the last answers.

Speaking of answers, these are answers to unspoken questions:

My thesis. Ugh. Weezer. <3

The world needs... more philosophers.

Slate gray.

There's a chill time? o_o; I'm always writing.

Cider from Uncle Elizabeth's. Josiah's skin when he hasn't quite woken up yet. The air outside when there aren't too many cars on the road and it's been raining and freezing cold for days.

How safe I feel.

And so it seems
Only in dreams

But just don't deceive me

Sat in one place with Lael for five hours. She smoked, I jotted down notes and worked up the courage to buy my own. I needed to be sure. I had forgotten, and I needed to know, it being going on eight years now.

It's disgusting.

It's absolutely disgusting.

Although I did buy myself a nifty lighter out of the whole thing.

*plays with lighter*

She told me about something I didn't know. I didn't know what to think so I just asked him when I got home, but he told me I didn't want to be miserable, so not right then. Go to sleep. I thought you were trying to sleep.

Are you asleep yet?

Cornelius' music is streaming from Winamp right now; I watch his name scroll back and forth and watch the colors change and the oscilloscope shake violently. He thinks it's so ugly, but at least I got him back into his layered beats. He'd picked up the guitar too. Clips of his music float around in the playlist like bits of seaweed.

*pinches the bridge of her nose*

What else don't I know? What else do I have to ask someone else about?

I hate shit like this.

...Oh, Kyle.

I came across that quote that you're always telling people is so true. You know the one:

"No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when their pool of blood edges up too close."

Well, the entire quote is as follows:

"And another thing is no matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close."

And it's not yours. It's from Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk. Yes, the author of Fight Club.

You've completely lost your credibility.

Let me get this straight.

I'm on good terms with both Missy and Jade?

...Well.

I guess that means that I have some final entries to do in the secret journal.

And wasn't your post just absolutely scathing, Jadeykins.

Nihil desperandum.

Schenken Sie mir ihre Aufmerksamkeit.

Mesdames et messieurs, maintenant nous allons faire grand petit voyage par bateau.

Changes to the changed plans regarding The Road Trip.

Participants and locations:
+ Kristoff, Colorado Springs, CO
+ Duffy*, Colorado Springs, CO
+ Ollie, Sacramento, CA
+ Sawa, Seattle, WA
+ Taisa, Seattle, WA

*Not Duffey from TFS

Estimated arrival/departure times:
Start: Colorado Springs, CO - 12/26 (Kristoff & Duffy)
Destination: Sacramento, CA - 12/27 to 12/29 (Ollie added)
Destination: Seattle, WA - 12/29 to 1/1 (Sawa & Taisa added)
Destination: Secret - 12/31 (Surprise visit)
End: Vancouver, BC - 1/1 to 1/5 (Main Goal)

(Subject to change, obviously)

I'll put this up on the side bar for reference. <3

I got this really stupid urge to buy eyeliner, so I did. I have charcoal and black and midnight blue and ice blue now. Maybe it's the fact that I like drawing on myself, and this is a socially acceptable way of doing so. Whatever it was, I created this neat little design around my eyes that made them look like little fishes, complete with fins. :o

Woke up at 10am today. Mom called me, told me she was going to be shopping at Pacific Place and asked me if I'd like to join her.

It was wonderful.

Found a pea coat I am in love with that's $210. I'll be getting that later this month, probably after Thanksgiving as celebration for finishing the 50,000 words for NaNo.

Also found a stupidly expensive scarf that is very nice indeed. It's this fucked up line of bluey not-yet-spun yarn woven in a really strange way with other bluey thin woven pieces. All sorts of blue bluenessssss... Also, it's soft.

We talked about Bush, economics and the swinging back and forth of things. I went on a rampage about supply-side economy and the Bush Sr. administration. We also talked about how people don't realize that there's a different between religiously recognized marriage and state recognized marriage, how churches currently have the power to turn anyone they don't want away, since they're private organizations, and that the government has no power over religious institutions.

I also raved for a bit about how much I hate this fucking country. I admit to being an isolationist; I absolutely do not believe that anyone has the authority to go outside of their boundaries and disrupt other countries in the name of keeping themselves and everyone else safe. I can't stand living in a nation that thinks of itself as the oldest sibling of all other nations on the planet.

Mm hmm.

Oh yeah, and the books I got. I broke down and got the ABRIDGED version of Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire because the unabridged version was too expensive and also Barnes & Noble didn't have it. ;_; And then I got more Vidal and Jon Stewart's new book and bought Josiah something I don't know the name of. And why is it that they don't carry any William S. Burroughs? >:

Anyway I decided that I would enjoy going back to dying my hair black because Adrienne is WAY too lazy to have kept up the 28-day cycle of rebleaching and redying and retouching that I had to do with blue. It was pricey too, and I'd rather have the extra money for, say, more books or clothes or whatever. So black-in-a-box it is.

Shit, I haven't written today.

:\

Next week:
Marx and historical materialism five-page essay midterm due Monday.
English 102 indepth analysis midterm due Monday.
First five draft pages (out of 20) of thesis on history of Catholicism and Vatican City due Monday.
Facilitating hour-long discussion over Maru by Bessie Head Monday.
Two sections of trig homework due Tuesday.
Five-page essay on the origins of world religion due Wednesday.
Quiz in Pre-Calc 2 Thursday.
2,250 words/day for huge novel.
Work from 3pm-6pm Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday.
Plan 15 credits of classes and mess with post-New-Year's work schedule
Register/pay for Winter quarter.

Things to keep in mind:
Get paperwork for student visa ready.
Prepare application to both UBC and McGill.
Preliminary visit to Montréal for observational purposes.
Pre-register for Sakura Con 2005.
Christmas presents for Josiah, Tony, Mother, Vance, Lael, Sean, Chris.
Thanksgiving with Josiah and Lael.
Ask Chris for projected arrival date, plan space/time for visit.
Ask Aya for projected arrival date, plan space/time for visit.

Busy much?

i always catch the clock
it's 11:11

Guh.

Huge change of plans.

We decided that we'd rather go to McGill University if they'll accept us as foreign students and our student visas are approved. They amazingly enough have both my majors (English with a focus on creative writing and History with a focus on Europe) AND his major/minor (Music Theory/English with a focus on creative writing).

It was recommended to me by a NaNoer, and as I hadn't been keen on UBC save for Chris will be there next year...

I've decided to write a research essay on abortion and mathematically working out all of the what-ifs regarding making it illegal again. Should be up and around sometime within the week.

Oh man. I DID forget something. Go figure.

This was in my LiveJournal, dated January 22nd of this year:

"I just wanted to let you all know that I honestly and sincerely...

...hate you all.

You're all so amazingly fucking disgusting. I really can't believe how mind numbingly insensitive you all are. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm sure some of you are wondering why this of all things is coming out of me of all people. I can assure you that there is a way to gain my trust and acceptance. You just can't be COMPLETE FUCKING RETARDS.

Let's make a list, shall we?

+ I'm going to start off with an easy one. Dear, dear Alana. I don't have much against you, because there's honestly not much wrong with you. There's also not much right, but that's just who you've decided to be, and I can't really hold that against you right now because you haven't knowingly used it to wrong me, as bitter and vicious as I am right now.

