it's been awhile

since I blogged in the daytime, or with other people present.

Kate and Lorraine are here.

Mmmhm.

I miss that show, Catscratch. It was good.

GOD DAMMIT, THIS IS WHY I DON'T BLOG DURING THE DAY. I can't write.
I'll hopefully update this later.


Yup..

a daydream

tolerance
good hair days
beauty, but on my face, and not everyone else's
north high school, up in flames
horror movies without gratuitous nudity
spending every night in your arms
somewhere far, far from here
a cure for this disease.

play it back

February is almost over
And then March
Then April
Followed by May.
Followed by freedom.

Sort of. I have to learn to drive this summer, and take World History so I can take two art classes.

But whatever.

I think I'm getting sick again.

I am very glad No Country for Old Men won best picture.
I took a bike ride today. I like to pretend I can fly, sometimes.

teeth like god's shoeshine

Root beer + diet coke = good.
Root beer = good.
Diet coke = sick.

Just thought I'd tell you.

It's just so exhausting, to not think about how fast I've fallen in love with you.

If that's what it is.
It's not.

God dammit.
It's too soon. This can't be normal.

a madness most discreet

I hate Shakespeare. And the Odyssey sucks. Come on, a cyclops? Plus, Odysseus had sex with, like, three women that weren't Penelope. Who is, after all, his wife. He's an asshole!

Anyway, today was a good day.

I could go for a cherry slushie right now, though.

I don't have anything substantial to write about. Nor do I really have anything on my mind. Except that my head is cold, and I'm wearing my hair up tomorrow, because apparently, it's not good enough when it's straightened, and I look like a bimbo when my hair is un-straight. You know? It's just not worth it.

I hope you feel really bad about making me feel bad about myself. Yup.

Man,

I need a haircut. And I need to start caring about school again. I mean, I don't think I ever really CARED, but I can't be doing as badly as I am doing.

I AM trying to improve myself, I just don't know where to start.

They say when you die, you lose 21 grams instantly.
Is that how much my soul weighs?

Promotheus had it easy.

At least he knew what to expect.


If only every day were not the same as the one before. I'm exhausted by the frigid weather. 100 days until school is out. (Ah, the infamous absolution counter begins again)

Sometimes I think you're wrong for me, because you're the kind of person that.. Well, like, when you fall, you just keep going. And you probably take things like PE volleyball seriously.
Whereas, when I fall, I laugh. And PE volleyball is the last time to be taken seriously, right behind Paris Hilton's acting career. Okay, I'm kind of joking.
But then I remember every other perfect thing about you, like how we can sit and not have to say anything, just breathe and think, but it's still a million times different from being alone. And how, well, you're you. And laughing when you fall probably doesn't matter.

GAHH, this cold.............

I'll laugh all the way to hell.

I hate sleeping in solitude. I wish you would sneak in my window, just to slumber. Or talk. Not necessarily every night. But any night. Once a month. I'd be okay with it. But on the other hand, I'm content with the time we spend together. I'll always want more, no matter what, y'know?

I'm starting to be able to sleep again, though.
Maybe being content is the key.

Although this afternoon, I was contemplating spending another 35 hours at school this week. It made me want to commit suicide. I'm not joking, either. It's such a dismal thought. Higher education.. Yeah, alright.

I just hope it goes by fast... This weekend wont necessarily be anything special, but as long as I'm with you, it will be. If that made any sense at all. I guess I'm just trying to say you make everything worthwhile.

Maps

I don't know what to write about tonight. You've completely commandeered my brain. It's ridiculous. In the best possible way. I think. Yeah, actually, it's good, I suppose. It's not a re-routing or anything. Just some new domination of my thought process. I am not used to it. I am scared at how much I trust you. I am restless when you're not around. Typical teenage reaction, wouldn't you say? I hope not.

Something tells me that you're completely different than any other boy. And I want to be your best friend, and your girl friend. I hope I can accomplish that. I really do.

At this point, I just don't know if I can see myself with anyone else.

'I found a face that's waking me up'

Someday, you'll understand that you're out of my league. Someday you will know why it is that I'm so amazed with you. You are so special, I hope you see that.

