The Angel with an assault rifle

I think of my role models at times like this.
Lady Gaga (a questionable but still very relevant role model)
Poppy Z. Brite (because she's morbid as muffins)
Russel Brand (because he's weird as mutant muffins)

Why is it my role models are people I've never met? And more importantly people who either a) are going through a wonky phase and will normal out eventually or b) the biggest attention whores in the history of pop culture?

I don't know. At 1am my brain begins to wander. Grand Total of Friends for the summer? 0.
And I bitch and moan about this a lot. Probably more than I actually need to, but when I think about it, there's only three people I can actually enjoy the company of and I am down right terrified of having to lie to someone to get away from them.

The simple equation still stands to be proven wrong: my liking someone > someone liking me.
Perhaps it's the mirror I broke freshman year, or the dynamic change from drama tease to silent psycho. But don't let the internet be your guide here.

No. The tone you read this with will most likely come across as highly negative. It isn't. It's indifferent. You see, me and emotions don't really get along. Must be these soulless black eyes, mmm yummy. Why this topic for a post tonight?

Tonight on the news, there was a report about a study where women and stress are bad together. Oh yes. Very bad. Stress in itself is bad. But women have so much more to deal with besides the recession and children. It's hard carrying a uterus. TO solve stress, simply drink red wine (but not too much), exercise, and be social. People who are social live longer. Which makes sense, because generally things that bring pleasure into your life aren't causing stress, stress kills, therefore pleasure makes you live longer. I drink red wine. I exercise. But I'm not social. Not if you actually know me. I'm picky, and shallow, and a bitch. But if you're intelligent, good looking and tolerate my weirdness (and give me cookies) I take it upon myself to be your guardian angel.

Do I have an angel? No.
Do I want an angel? Maybe.
Do I need an angel? Yes. I'm simply a hazard to the world if left to my own devices.

Deep down in the place of my soul where wishes blossom, I hope that this De Anza thing will bring with it a new armada of interesting people worthy of calling friend. I'm incredibly happy all my classes are in the evening though. I work so much better at night.

Lashing out like a cat on fire

I don't like to talk to people about how and what i'm feeling. Usually I just lash out at anyone who comes close enough and fuck up that friendship, only to return ten minutes later to apologize. /sigh will I ever learn?

Haven't talked to anyone really since I got back. Except 4 people I consider essential to my existence. I could make more friends. That's not hard. But keeping them...I tend to lose interest within a few hours? Days? I'm running out of distractions to help time pass and I don't even know what I'm running from. My past maybe? But I don't even remember that. It seems like some far off dream, even though it was only a few months. Maybe I'm blinded by jealousy. That might be it. And I never really understood how it comes up and how to kill it. Is it fear? Or maybe, just maybe I'm actually normal and there's nothing wrong with me just that I want something to be.

Before the trip, I was in love with the thought of my death. Like it was constantly on my mind, thinking about open the car door and sliding out on to the pavement, going for a late night drive and slamming into a wall or off a hill side. And I'm small so pretty much anything will kill me. And the reason none of that came to be? Simply the fear of not having anyone come to my funeral. Because death by itself is pretty lonely, but if no one came in my last few minutes above ground? Well then I've been dead a very long time. And who would make sure the right people knew about my death? What about Prava and Jeremy, and maybe even Jacob? See most of friends don't even know who they are.

After the trip, I stopped caring about my death, and the lack of actual friends I had and Kayleena and Lawrence helped with that I guess. But Kay's gone, Lawrence is leaving, and now my father is leaving for Trinidad soon. I don't remember exactly what I was trying achieve here. By one, coming back to California in the first place, and two being Zakkarrii. But I don't think I'm that person anymore. The drama queen, attention whore, bad Lady Gaga remake. Nope. Don't see any traces of that.

Maybe my biggest fear is slipping back into that person. It feels like standing in the dark, with a door to the past just ajar and tempting. I could go back to what I know. Or I could keep going further into the dark and finding out the presently unknown.

Or I could sit and smoke and waste more time than ever. Lol. Decisions, decisions.