You, my once-long-time accomplice, are worthless in your simplicity. You try to please everyone and make things run as smooth as possible, but you are one of the most lazy unopinionated people I've ever met. You don't drive because it scares you, and never make much of an effort to renew your permit. You lounge around your mother's house instead of getting a REAL job ("working" for mommy on the weekends never counted in anyone's book). You've never known struggle outside of wondering whether your mother paid off your credit card so you can go buy yourself more things to keep the demands for decisions and personality out and stay in some perverted existence of fourth grade.

I despise how you've never been honest with anyone about how you feel with them, and this will be your downfall.

+ Which brings me to the sister, Hayley. You are the most fucking shallow person I know... which doesn't say much for shallowness or the kinds of people I choose to speak to. Your self-serving ego I've seen is second only to Jade. (THAT'S saying something.) You complain about getting grounded for getting drunk. You complain about driving Alana everywhere, even after you let it be known that you've chosen to do it willingly. You complain that your mother's too hard on you. (You as well do not have your own job, choosing to work for mommy dearest to pay off neverending debts alongside your slothful sister.) You complain that everything isn't up to the par you'd wish it to be. One computer isn't enough. One boy isn't enough. One drink isn't enough. You always chose what you wanted to hear, filling in the silences with self-praise. You're so amazingly WORTHLESS that I find it hard to type these words without the feeling that they'll be lost on your deaf ears. Your rebuttal to this will be just as worthless as any other word to come from your mouth since I first met you, and you will be one of the few I'm unwilling to listen to any longer.

Your opinions of everyone change with the weather. You will never ultimately settle on anything pleasing.

+ Melissa. Wake the fuck up and REALIZE that you have more friends than you ever thought possible. Don't give us bullshit about how no one cares about you, and that you're so alone. You've been sounding like Julie, and that's a disgusting level to drop to, no matter where you were to begin with. You ruin relationships with people because of your self-proclaimed worthlessness. (Need I remind you of Crystal?) You can take care of yourself, you've stayed alive this long. Get the hell out of the fast food industry and do something with yourself. Ah, but I forget. You're almost as lazy as Alana. And you simply don't care enough about anything to dig yourself out of your hole.

+ Patrick; you're going to be a short overture to Melissa. You also retain this quality of self-worthlessness. It is, without a doubt in my mind, the WORST quality a person can have. Selfishness, pride, greed, wrath I can deal with. But undervaluing things on PURPOSE? This is all your fault and you know it. Take your pity in hand and jump off a bridge already, for fuck's sake.

God forbid any of you rub off on me. I'm interested in preserving what's left of my good qualities, and it requires shedding this saran wrap of a state. The only hope one ever has in life is the hope one gives oneself."

Good read, yes?

Notice how I didn't go into Jade?

See, if you'd been paying close enough attention, you would know that I have. Numerous times. Just not here.

My word count suffers thanks to the TV between us. I'll be waking up early and writing to make up for it.

Truth be told, my job is wonderful. Three hours three days a week in which to play card games and read book after book for ten dollars an hour has to be the best ten-dollar-an-hour-paying job I've had so far. I have a wad of twenties on hand for the first time.

Also truth be told, I need a haircut. Like bad. That idea that I had last time, to keep the length. That was crap. I want my hair shorter, much shorter. (And what the hell was everyone thinking when they gave my picture an 8.8 on MySpace? A seven, maybe, but not a freaking 8.8.)

It's still blue. I don't know why. I dyed black over the blue and now it's just dark blue, though a beautiful color and permanent thanks to the black. I was thinking about dark green next. Who knows. Who knows if the color it is now will even leave.

The writing comes to me, effortless. The subject matter grates my nerves at times, but I force myself to know that she'll change in due time, I just need to give the wings to her that she needs feather by feather.

I have those dinnerplate-sized butterflies in my chest again. Playing a small movie made for myself in my head. I salivate.

Had a conference with a prof today. "B+ blah blah interact with your classmates blah blah your essays are amazing I'm not surprised you've been published so many times blah holy crap you're writing another novel blah blah." She means well, but listening to her speak is like watching corn syrup being poured.

Sidenote: Being published again. The publication's called Letter X, it's distributed in the greater Seattle area. I'm pretty meh about this, I want a novel published and not these short stories that people keep eating up. :|

I have an A in Marxism, this B+ in English 102, a solid B+ if not A in Intro to Fiction. Pre-Calc 2 is still in the hole because I began the process of actually caring to go to class a week ago and have not finished bringing it up to a B or whatever it'll end up as. (You try sitting through Trig for two and a half hours on Tuesday and Thursday nights.) All of these compacted will make my GPA for the quarter 3.45 and overall a 2.9. (Rough as hell estimate, and I probably actually assumed lower than what I have when I calculated this, but no one's ever upfront about these things so I don't know for sure.) From just one quarter. By a rough calculation, I estimate that my GPA will be a solid 3.5 or thereabouts by the end of this year. Not like I'm trying or anything, seriously. -_-; All of this is so painfully easy and here I am getting compliments on how astute I am.

(In other, related news, I've decided on my majors. Creative Writing and European History. Unf. <3)

On that note, someone actually turned to me and told me I would make a wonderful journalist based upon the blunt critique I did of a group that led class discussion for an hour last week. They had NO idea what they were talking about. Like I was just going to ignore it. My group is leading discussion today. We're completely prepared. I actually really enjoy talking with some of these people, but God help them if we get into another argument about whether lighting a match is phallic symbolism or not...

Also also, if any of you are on the up and up about Ashlee's lip-sync fiasco, I'm the one that made that video Pieces of Ashlee or whatever they're calling it now. And yeah, I know the sound's mussed, but I used clips from twelve different source and I have loads of homework to boot. Like I was going to spend the time on evening them all out, not to mention fades.

God, I've been away for a while. Huh.

I'm sad because I won't be able to take Physics. My double-major is eating up all of my spare classes, but I expected it, and enjoy the sacrifice.

Tch tch.

Ah yes.

Josiah and I and Chris have decided upon UBC for next year. We're going to go visit the campus sometime soon. We're also going to go visit his grandmother's estate in Florida and lull ourselves to sleep on their white beaches with the clear waves, but I have NO idea when that is. I think he said Spring Break but I might be mistaken.

I've lost so much weight from not eating as much (replace half of your daily food with caffeine, mm), and walking everywhere. Strange what walking for a half-hour each day will do to you, I'm not kidding. I can slide my tens off without unbuttoning them no problem. They're at that nice point where they're sooooo baggy but they actually stay on my ass. And Halogen is such a nice brand. Worth the $70 or whatever they were. Anyway!

What.. else...

I haven't a clue. Someone remind me of what I haven't mentioned and I'll put it here.

I need to get back to writing my novel, now that I've calmed down. For those of you that care: My NaNo profile.

And we all always fall. And we fall.

NaNoWriMo this year's going to kick my literary ass, but I need to get in the habit of being able to perhaps schedule my writing.

You know.

If I ever need to.

Writing for myself this year.

Ohhhh yeah.

Talk about your wild rides.

Bleeding from my ankle and he's disgusted with the taste and I am disheartened. When I was told we would change I was hoping it wouldn't be in all the wrong places like is happening every single day. And I bleed bleed bleed. Pick, bleed. Pick, bleed. I like the red, and the warmth that leaks from me on so scant any other occasions. And I like to think that if I multiplied this small amount by 202, carried the five and forgot where I was, had to get a piece of paper to work the equation because my weakness is visualized quantities, that I could possibly be dying right now.