I think that if I could imagine someone for myself, someone with every tiny thing in order, he'd pale in comparison to you. You're becoming my best friend, and on top of that, you're becoming the most important person I've known.

I like your honesty. I like the freckle on your lip, and the way you take little things from conversation and turn them into something special. I like your nervous habits. I like when you're embarrassed. I like the idea of getting to know you. I like the fact that you're mine. I like it when you kiss my cheek when I am supposed to be slumbering. I like curling up next to you. I like the butterflies you give me, at least a million times a day. I like your bizarre explanations for everyday events/things. I like thinking about you, and I like how when I am with you, I am happy.

I used to think finding the "right" person for you was about convenience. I used to think it was just whoever happened to go to your high school, or frequent your place of employment, that you could make that person into Prince Charming. I used to think that you love who you choose to love.
But I'm finding that illogical, impossible things are more of a factor than I could've ever imagined.
And I like that. A lot.

these grass stains on my knees

I like your haircut.

You look like a child, though.

I'm so tired.

I wish I had the ability to sleep. I say that all the time, but I do. Insomnia is an ugly thing.

I got some new lip chap stuff today.

And some candy. And stuff. I dunno. I'm happy and lucky.

So happy.
Today/tomorrow will be good. A good day. I really hope.

Gah, I miss you.

PARALELL synchronized RANDOMNESS!!!!

Is "I mean what I say" the same as "I say what I mean?" I asked you about this, and we disagreed. We don't usually disagree, except on things like this.
I say they're different. It's like saying "I cry when I'm sad" is the same as "I'm sad when I cry." Because you aren't necessarily ALWAYS sad when you cry, as the first statement illustrates. The second is just contradictory, see? I think they're different, subtly. Or it's just an annoying paradox that I waste a lot of time thinking about.

My nasal cavity keeps doing that painful, irritating twitch that it does when I'm sick. I am very tired of this. I also miss you, and hope that you miss me. Valentine's Day is coming up, and like everyone else, we are going to obey corporate propaganda, and celebrate it together!!! Which I secretly (ish) enjoy. And we'd probably be spending time with eachother anyway, but that's not the point. The point is, there is no point.

Man, I will get to sleep in tomorrow. And I want to get better soon.

I'm so exhausted. But I can't sleep.
As always..

Don't let these words deceive you-- things are good. Great. Wonderful. I'm trying to deal with my lack of confidence, and general inadequacies. I am trying to be less obnoxious. I'm not changing for anybody, really, because I'm not changing. And even if I did, well, I doubt anybody would notice.

Is it selfish of me to want people (by "people" I mean "boys") to love me, even if I don't feel the same way, and this could ultimately cause them discomfort? It definitely is. Shit. But on the other hand, this want could be spurred by my general contempt for the "l word." If you don't stick it out, it's not real. In my head, atleast. I don't see how people can get over one another so quickly. Or at all.
I think that I just have some deep, pathetic need to be needed. Because, well, isn't that what everybody wants? When it all comes down to it, humans are really similar to one another.. Sickening, but true.

Sometimes I think

about how many mistakes I make in an evening. I count them up and mull them over, and over, and over.
I can't believe I wrote that on your wall, and then pathetically covered it up with a dinosaur poster. I hope you'll understand. I have a deep sort of need to express myself, all the time. I don't know why. At least I wasn't stupid enough to just leave it there.

I WANT TO HAVE...
Just one day where everything goes perfect, to make up for all of my miniature mistakes.
And therapy.

More and more

your demeanor looks like quicksand.


-

I thought about it today. And I figure that when you tell me you want to know me, you are telling me you want to know if you love me or not. Because once you know someone, fully, don't you also know if you love them or not? Isn't it the same thing? I dunno. I feel conceited saying that, somehow..

I hate that feeling I get in my gut whenever SHE comes up. That stupid GIRL that you fell in love with. It kills me to know that you loved someone that is not me. Even though it's out of my hands. All of it. And when I asked if you wish you could change things so you could still be with her, you avoided the question. And it killed me.
And when you told me the story of how she let you go, it killed me. And I just feel so dead thinking about it. HER. Why HER? She's nothing special. She's nothing compared to you. Not that I AM, just, somehow, you're blinded. And I'm okay with that.
I think.
Yeah. I am a human. I am selfish. Therefore, I am okay with that.

