This didn't have to be written

It's understandable. All of it. Why people cut themselves. Why people want to die. Why people find the previous ridiculous beyond all reason. If you can explain it then I'm willing to see things in a different light and talk to you. On the other hand, if you approach me and say, "You're going to hell for such and such reasons because my beliefs are superior to yours." I can only nod and let you go on your way. I find a lot of people my age just accept things as they are handed to them. "Well, my parents said..." People who don't question anything are the scum of the earth, more so than the serial killers and the racists, and whoever else society has deemed unfit. To accept blindly is to be content in ignorant bliss, and it upsets me. My sisters are like this. Simple choices made by "Mom said..." or "Dad said...". Look at the situation, gather all your experience, and even though A and B fit, C is missing, D just popped out of nowhere, we're going to act like this is some textbook equation that be solved if we ram our ideals down its little throat. Then again, who am I to judge? I think things should be questioned, beliefs examined, problems faced at head on with the intent to fix them or at least see them for what they are. But I am not the mass majority of people. I decide nothing. I merely watch. I have to. There's little I can do. For now.

I have my emo moments, the kind people turn their nose up at. But those are so far and fleeting compared to those who pour out cliche after cliche. Yes I'm melodramatic and perhaps nothing more than a show, but it had to have come from somewhere. It had to have been festering somewhere inside of me (festering.) and this is just when and how I choose to express it. There is truth in fiction. There has to be, for without some familiar basis of thought it would not be understood.

At the mention of age (or gender at times) I feel like if the attention is called to it there must be some thing wrong with it. I don't necessarily try, but I forget my age. I act as I see fit, usually. Unlike everything else, this is the one thing I must face. I must live with this fact and no amount of make-up or kind words is going to make it disappear. Maybe that's why I don't see myself living past thirty, I don't want to get old. I don't want to face my parents' responsibilties even if they are completely independent of each other. I don't want it, I can't find a use for it, so I'm willing to throw it away. Just like love, just like everything. Kind of like a condom, use it for what minimal pleasure you can and discard it. I'm torn between so many things, it's like there's some mirror inside, the relfection is me and I am the reflection, yet we are opposite of each other. Break the mirror, break yourself, that's not the problem. The problem is trying to find a reason to just be, something solid that can't be torn down by a flick of wrist, the rejection in another's eyes. This is where the problem lies. I have no idea how to fix this.

I don't want a lover. I want a friend, I guess, a mentor. The complications stretch on.

Like your soul, I am missing

Beards: I hate them. Gross. Ick. No. Shave, bastard, shave.

Small childern: I have no problem with infants, it's when childern are capable of speech and combat do I start to get a little miffed that they exist. That and childern who are adverse to learning.

Baby photos: For the record, I was an ugly baby. I'm not going to post a picture and break my monitor, but I was a demon monkey child, hands down, not cute in the slightest. BUT unlike many cute babies, I turned out fucking adorable and will develop into one gorgeous human being, while all the cute now semi-questionable childern are going to ask for plastic surgery.

Cell phones: I love them. I particularly love mine, and sort of almost want a BlackBerry. Yeah. I do. But my sisters are far worse with cell phone mannerisms than I am. They have no idea how to actually use a cell phone in a productive manner. I, on the otherhand, do. That's why I was a semidecent house manager. I use the phone for business AND pleasure.


That's all, muffins.

Fell in love with cliches and tortured lines, when I should've known better, he was like all the rest. Who's next?

Like a lover

Click. Click.

With a flick of a hand the tiny white cyclinder is brought to life, given purpose in the cool sunset lit evening.

Inhale.

One gentle tug at the tendrils of smoke trying to dance away in the breeze. The amber light, not yet coupled with grey ashes, burning slightly brighter. The captured wisps doing a slow elegant roll in dying branches of once healthy lungs.

Exhale.

And the curls of smoke rejoined by their brothers, wrapping around slender fingers that dismiss the used and gladly abused remains of their origin. As if swimming through the gentle air, they grow wild and lost just before their perfect shape bleeds into nothingness.

Inhale.

With a kiss, the owner hungry for more, the ribbons disappear for a moment, their dance now in high demand elsewhere only to reappear with a slight twist to their steps, more of glide to the heavens.

Exhale.

Even in this tranquil light where the darkness of a placid night threatens to dominate, the embers come to realize they have a passionate side to them, illuminating the long fingers that cradle the delightful treat. The street lamps can only look on, jealous of the growing adoration between poison and happy inamorata.

Inhale.

One last impassioned kiss. One last release of the ruins of a relationship no longer as entrancing as it was at the start. Discarded with a glance that softly sings of having been there, done that. The still vibrant embers, aroused by the passing breeze, extinguished without so much as a second thought. The last breath nothing more than an dispassionate, lackluster

Exhale.

Click.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Repeat.

Can I have your soul?

It's three twenty in the morning. I can't sleep. Or to be more precise, I'm fighting sleep. This lack of font editing is making me sad, this particular font is so unappealing. Grr...