What's it feel like to swim in your own blood?

I have so many scars from a habit that never healed. What a poor habit, making yourself bleed. Alas, it's what a lot of us do best.

So I'm writing it for myself.

The story, I mean.

The novel. The novelty.

Thinking about Green Hair.

The flippant criticism of adolescent life. The collected sigh of many words written one upon the other, trying to make sense of a relationship held purely in a conjectured fashion. A relationship that was thought about and prepared for but never executed, and oh, what a fitting word.

Execution is precisely what happened that cold cold day. On the bus. Oh, how quaint, on the school bus, the two little school children quarreling only this time. She. Has. Had. Enough. Headphones back on, aggravated at the disruption of the influx of sound. You have no right to feed me words when my God is in Colorado fucking a fat faux redhead. You have no right to make me feel. You have no right to allow me to bring you to bed, to lay with you sinfully, in the presence of all that was salvaged and tarnished, to press your cock against my thigh and moan your despised desire to thrust, because it would be that easy. Just six inches from the craved confection, a sweet thing beneath you, writhing out of pain and misery and spite and petty wrath.

Your mouth on my neck.

Sticky.

The obliterating embarrassment in American History the next day. Having to collar myself because God's not there to do it for me, and I'd have been damned if you were to perform such a then-sacred act of repentance.

Removing my clothing to keep you there, just one more devouring hug that lasted for hours.

Let me hold you. Let me pretend.

I still hurt for the continuance of those moments there in that wretched bed with that horrible russian techno that made me disgust those moments for some time, the time before I used my hands for grasping, the thumbs doing what they're there to do for once.

I'm writing this right here for you, you foolish boy. You fumbling lover. You abusive friend. You sweet, fragile memory. This space will be for you.

I left my nest to write this in the denied hope that you would ever read it. I left my naked God wrapped in feathers so I could let the lump into my throat once more, sting my eyes with tears that don't belong and wish that I had kissed the younger man. The green-haired child. Wish that I had felt those cold lips with my own, wish I had just one more memory unturned to explore with the tenderness of recalling fond moments.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing and whoever you're doing it with, I really did mean what I told you as we parted ways.

Honest.

Ilovebees.com has bored me to death with too many axons and coordinates and running around when I have a life outside of unlocking clips of poor voice acting. In MY opinion, if you can TELL it's voice acting, then it's been done poorly.

Colorado in three days and I am so skittish. Everything school-wise is worked out. Still need to get my books. (Maybe this time they'll actually be there?) God, I can't believe I have to declare my major already. I'm on the crux of 18, how the hell do I know what will work out best? Everything's blind right now, stumbling over its own feet.

The 1998 Nobel Prize winner in Literature hasn't impressed me a bit. There is a balance one has to hold onto within each story, and when one scale's tipped, everything goes wonky.

God, I can barely remember the last time I was on an airplane.

How about the fact that I had to wake up at 7:30 this morning to be at work by 8:15.

Or that I haven't said a word to Josiah since yesterday at 3pm.

I just feel so sick in every conceivable way. If only good times existed to come and go as they please. I feel as if teased by the sunlight, looking up through a small hole and getting three minutes of its time each day. I'd very much like to lay in it all day, but goodness continues to evade.

I think I feel this because I'm still tied to my mother in all the wrong ways. I don't want to drive 45 minutes to work for something I won't even see the end product of, and then disappear back up to Seattle at lunchtime to sit in a room with a person I don't want to talk to.

My biggest worry right now is that in his frenzy of cleaning while I was gone yesterday, he threw away a phone number I've been waiting three months to dial, and now is the time, and I'm afraid it won't be there for me to find, but even that's easily remedied. And how silly is it that the biggest problems aren't my biggest worries but inconsequential trivialities that, as the sun, come and go.

Nothing doing in respect to the daytime, or even the nighttime. We all always fall into the same bed each night, as if nothing's changed. Not a routine of worry, but painfully random, and in being so scattered, worrisome.

Life's very tricky right now.

Ran into Hayley and Jade(?) and someone else today.

Oh, if I'd just side-swiped them a bit...

At least I think it was Jade, but I couldn't tell with all of the ugly longish hair in her face.

God, I'm starving.

1. Copy this whole list into your journal.
2. Bold the things that are true about you.
3. Whatever you don't bold is false.


01. I miss somebody right now
02. I don't watch much TV these days
03. I love olives
04. I love sleeping
05. I own lots of books
06. I wear glasses or contact lenses
07. I love to play video games
08. I've tried marijuana
09. I've watched porn movies
10. I have been in a threesome
11. I have been the psycho-ex in a past relationship
12. I believe honesty is usually the best policy
13. I have acne free skin
14. I like and respect Al Sharpton
15. I curse frequently
16. I have changed a lot mentally over the last year
17. I have a hobby
18. I've been told I: (women) have an applebottom, (men) am packing.
19. I carry my knife/razor everywhere with me
20. I'm really, really smart
21. I've never broken someone's bones
22. I have a secret that I am ashamed to reveal
23. I hate the rain
24. I'm paranoid at times
25. I would get plastic surgery if it were 100% safe, and free of cost (less tits plz)
26. I need money right now!
27. I love Sushi
28. I talk really, really fast ..sometimes
29. I have fresh breath in the morning
30. I have semi-long hair
31. I have lost money in Las Vegas
32. I have at least one brother and/or one sister
33. I was born in a country outside of the U.S.
34. I shave my legs (females) or face (males) on a regular basis
35. I have a twin
36. I have worn fake hair/nails/eyelashes in the past year
37. I couldn't survive without Caller I.D.
38. I like the way that I look sometimes
39. I have lied to a good friend in the last 6 months
40. I know how to do cornrows
41. I am usually pessimistic
42. I have a lot of mood swings
43. I think prostitution should be legalized
44. I think Britney Spears is hot
45. I have cheated on a significant other in the past
46. I have a hidden talent
47. I'm always hyper no matter how much sugar I have
48. I think that I'm popular
49. I am currently single
50. I have kissed someone of the same sex
51. I enjoy talking on the phone
52. I practically live in sweatpants or PJ pants
53. I love to shop.
54. I would rather shop than eat
55. I would classify myself as ghetto.
56. I'm bourgie and have worn a sweater tied around my shoulders
57. I'm obsessed with my Livejournal
58. I don't hate anyone.
59. I'm a pretty good dancer
60. I don't think Mike Tyson raped Desiree Washington
61. I'm completely embarrassed to be seen with my mother
62. I have a cell phone
63. I believe in God (AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)
64. I watch MTV on a daily basis
65. I have passed out drunk in the past 6 months.
66. I love drama
67. I have never been in a real relationship before
68. I've rejected someone before
69. I currently have a crush on someone
70. I have no idea what I want to do for the rest of my life
71. I want to have children in the future
72. I have changed a diaper before
73. I've called the cops on a friend before
74. I bite my nails
75. I am a member of the Tom Green fan club
76. I'm not allergic to anything
77. I have a lot to learn
78. I have dated someone at least 10 years older or younger
79. I plan on seeing Ice Cube's newest "Friday" movie
80. I am very shy around the opposite sex sometimes
81. I'm online 24/7, even as an away message
82. I have at least 5 away messages saved
83. I have tried alcohol or drugs before
84. I have made a move on a friend's significant other in the past
85. I own the "South Park" movie
86. I have avoided assignments at work to be on Xanga or Livejournal
87. When I was a kid I played "the birds and the bees" with a neighbor or chum
88. I enjoy some country music
89. I would die for my best friends
90. I think that Pizza Hut has the best pizza (omg you sad sorry fucks who've never heard of pagliacci)
91. I watch soap operas whenever I can
92. I'm obsessive, anal retentive, and often a perfectionist
93. I have used my sexuality to advance my career
94. I love Michael Jackson, scandals and all
95. I know all the words to Slick Rick's "Children's Story"
96. Halloween is awesome because you get free candy
97. I watch Spongebob Squarepants and I like it
98. I have dated a close friend's ex