I am so much more comfortable convincing myself that you didn't REALLY love her. But I know you did. Maybe you still do. Maybe you always will. And it kills me.

Just another band-aid.

My throat hurts
I seem to have developed some kind of by-product of the plague
And I am going to attempt to boycott kissing you
It will be exceedingly difficult.

I will fail.
In about thirty seconds.

Dammit.

I just know I will.

Anyway. I legitimately fell asleep in your arms this evening. And you were out cold as well. And it made me happy. Like if I can fall asleep, without pretending, then this must mean something. It really must.

I think way too much.

I had a lot of insightful things to place here, this evening.
But they fell out of the back of my mind and I am scared that you're only saying you're sick because you don't want to have to spend time with me.
Paranoia is total awareness.
or something,

whatever.

I'm losing my voice. "It's your lips fault," you told me. "If you get sick, I'm still not going to forgive myself," you told me. Blah. I don't know. But I DO know how you hate insincerity, and yet for some reason I have a really, really hard time trusting you. There has to be something you're using me for, because there's absolutely no way you can honestly care for me in the same way I care for you.

And it's highly likely that I am feeling something more peculiar, complicated, what have you, than teenage lust, and it's likely that I'm terrified of even thinking about spending my life without you in it. I could settle for just seeing you every now and then. I guess. But the more I get to know you, the more panicky I am about YOU getting to know ME.

My guard is always up. But I feel like it's kind of slipping. I can't trust you. I don't. I will not. Not for a long, long time. I'm so scared you'll realize what a douche I am....

I hate being lonely because you didn't feel up to spending time together tonight. I wish I could just deal with my insecurities instead of convincing myself that every tiny thing should be analyzed again and again. And again.
If only.

I think, though, that maybe your eyes are broken. And your ears. That every stupid, shitty thing I say is magically translated into something clever, caring, or impressive. That even the smallest physical flaw is decoded into a reflection of how I'd like to look. Maybe you're blind to my scars. Maybe your hands are broken. Maybe when you touch my wrist, you don't feel a pulse lagging. A heart half-beating from misuse. You don't feel my imperfections or my mistakes, maybe every coarse piece of me is somehow rendered smooth at your touch.

Or maybe.. maybe I spend too much time thinking about this.

I'M only all I SEE sometimes

wouldn't it be nice if I could read your mind?

My hands are so cold



Sometimes I feel like you're some kind of giving tree. Like the Shel Silverstein book. Like I'm the selfish little child who keeps taking things, vital things, from you. It is a depressing thought.

I am sleep-deprived. Shut up.

A romantic subplot is developing for Miss Apathy. Not that anyone who reads this knows who she is, but whatever.

A moment of clarity.

Or not.

I'm terrified of things being out of control as far as our situation goes. I am exhausted and I miss you so much and I wish I could have spent time with you this evening or afternoon or ANYthing. And I hate not feeling wanted or like I am a priority, and I complain too much and I use the word I too much and I am really mean to people I care about. I should stop.

I guess it goes without saying that the title is off track.

This is

A poem about absolutely nothing beneficial to anyone.

Curled up
with your nose pressed against mine
I wait
for you to think I am asleep
so you will kiss my cheek
and smile at me
and try hard not to wake me
while I "slumber"

--

I am finding more and more every day that six billion, well, that's a lot of people. And I'm also starting to realize how much easier it would be, to become an accountant, or something, than to become a writer. An artist. A poet. A what-have-you. So many people share my dream. I am afraid that this just wont work out the way I've always planned.

I'd like to speak (well, type) a bit more about things like this that are on my mind, but sleep is tugging on my sleeve (which is something I am not used to), and I'm going to partake. I suppose. I don't know.

I'm just so scared, because I am the happiest I have ever been.
What if I lose you?

It has been one month

today
February the third (right now, it's technically the fourth, but whatever)
since my life began