I'm obsessive. In a not so normal way. "most obsessions aren't normal." Well, there are your healthy obsessions that must take place in order to experience something crucial to life later on, such as adulthood and there are the unhealthy obsessions that just give you something to do in your spare time. I'm obsessed with people. Well, particular people. People who want something more out of life than to waste it away in front of a screen. (that's not what I'm doing, as you can clearly see as I go out, witness something that disgusts me, small children for example, and then report back to you my adoring fans.) People who long for the past, the set of rules of elegance and manipulation, not this petty tragedy of boyfriend/girlfriend crap. Ugh. It makes me sick. I don't even understand how people can be together for seven months doing the same thing, over and over and over. Till it becomes routine and then you have no idea whether or not you actually like the person.

But it's disorders that I love. Depression, narcissism (my latest obsession), the list goes on. And it's not because they "weird" or "different", it's because they see the world differently, parts of them that cannot necessarily be changed. (God, I hope I don't sound like I'm mocking people who actually have problems, but that is not my intention at all.) I just find them interesting. I want to know more about the person, their mind.

It bothers me that I am a completely healthy person. No problems at all. At least nothing on the disorder scale. And I love making PowerPoints. Just for fun.

If I had known I was going to have kill brain cells to feel good about myself I would have been a little more reckless...

The Ever Changing Muffin

I feel glorious. I feel alive. I feel as if the world should learn I refuse to bend to its silly rules. For the first time in a long time:

The world can just suck it.

And who I am to say oh this is the year we make last a lifetime, so on and blah blah. I just want senior year to be something we won't regret. But in my mind I can see the trailer for the twists, the drama, an all new hell we couldn't have imagined. Lol. Guest Star Haaser? Jk. I clearly get retarded when I'm happy.

This isn't helping. The realization of something wonderful is about to happen is slowly taking over. I can't wait to get started.

You'll see.

Fight Club Commentary

Ari: I was thinking of a white tiger actually.

It seems like people spend forever on the least important things. Like relationships that are never going to last, how to live a "happy" life, whether we're sick or dying, whether we're going to die a virgin. But I don't really think that. I like spending time on everything, with everyone.

With a voice like that, how can anyone go to their cave, or find their power animal.

It always seems the things I've wanted the most in life, I have never gotten. More importantly the things i have gotten I don't want anymore. "You're

They're fighting over which support groups to attend. Lovely. Ari: It's so sick and yet, sooo right.

just an attention whore. When you don't get the attention

the music is fitting, it contrasts the whole concept of the movie or at least this scene. and yet it's fitting.

you want, you throw a fit." It's not the attention, it's the possibility of having another soul to add to the collection. That's all relationships are. You keep going till there's nothing more to be found. When you have to stop and wonder what's left, it's time to go. Or it's time to start asking the questions that no longer apply to "normal" people.

That man is Ari's husband. Something has happened. I hardly understand. He called her. But what's the point of a phone call with nothing to say? There's actually a lot. (This is not what you were expecting.) A phone call is probably the next best thing to being in person with someone.

Ari: I can't stand someone eating that loud.
Me: It's Brad Pitt, he can't help it.
Ari: *nods*
Me: It's not even on purpose.

Why do I lie? Or why did I? I don't lie to Ari, or the three other people I let in. It seems like, I lie to myself because I don't think I'm interesting enough. Am I afraid of the moment I find myself interesting, something bad happening? But that's the thing that makes other people interesting. Hmm...

It's like his own support group.

So is this mine? Like my own invisible audience, the kind of things kids do when preparing to speak in front of a class. They arrange their stuffed animals in rows and perform. The next day it all works out, and those kids grow up to be popular and cool. I am not one of those people. I look awkward, but confident. I think. I could be wrong. I shouldn't care if this gets too long that no one reads it.

"You could swallow a pint of blood before you get sick."
Ari: interesting fact.

This person is me. The person who has attempted to separate herself into two different people, because it makes things harder than easier. But why?

She's hot. She's so hot. Marla, the girl in the blue dress, she's fierce. But she's messed up. I wish I handle dating a girl so messed up. She's me, or so Ari says. Huh...

Because in the most stressed moments or entire situations, you can see what you're really made off. If the world is painted pretty and made out of glass

That can't be healthy.

you learn never to break it. You learn that it's better to tread lightly. But eventually you wonder what if I break it? Do I live? Or do I crumble like the glass? (or at least this is why I broke my palace of hope and dreams, what are you like? Why don't you break. the. glass.) I haven't crumbled. I haven't lived. I have merely walked out of the house. And now I'm watching the people inside the house (These people were previously fish) and I want to mingle with them. but we get a little too close, we will smile, we brush and then we disappear. Or they from me. Because of all the people i've met, I remember what, 97% of them. I never forget faces. Or details. Just names. That's pretty much the only thing I forget.

Ari: Why wouldn't you get them removed?

i want to cut my hair. But it would never look right. It would never me, with a curtain of hair to hide behind. "but that's what you need...the curtain to be cut." Or maybe I need a longer curtain, so you'll actually pay attention.

I hate people who say "Fuck" as if it's supposed to explain something. But I've only ever used it as an adjective.

Yes he is. Does he die?

The man is terrified.

Excellence is found in the strangest places. So which do we admire the most? The man who wrote the story or the person who gave him the idea?

What's the point of a life that we're not convinced is worth living? The option isn't suicide. It's to throw everything else, everything you've ever known and run on pure intuition. Do it. Try it and you know what's sad? You'll probably like it a lot more than sitting every day as if you're bored out of your mind. There's really no excuse for being bored. The longer the intervals between you saying you're bored the more interesting of a person you are. i think. or there's that other thing that I said.