Blue night over the sky
Blue night over me

As much as I dislike admitting it, my life was falling back into the routine I thought I had escaped. This city had been lauded to me as the cure for my personalized rut, faceless and ambiguous. It was one that you can only trace back to the fact that going downhill at that moment was easiest, and you’d been worn out from trying to keep a good grip anyhow. The sort of valley that, once you look up to the high peaks around you, feels more like the bottom of a well than a field of posies.

Disappeared out of the window
Me with hands hidden under my cheek
I think about my day
Today and yesterday

Instead, I lay on the floor of my apartment, tracing out the texture on the ceiling into clouds. Tricking myself into thinking that I was in that imagined field, upon a bed of soft grasses and those flowers swaying in small zephyrs. All I wanted to do was be somewhere safe and very far away from where my freshly painted apartment was.

I put on my blue nighties
Go straight to bed
I pull the soft covers over
Close my eyes
I hide my head under the covers

Those clouds floated above me every single day. I would go to work, come home, bathe myself and lay on the floor naked and wet, staring at all of them. No matter what kind of day I had, regardless of what anyone said or did to me, the clouds were there for me, always reminding me that something better was waiting for me somewhere, perhaps behind the rolling hills, and all I had to do was stand up and go find it.

Returned again and everything is okay
Still there is something missing
Like all the walls

She writes and she writes and she writes and it is all beautiful.

Uuuuuuuuuugh.

Why are you like this.

I hate you. I don't like you. At all.

A million miles below their feet
A million miles
A million miles

Give me back last summer.

I can't make sentences, the ones I want to convey the meaning of come out wrong. Thinking about asking Melissa if I can crash at her apartment, because I'm far away from him and he can't control me from over there. I don't even want him near me, for fear that I'll tweak and hurt him while he sleeps, I hate him that much. I want to put all those rusty knives with the water spots in him, grab for the forks and the exacto blade and the razors when I run out of those. I want him to feel as bad as I have, do, am, will.

Oh, big blue eyes. Huge eyes. Put me tummy-down on my beach towel and guide the droplets of ocean down my back to pool delicately. Peek at me through the blades. Hold my hand and fall asleep.

GIVE ME BACK LAST SUMMER.

Give me Anna. Give me silly books about black cats and exposed endings and hot cocoa whenever I please, give me a thousand brilliant sunsets and a score of friends in tune with each other and the ground we sleep on. Give me to the water, the sky, mosquito bites, a packed down field with lumps of weeds and soccer balls and a crescent of sleeping backs, half-naked children and first kisses and back massages and silly meaningless jokes. Give me back Chispa and her husband in Iraq till Christmas. Give me my little things, my soft things, my glowing clouds and my paint-spattered clouds and my games of speed and bare feet everywhere I go, give me my signature in the Nature Nook while the kids played with dye and watered each other to the soul.

Give me a pregnancy and loud conversations about anything, anything. Give me a beautiful smile and harsh words and the one line sung so loud everyone laughs to the floor. Give me last summer, and I'll make you a deal, you can have this one. This worthless one full of resentment. You can have this bundle of nerves, I'll take a paid vacation on the beach any month of the year. I'll take kids and their quirks over adults and their falseness. Give me a midnight talk under cover of distance, give me more conversations than I can keep track of, give me a group of people I hate and would never do without, give me a new reality. Give me last summer.

Take these remorseful, angry tears. Give me last summer.

why can't life be better?

Vrei sa pleci dar nu ma, nu ma iei
Nu ma, nu ma iei, nu ma, nu ma, nu ma iei

Ugh.

So frustrated.

I want fucking, but I don't want it from him because he disgusts me. But so does everyone else.

So I read instead.

*lets out a yawn*

Me: lael got the job with the nine year old. i like how they didn't even call me. that's number four.
Taisa: :( i think it's her purse. they're liek 'o you have an expensive purse' and the end as nothing makes sense anymore.

Number four meaning the number of time's I've been turned down, not to mention the other couple who never called, and the fact that, after meeting them, I'm not going to work with kids under three. On top of this, Lael's a selfish, paranoid bitch, so there goes another person I thought was sane enough to talk to. Let me tell you a story about that last one. -_-

Lael (20 years old) and I (17 years old) were contacted about caring 20-25 hours a week for Ben (9 year old boy). I mentioned this, she had said she really wanted things to work out with this kid beforehand and I realized they might be the same kid. Turns out it was. She and I were fibbing on our resumés at the time, her without my help, and me because I needed her to pose as a contact to put in a good enough word for me so people would change their minds if need be.

I called her about it numerous times and left her a message when she stopped calling back. I told her I needed to be in touch with her, and there she was leaving her phone off, or not answering, just plain ignoring me. All day. She IMs me a day later in psycho bitch mode, furious that I would try and cut in on her kid, and why wouldn't I just back down? I pointed out that she was being extremely selfish and uncaring (in reference to the kid and what his parents want), but she continued her tirade of guilt-tripping and whatnot.

Anyway, I just can't talk to her anymore. It'd be like any normal person trying to approach someone with unmedicated shizophrenia. She acted completely irrationally (like a woman, hah). Whatever. I'm far more resourceful.

Well... at least I drew something I like today. It was pretty heavily inspired by something Vera did a while back, but I really like how I changed the way her face looks. I'll webcomic you all yet.

Hopefully.

I need to finish my story though. :|

And omg the hard drives and other things get here today. :3 Josiah bought a bunch of stuff for a new computer for him and a hard drive for me, which means we have three functional computers now. I was thinking we could use the case I have sitting around, but the inside chassey's all fucked up and it's not very accessible, so forget that.

And he was.

He was laughing with every drink
Here we go again, she thinks
Now down into the hole again
Every worthless word they'd pen
Degradation, wrath and spite
And both are thinking, no, I'm right
Nightly tearing down the other
Reaching out to choke or smother
Clawing, pulling, pinching, biting
Falling as they both are writing
Snipes and jabs, endless torture
Bleeding hearts and tepid water
Reaching down into each depth
Struggling to catch a breath
Defense up, offenses out
Flooding rooms with word of mouth
And here she is, screaming in pain
I NEVER WANTED THIS, YOU MAIM
THE SOUL IN ME AND I WON'T HAVE IT
And he proclaims, you're full of shit
You're just a child, calm yourself now
Your words mean nothing, saying how
You'd leave me at a moment's notice
You really wouldn't leave at all
She rises to her feet, stands tall
At least as tall as she can stand
I despise upon my side your brand
A sickly declaration of life
And all it means is endless strife
The closest I could get to good
When all the world before me stood
A worthless quest with empty treasure
Far below the lowest pleasure
Meaningless, and in the end
We'll only do the same again
So leave it all here to die
And piteously weakened there, I
Lay my soul flat out beside
As well my heart, and then to hide
For without black what is white?
And without the floor what is height?
I'm lost without your hate, you see
And withouth you there is no me

I can't bring myself to scream as loud as I am hurting. My lungs and vocal chords won't allow it.

And here I was afraid that I would be so happy that I'd have no ill emotion from which to draw the tools I write my stories with.

I defy you, stars.

And then she stumbled upon in, there in her mental cell:

She refused to re-expose because she knew that he was laughing in his head at every word uttered.

It's beautiful.

Admit it.

Blogger still has not changed the way they allow you to compose. I'm disgusted, and have resorted to the edit HTML box, which will have to fucking do, I guess, if they're not interested in pleasing customers.

I haven't been proofreading my blogs. Christ. Errors abound. I'm disgusted again.

Lael shows her true colors, and I am disgusted a third time.

Intolerable events!

My parents threw away a bag of posters worth over $50, or priceless if you want to include the drawings from people and so on. Not to mention the bag of clothes they tossed as well. I have a million shirts and one pair of pants. Lovely. Just. Fucking. Lovely.

Nothing I really want to drink here, was thinking about running out for a moment and getting some Coke or Mountain Dew, but it's not like I need it right now, and there's Aquarius in the fridge.

We have this lovely Hpnotiq sitting in the fridge, alongside some sort of brandy that Damien loves, and the biggest bottle of Grey Goose I've ever seen in my life. Great demons in Hell, is it ever hard to orgasm when you're tipsy.

I was turned down a second time for childcare. It's my age. People ask me where I'm going to college, and then they ask me how old I am. It's assumed I'm 19 or 20. I tell them, that usual look of shock crosses their face and then they compose themselves, affirming that this is the first and last time I'll ever be in their house. One person didn't even bother to look at my resumé. Fucking parents.

In fact, that last person I mentioned probably had her husband hide in the house and listen to what we were doing. Most of these people have just really struck me as weird for some reason or another. And that one girl, Kyle, was spoiled to the nines. She had a God damned laptop in her own bedroom. Eight years old! Christ, I hate only children.

There have also been a couple or two who said that they'd get back to me and haven't. So there you go.

Working on a new layout, it should be up within the day.

Dear Jade, Heather, Julie, Erin, The Retard That Says "Chii" All The Time, anyone who's slept with Aaron and ALL of my good old pals down in podunk Auburn:

YOU HAVE BAD TASTE IN MUSIC.

Now go fuck yourselves.

Oh, beautiful days.

My flesh has melted along with my brain, and I started a little story that I'm handling akwardly, but handling nonetheless.

she runs

Anyone care to trade breasts?

I'm also drawing.

I did a nice number of Josiah, but mostly little chibi things that are completely inconsequential. Damn the lack of models. And strange of all strange, no response to my crappy little thing of Lael that they both discovered. No. Response. At all.

doushite daremo inai kono heya de?

My magical gift of drawing that sprang from the ground not how many months ago when all was well in Fairy Tale Land and the girl sat naked painting grapes while honey sugar was working away, salivating over the fact that she was rubbing her body against his sheets and stroking his keyboard with her little girl fingers and then, getting hard, touching himself under his desk and stiffening.

At least a year, right? And some of my best things are months behind me, how sick. Alas, more results of the disease I had/have.

And my hair's blue now, too. And my lips are pink and pierced and my tongue is soft. My curves prominent, damn the calories to hell. Not fat, oh no. Strong. Muscle forms when you walk constantly. A formidable opponent.

Throw this all to the floor, the wind, whatever trite thing you all say nowadays. I'm hungry, children. Brush your teeth, say your prays, hop into bed. Bon soir.

i can't be bothered

It seems so silly sometimes when I remember that he was crying too. Why should he be crying, I wonder, because I was never the one that got angry or short-tempered or impatient or indifferent. I was his pillar, and pillars aren't supposed to buckle. They're built to be strong. So now it's confusing. Here I am cracking and leaning under his weight, crumbling at times and letting him fall. It seems so wrong that I don't know how to treat those moments. I can't begin to fathom what's wrong with me, but I know that I can start and stop whenever I want and all it takes is control.

I completely let myself go when he showed up. Nothing mattered, there was one focal point and damned the person was who got in the way. Most of you remember.

Everything, even this intervention/exposé/whatever this was supposed to be fell apart.

Nothing can hold itself down anymore.

I need to go back to school.

how i miss your ranting
do you miss my all-time lows?

well you can all just kiss off into the air
behind my back i can see that stare
they'll hurt me bad, but i won't mind
they'll hurt me bad, they do it all the time

Man, I keep forgetting to do all of these things when I'm not at work. Buy oil, call Cornelius, find out if Sliding Waters still exists or not..

This morning was FUCKED. UP.

Him: You didn't get my jacket out of your car.
Me: I forgot, sorry.
Him: That was the most insensitive thing you could've said.

WHAT THE FUCK.

It's not even in my car, which is why I "forgot". I remember now, looking and not seeing it.

Whatever, these are YOUR neuroses, don't pass them off on me like they're legitimate.

Took the COMPASS again, and as follows:
Math - 53
Reading - 99
Writing - 99

So I qualify for Calculus (hooray for skipping two classes) and whatever English classes I want to take, LOOOOOOLLL. I love college.

Anyway. I won't be around because Moustafa forgot to cut the Honolulu job, which now equals at least one solid day of nothing but cutting these things into strips. >200 yards of vinyl. HOORAY FOR HUGE MISTAKES THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE PART OF THE FALL FOR EVEN THOUGH IT WASN'T YOUR JOB! I hate work.

School plz. <3

Josiah and I went to Oasis for our boba fix yesterday. His tummy wasn't feeling good, but I was hungry, so we walked around looking for a place with noodles. I spotted a Chinese restaurant across the street, and we went over there to look. We had to pass by a mission to get there, and as we passed, three women standing outside and smoking were deathly silent, until one spoke up.

"We like your hair. You look just like a doll."

I smiled outwardly and glowed inwardly. The other two joined in with their own comments and Josiah thanked them for me. We all know how speechless I get when anyone ever does anything nice.

(For those of you who don't talk to me regularly, I've dyed my hair a pretty shade of blueberry. I'll have a picture up when I find my webcam.)

I don't get many compliments.

Dear Blogger,
 
You still haven't gotten back to me beyond the automated response letting me know you got my message. Considering you're owned by Google, I'm going to assume that you actually WILL get back to me, since the kids over at Google are so nice and prompt. This new WYSIMWYG of yours is retarded. I know it "streamlines the posting process" (though only through clicking a button for three characters of code than just typing them in), but all of those extra unnecessary lines of code on every single blog are going to bog down the loading times, not to mention are extremely ugly to look at. Once again, I beseech you to make the older, simpler box a third option, and not force me into using your equally worthless Blog This! application.
 
For the love of all that is aesthetic in the world,
Sawa

Dear Blogger,
 
I absolutely HATE what you've done to the layout, but more importantly, I'd like to know why I'm typing in a huge serif font in this post box, and it REALLY gets posted as my good old Arial at a size unoffending to the eyes. I'm pissed. Fix it.
 
Sawa

My dear sweet Christ, I've done it.

Did any of you READ that opening post?

I'm God damn magnificent.

I can't wait for the next rush to come, some outpouring of thick, sweet words. All over and around and off my tounge, fingers, palms, heart, soul, mind, existence all gushing out like some cork ripped out of a bottle of fizzing, fuzzy bubbling me. It feels like I can BREATHE again, and all is right in the world, with this keyboard underneath my small, thin fingers or my pens and sketchbook gripped tightly in hands that will never let you go, I promise you, paper and screen and internent and universe, oh, she'll never leave you again!

A baffling thing, how this all happened, but if you look closely into the posts leading up to when I left, you can see it. The voices started leaving, those representing past and present and futures that never came to fruition, they were disappearing in light of all the outside activity. Even my brain is not so strong that I can juggle with ease all the demands of growing out and going on to the next stage. All of my energies put into breaking my chrysalis and not letting the colors on my wings form. It was necessary, wasn't it? Something, someone tell me it wasn't for nothing and that I haven't lost eight god forsaken months because I couldn't take myself out of one thing and into another! Lord, Senioritis takes very strange embodiments.

Look at me, I can't even form modestly-sized sentences. Then again, I was never modest.

My days are reduced to filling out forms and making all the logos and things you see on trucks, vans, windows, signs and banners, ad nauseum. Full-time for the month of June, August is a gaping black hole and all I can think about is the moment that will come when I don't HAVE to work anymore, and I can return to schoolwork and glorious College Algebra and Creative Writing and how everything falls into place when I'm packing myself full of information, growing smarter, stronger, picking myself back up, and taking arms against all the seas of troubles and people that have ever and do hold me back. I'll come for you, you trollops, you identity thieves, you out-and-out SCOUNDRELS. BODY SNATCHERS. I'LL COME FOR YOU AND YOU WILL FEEL THE PAIN OF YOUR ACTIONS, AS EVERY GOD MAN HAS CREATED IS MY WITNESS, EVERY NERVE IN YOUR BODY WILL SHRED, QUIVER AND DIE BY MY WRATH.

Where once I was empty, now I am full. What once appeared lost is now found. The chained run free, the towers reform, take new shapes and new heights, and everything is once again good and right in my world.

And who knows.

Maybe she's already writing a story or two.

Would anyone care for a G-mail invite? I have four; e-mail me if you're interested.

Cat?

I'm a kitty cat.

And I dance dance dance.

And I dance dance dance.

I was thinking of starting this off with something like, "So here I sit, wearing nothing but boxers, a swimsuit top and Jade's yellow Victoria's Secret panties riding proudly atop my head," but now the first two aren't even true thanks to a certain someone getting a peek of my naughty bits and demanded I go to bed this instant, young lady.

(And if you were wondering about your panties, Jade... If my webcam weren't still packed I'd have a nice picture of them on my head for you.)

God damn you, work. You suck me dry of the things I think to write about. For now, I'm going to fry myself up some udon and watch my new kitten (Clover) play with our slightly older kitten (Pockets).

This awful book is reading to me my life as I flip the pages, pulling out all these tricks and pains and hideousnesses. I threw it against the wall, hating it and loving it as Arturo hates and loves Camilla, as I hate and love you, but you didn't move, didn't say a word, and even though the door was shut I could see you through it, in front of that game with the synthetic sounds of coded dying monsters and cyber metal clashing. I clutched my fists, thinking about how sticky I am and how I would take these pants off if I knew where my underwear was, and then I thought to myself, I could leave right now and go somewhere alone, somewhere that's not here with you oblivious in that other room that we shouldn't have, god damn it all I loved that studio for the closeness and it was just a step out the door to beautiful concrete that I could decorate day after day and how painful it is to live in this nest perched on a short, crowded limb with all the other nests. I told you that we didn't own a piece of concrete anymore. I don't think you grasped how much that fact hurts me.

I cried then, clenching and unclenching, the whispers of crying I used to do when I was so utterly hopeless and faithless. The crying that dies shortly after, only with you here I can't leave them on my cheeks, where they belong, to dry, or I get your insidious, neverending inquiries and begging and angry words and eventual frantic emotion that I'd do anything not to have to face right now. I cried hard and short. You couldn't hear me do that either, through the shut door or the thin walls.

I discovered that I stopped catching the moments I felt needed to be wrote, and that I would start catching them now, writing in my head what I would say to the screen with my aching fingers. A moment ago I was sitting, thinking about writing about writing about how I couldn't figure out what kept me from writing, but I just have to keep trying different solutions and hope for the sake of my existence that one of them works.

I know that this is all jumbly and dense, and awful to look at, painfully ugly to the eyes, and that I've gone and broken one of my own rules by starting three paragraphs with the same word, but read on and hear my plight.

I decided that even though I no longer talk to anyone I know (intentional or not), they might think it nice to hear about how I am, whether they take solace in the fact that I'm still alive, or delight in the retellings of my stupidity to every person who will listen (read: Jade). To the latter, indeed, I'm not dead, and quite the opposite; to the latter, I'll eventually kill you all, so it's no consequence to me what you decide to do with your remaining days.

Update indeed.

Moving on.

I'm practically pissing myself in the delight of Uwajimaya being within walking distance. I shop there once or twice a week. They've restocked my Koiwai coffee with more frequency, to the joy of my foggy bed-head each workday, and on top of this started stocking that wonderful peach juice I discovered and Alana promtly stole and spread among the slavering population of Green River Community College like she did with Gackt and Excel Saga. I won't begin to tell you I'm not bitter.

In other news, the base of each week hasn't changed a bit, and never will, save for my writing magically coming back into place (another story for another paragraph) and my being slung into abrupt fame. I still wake up at an ungodly hour to spend a good chunk of my day in a room I loathe to be in. Those of you who don't have the immminent pleasure just yet, live each waking day as if it were your last, for that's not quite far from the truth.

For fuck's sake, why do writers put off pissing until they can't bear to type another word? It's like I've never been older than six, and squirming around is far better than stopping.

I'm not sure if that made me feel better or more self-conscious.

Anyway.

It's a strange thing, living with someone who's neither parent nor sibling, nor any other part of a family. In doing so, the situation becomes a perverse inversion of every relationship you've ever been outward witness to. They become as close as family, but you're fucking them, which makes it incest, but without them, your living quarters, location, job, and very life would be entirely different, which now makes it religious incest. In shorthand, you're fucking, bitching at and peeing in front of Jesus. It's all very weird in a way I've just proved I'm bad at explaining. You all either already know or will know what I'm talking about.

Now, onto more important things, like my writing. You see, after NaNoWriMo 2003, my literary penis was severed. At the very least, a major nerve has been damaged and it now hangs limp from my crotch, small and sleeping. (Oh, the new wonders of penile euphemism. A plus to living with a guy that sits around naked all weekend.) This coma of thought has been absolutely detrimental to everything that holds the form with my name on it. It's like your tongue and fingers have been cut off and throw to the dogs. I have no way of communicating, no way to express myself, just gutteral grunts and wiggling of arms, and with working full time, I've had no energy to do even that.

I'm just going to let this all go and stop fencing it in.

Oh, for fuck's sake, RUN, CHILDREN. RUN FROM IT ALL, YOU'RE ILL PREPARED FOR THE THROES OF BILL-PAYING AND WAGESLAVERY. The clipped wings of obedience in return for financial security is so soft and sacred from my new perch upon the mountain of bodies of all the children dying 'round me. We're all DYING and not a thing can be done. Life ends at 18, and we're all dropping like flies out here. Stay in your homes, nobody wants you alive out here, children! THEY'RE LEECHES AND THEY NEVER LET GO!

I'm suspect that those of you older, 25 perhaps, have changed not at all, and all that's happened is the passing of years without much change of mind or manner. There's an insatiable ache for energy that you no longer have.

It's gotten so bad. You don't understand until you're out here.

So my penis hangs between pale thighs, hopelessly tired. Each raging urge to put letters in sequences tires it out even more, the strength and power it once held vanished. My physical nausea from unknown sources has drawn the whole of me into an equally dreary weariness, and I'm afraid that this has to end for now, but I'll be back, damn it all, and next time with everything in better order.

Degradation is an ugly thing.

Open letter to society:

In a sentence, the underlying structure of this country is bullshit.

I know it's a social stigma to let the kids make their own decisions, but honestly. Your tatics of getting all sorts of teenagers to say every single variation of "I'm waiting to have sex," and having next to no teenagers (none of which are under 17) proclaiming that their first time was actually satisfactory does NOT accurately represent what's actually going on in all of our minds, nor of what actually happens.

I'm sure you have plenty of statistics and upstanding young adults to back everything you have to tell us up, but real life is impossible to sum um in the words and percentages of the few. Nowhere do I see an example of a long-term relationship. Why not? I myself met my current boyfriend (who I now live with) when I was 13 and he was 18 on the internet. We met last summer at 16 and 21, had sex the second night I stayed at his apartment, and things couldn't be better.

Plenty of teenagers are going to have sex expecting other than what actually happens. That's life. We're not so far removed from the animal kingdom that sex has to be yet another natural thing made to conform to whatever unsaid social rules we decide to follow today, are we? Of course when you have sex for the first time, you don't know what you're doing. You've never had sex before! As with everything else, practice is essential to learning, and there's nothing any of us learn better from than mistakes.

No matter how hard you try to reach out to every single last one of us teens, you're always missing someone. I never heard the end of abstinence and waiting until marriage. I paid no attention, knowing that no one's judgements and decisions are better for me than my own. If you continue in this fashion of cramming heaps of testimonial anguish, denial and moral obligation, you're liable to brainwash.

Education about all things sexual disspells ignorance, but only if it's unbiased information. I don't support the actions or the words of anyone who claims to be an expert on a person they aren't anymore, and can't believe that anyone would mean other than to coax the rates of teen pregnancy and sexual activity to an "acceptable" level. I leave you with a question: At what rate is it acceptable for teenagers to be themselves?

This despicable society we live in today is driving my self-image into the ground where it previously was, before I was shoved headlong through two years of heavily vain days, all spent fighting with a conceited girl and my own hatred of anything uglier than I thought deserved to exist.

I am a slave of my surroundings, chained to the habits of every day. I eat a little, or a lot, or sometimes nothing at all. Carbohydrates, saturated fats, hydrogenated oils and high fructose corn syrups. I sit in a chair for eight, ten, twenty hours. The most walking I do is from that chair to the car, from the car to a house, from the car to a classroom. My absurd strength given my stature still intact through all of this, reminding me of what someone else has more of and in a more varied amount than I do. I despise it because it makes me look as huge as I am.

There was a point in my family's history where the cupboards were stocked with cans upon cans of vegetables and fruits, replenished weekly and encouraged above anything else. The only cans we have in our cupboard now are of soups and tomato paste. I wonder where these times went, why the motives changed and exactly what were they thinking when all-day beef jerky overcame five-minute crackers as a snack.

I got so sick of this situation two years ago that I decided I needed to ride my bike more. I would ride it until sweat trickled down my back, put it away and continue inside to sit in the chair. Chased by dogs, flat tire after flat tire, nothing but hills and pressure from my persuasive surroundings to stop, I soon did. The people on the screen asking "Where were you? You're late."

Becoming winded after walking two blocks isn't healthy, I hear myself inside my head. Do you remember what you looked like this summer? Bronze-backed and tough, hiking legs and, though they were bigger than you liked to look at, at least it wasn't this disgusting cellulite that rides your midsection piggy-back. Spider veins and stretch marks, purple lighting on your thunder thighs. Can't even bother your fat ass to get up and clean your room a little. You glare at a thin friend with contempt as she eats the same diet as you and gains nothing. Her size zero jeans. The dancing body you could never have. The worst part is you and the girlfriend before you have something so sickeningly in common you'd ask for a knife to cut out the ugly parts if you thought they wouldn't commit you.

I didn't know you could hold hatred against a rib cage until it was pointed out to me that mine wasn't like everyone else's. No, I can't even have a slim rib cage. I sit here with my beginnings of a spare tire because from barrel-chest rib cage to bellybutton, everything's even steven, but when you get to my loins, an ugly little slope adding another curve to an already dangerous road. Not a straight line on me, I'm the bad end of a pregnancy. Feminine to the shell.

I keep losing the things that make me want to go outside. The fear of a mis-thrown frisbee sends me underneath the covers of my boyfriend's bed. I'm a headcase with naught but a misguided figure and the exercise habits of concrete. Before this lump of unsatisfaction closes my throat off, I want to say it one last time before I slip off into a stationary coma: If only things were different.

Marriage is love.

Hiatus.

i long to be a human
it's wonderful how they laugh and cry

I'll bring my blog back when I believe I can trust any one of you.

Fuuma: Did I say rightly fucked last time? Now you're REALLY rightly fucked. And only two weeks after your first crash.
Sawa: I fucking hate you, Fuuma.

Fuuma: Well, you're rightly fucked now.
Sawa: For God's sake, Fuuma.
Fuuma: God doesn't hang around here, nor should he.
Sawa: The room.
Fuuma: *rolls his eyes* Yes, the room.
Sawa: Don't patronize me. I'm craving it.
Fuuma: Please.
Sawa: I refrained from going last time. I knew what he was trying to do and wanted to help. You... wouldn't happen to know where everyone else is?
Fuuma: *smiles shortly*
Sawa: What the fuck has happened to this place.
Fuuma: They saw the list.
Sawa: From--
Fuuma: Yes. Some are doubting your ability, like he is. And there's no need for anyone with good spirits because you seem to have none yourself.
Sawa: He wouldn't push me to that.
Fuuma: Or would he?
Sawa: *stares at him*
Fuuma: *glances at the floating window of conversation* Oh, zing. He's going to be feeling that one.
Sawa: He deserves it.
Fuuma: And so do you.
Sawa: Find out where they went. Please.
Fuuma: *raises his eyebrows slightly and turns away* As it pleases you. If you really do want to go there, then do so. But know that Hide's up there, and if you open that door more times than he can stand, he'll come out and... help.

Fuuma: What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Sawa: *keeps her stare focused on the ground*
Fuuma: He didn't mean it. Or if he did, he's no better than you are for doing what he excuses.
Sawa: I do what I can to make him strong and in doing so he allows my weakness.
Fuuma: Maybe he was right about your being the better half.
Sawa: *turns her head away*
Fuuma: This wouldn't be perfect. You knew it. You said you would accept anything as long as it were the truth.
Sawa: This can't be the truth.
Fuuma: And how can't it?
Sawa: I fell in love with...
Fuuma: You didn't really think you knew him, did you?
Sawa: And now he discards me? Does thou not laugh?
Fuuma: I have no reason to laugh, but for the irony that the one who worried so about not being good enough for the one that turns out to be the lesser of the two.
Sawa: I am a fool to hold the belief I do. Everyone else is right for thinking the opposite. I still don't give him the position of lesser. I can't.
Fuuma: Too soon marred are those so early made. Let's keep it simple. You built this bed. You're laying it in. How does it feel?
Sawa: I'd rather sleep on the floor.
Fuuma: Oh, my little innocent girl, finally discovering all of the entrails that come with the sweet flesh--
Sawa: Leave me be.
Fuuma: *stands and looks down at her* And rightly so I will. You're where you belong, you wretch.

you come to me at twilight
the soft summer breeze
the sand, the waving hair
but how am i to know?
this feeling has no name

each morning i dream of twilight
and wait for your glow
down where the moonflowers grow
far beneath the sea
awaits a home for me

This is how I feel right now.

I lost my job. I mangled my car. I will probably owe my mother money by the end of this month. No one's hiring. Aya is displeased with the 7-hour job I did on a new layout for her website.

For the moment, it's 5am. I'm almost out of coffee. I need to download more shitty songs for this thing I'm doing for my mother for $50. I'm listening to Shiina Ringo and talking to Lynx about film classes. Sleep is a distant passing thought. I've almost completely forgotten what I have to do later today.

just shut the fuck up

Whatever.

sotto me o tojite
hikari o saegireba ii
yume o mitai no nara

Need Koiwai milk and coffee.

but then they buried her alive
one evening
1945

Or maybe I just need my problems fixed.

the earth looks better from the stars
that slide above from where you are

Or maybe I need to shut up, yawn my last into my hands and go to school like all good children.

all empty rings around your heart
the world just screams and falls apart

Nope. Just the coffee.

kimi dake o mita

tamerai mo mayoi mo iranai
(tsuite oide)

Five(?) minutes.

- My lips are showing one mild sign of infection, but nothing worse than last time, so I'm not worried.
- It'll all be healed up in two days. I hope.
- I am extremely pleased with the job Jacob did.
- Photography is the mother fucking shit.
- I can't wait to dig into the course material.
- Get to go out and buy all of my developing equipment (and books) tomorrow or Wednesday.
- Math, of course, is plain shit, but what the hell can I do about it?
- Nothing.
- People find me more approachable BECAUSE of my new piercings.
- The Boredoms are strange.
- Or the extremely cold snowy weather makes everyone friendly.
- Either way, it's... disturbing.
- This gum was a good idea.
- My sock is falling off.
- The Sims is fun. :3
- My library books are late and I can't find my card. Dammit.
- Snowstorm tomorrow. YEY/BUU.
- There goes the sock. :(
- Mm pasta with alfredo sauce. :3
- *heats up pasta in microwave*
- Nuclearator!
- More Sims plz.
- Where's Josiah?
- Yay Alana scarf. :O
- Where's Melissa disappeared to?
- I really hope Alana sorts that schedule thing out tomorrow.
- While I'm at work.
- Mer.
- I hope no one important is there tomorrow. Either way it'll be slow, but still.
- My job is bullshit. And I hate it.
- I do this with every job.
- I need to call the people at Safeway.
- Dammit, I don't WANT another job.
- I need the money though. I already owe my mother two hundred dollars.
- Fuck. ._.
- I thought we agreed on not being in debt ever.
- Well... We didn't make enough to pay her with, between food and gas and and and and.
- H8 u life. H8. ._.

shot down
it's just such a shame
i bet you feel no pain

Fuuma: Further down the river, eh? Back to some semblance of square one.
Sawa: Or perhaps this is square ten.
Afton: Do we REALLY have to start over?
Sawa: No. No no no. We're not starting over. We're... WHERE ARE MY CIGARETTES.
Lexan: We're...?
Hide: Razing it all to the ground, like we should've done the first time.
Afton: *takes a step away from him*
Cy: Saw this one coming.
Sawa: *glares*
Fuuma: Too much pain right now.
November: You're turning into her.
Sawa: If you EVER say that again, I'll have your HEAD for it.
Fuuma: Too many of them. Like carbonation, right?
Sawa: Fucking soda metaphors aren't going to help me right now.
Fuuma: What would?
Sawa: Sorting all of this out. It's so.. intertwined.
Fuuma: There's always the room.
Afton: She wouldn't. She promised.
Hide: Oh, she's broken plenty of those. In fact she just broke the one that was hanging her with her own rope.
Fuuma: We told you you wouldn't be able to shroud your real self in a coating of first tries.
Sawa: ...The room.
Fuuma: The room.
Hide: Don't worry. I'll fix everything.

Me: i hate people and their bullshit.
Cornelius: hahahaha. oh you too. trouble in paradise?
Me: it was never paradise.
Cornelius: well I'm a bit short on advice. just more arguments.
Me: i never cared for advice anyway.
Cornelius: so why tell me these things? just in need of ventilation?
Me: well, i always figure i'd just give the reason why i'm feeling what i am before i say it. instead of ranting out my ass.
Cornelius: rant.
Me: i also managed to crash my car today.
Cornelius: mhmm
Me: i was late to work as it was, already called in that i had ended up in a ditch. and then i really DID crash. hit ice and ran into the guard railing. it feels so queerly like you're playing bumper cars i laughed. and then someone almost hit ME. and then the cops showed up. i wonder just how much blood residue i was sitting in when he let me warm up in the back. Their computers run Windows NT. or 2000. They look the same. Margaret Cho has a sexual fixation that turns her stand-up into verbal porn. oh, and fuck the economy. there's my rant.

Hayley: And if you EVER want some help, HAYLEY IS HERE. (DEAR GOD PLEASE NEED HELP) REALLY IM NOT KIDDING. NEED HELP.
Me: i.. need help?
Hayley: I don't know. But we can pretend you do, so I don't have to be in my house.
Me: I NEED HELP. OH MY DO I EVER NEED HELP.
Hayley: WOOO!

then out of nowhere
put me right back there
and we know what happens
when we get to your house

Cold miso. Cold tofu. Cold coffee. Suck it all in through my teeth. Fingers itch for something sweet, but I deny myself, so they dig into my lips instead.

She will never see it coming.

I will laugh my way to the doorstep. I will laugh my way to New Orleans. I will laugh my way to my death, knowing what I did and knowing that only I had the balls to do it. Knowing that I was the only one that saw.

I want to give her a hint of who she is, but no. I'd rather fantasize about the realization that comes across her face when it all falls down.

And I looked to like, I really did, but looking liking didn't move. So thus it were, so thus it will be. Oh, if only... If only she'd done what I am to do first. Then she would've won the war despite losing each battle. But as it stands, with this in my hand and the keys in the ignition, she lost the moment she sat down in that plane.

I love how it's all on edge. This precious perfection of cruelty. This is what I live for.

and, thinking of her,
sweet sleep overcame me