Death of blog?

I don't post here enough to call this sad place my blog.

I've decided to go back to livejournal since I'm more used to the system.

You all can find me at since_lush

It's set to friend's only, but I highly implore Glamour (who I know reads this) to sign up. It'd be nice to be lj friends.

Thanks guys.

Stupid kids.

There's a 12 and a 14 year old hitting on my boyfriend.
I hate kids that aren't mine.

Uggh.

So I've been neglecting you dearest blog. I'm sorry.

all that's on my mind at the moment is frustration.

god@!#!$!@#@!#@%$@%%&%*&^*W#dammit!

Love?

I shall continue to replay the events of the night for several hours.

Be grateful.

A co-worker of mine's father just died today. How you ask? Skiing accident.

Then it left me to wonder; how much of life do I let slip by without REALLY enjoying it?

As Stephen mentioned in a past modesty entry; safety couches will be the end of us.

At one point I did have an actual safety couch. I could lie down with the lies and forget that I was really happy. The person sharing it with me, only once drunk claiming emotion and love--didn't really care. But I'd tell myself the more I pushed my limits, the more he'd want me.

I told the story to The Poet the other day and he managed to phrase those two years of my life in a single sentence "You kept getting your heart broken over and over."

I don't know how my mind set when from someone passing to the safety couch, but it seemed relavent.

Wonder where my couch went? The school brough in a dumpster to clean out the old theater and The Poet and I loaded the couch into the dumpster. And that was the end of my safety couch.

Get off your safety couch bloggers!

P.S. Aunt Flow just came to town. I've never been happier to see her.

Period.

Congrats Darling You! You're 21 days late on your period! Woooooo!

So you're either....

a) Pregnant (unlikely)
b) menopausal (also unlikely)
c) freakishly late (how is that possibly at my age?)

I'm bloated and crampy and I want to die. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Whatever this is. This is bad.

French Toast Zen.

Today I worked one of the hardest shifts I ever had.
So I made myself french toast and a double espresso with cream.
Oh. Dear. God.
That was amazing.

Cinderella

So tonight is the semi formal at my high school and what did I do tonight? I worked. Oh, and I cheated...on my diet, not The Poet.

So instead of feeling pretty in a black and white gown, I sit here in his hoodie. I should be satisfied, but I had been dreaming to go for months and I just stand completely disappointed. He wanted to take me but couldn't, I wouldn't go without him because that would make him feel awful-- so I worked.

And I ate chinese food and ice cream. I haven't cheated since February. Shameful and disgusting. Bad, Cinderella, bad. No one is going to find your shoe.

Scrub away.

So today I felt hazy. Just horribly hazy.

Between funerals, and a stupid fight with my poet (that simmered down today to back to normal) I wasn't feeling so wonderful. I am 17 days late on my period and I'm bloated like a balloon. I hate this. The cramps started today so fingers crossed Aunt Flow will pass a visit soon.

I got home and actually fell asleep while watching Sex and the City. That never happens. So I decided to admit defeat and go to bed at a pathetic 5pm. Then I got a fb msg from the poet "Try taking a bath before you go to bed."

So I did. And I exfoliated my entire body. By that point, I felt better.

Then to make things even MORE wonderful, I went on my old fitday (a wonderful free site for tracking calories and activities) and decided to measure myself with a measuring tape for the first time since August.

I lost one inch on my arms, THREE inches on my waist AND hips and twi and a half inches on my leg.

I know.

I know I won't live forever.
So I'll make sure that I live today.

I'll write another letter to myself.

Last night I started writing a post that tried to explain how grateful I am for all the love in my life. That lately I haven't been fighting my flaws the way I usually do. That's the thing with me; I have to be perfect. Perfect room. Perfect body. Perfect life essentially. And I'm never able to achieve it.

I wanted to write a wonderfully long entry about how Glamour is the best un-biological sister I could ask for, and that no one has impacted my life she way she has. I wanted to write a long entry about how the Poet makes me want to be a better person, and that when he holds me I feel like my chest is about to explode from happiness. I wanted to write a long entry explaining how wonderful it is that my father is trying to have a relationship with me, that even though months of us not speaking he wants a small part of my life.

I should be happy. I was so happy. Then the flaws took it all away. Call me selfish, call me crazy. I just feel like I don't deserve any of this. It's just too good for me. They all deserve better.

So as goes the update

So we have a problem.

I look like a clown. A big ugly orange haired clown that has eyebrows that are too dark. I went to the hair dresser to get my hair stripped today and I spent FOUR HOURS tilted back into a rock hard sink--- to have my black hair (that was SUPPOSED to become blondish brown) turn I'm a ginger that fail led at being a ginger orange.

This is bad. So bad. The Poet is currently getting his hair cut. Let's hope things work out better for him. I'm bribing him with marshmallows to cut it short--- that 'fro is wayy too long.

So yes. I'm ugly. Just thought to throw that out there.

In other less vain notes, I received a note today from someone who I thought hated me. A friend of mine, Glamour. I thought she hated me, but she thought I was angry at her. It's screwed up, but I'm happy in a little fucked up sense because I don't think things are permanently broken. Which is a nice little piece of relief.

Sex and the City brought this up so I care to share.

A woman can have everything; a job, an apartment, a man; but it's all worth nothing without your friends.

Dear---

I have lots of things to say to many different people....

Dear job, thank you for being a nice place to hide.

Dear Poet, you are more than I deserve. My optimsm originates from you, so thank you for putting the smile on my face. Also. Call me. Right now. You can't read this but I'm sending you brain waves to call me. Caaaaaaallll meeeeeeee.

Dear you know who, what's happening between us? This scares me. I don't want us to be the song. Please...

Dear self, stay strong.

Dear readers, are you sick of the blogs yet?

Skinny jeans

It's not a physical state, but more of a mentality. Every woman has a pair of skinny jeans, and I don't mean a pair of jeans that hug your ankles. No. I mean a pair of SKINNY jeans, that one pair in the back of your closet that you bought 3 sizes too small because it was on sale. Every woman keeps them in the vain hope that someday they shall fit her again.

Today ladies was that day. I'm down 12 lbs and my none of my pants fit me. I was stomping around my room trying to figure out what to wear and them I remember them. My skinny jeans. I yanked them out of my closet....they fit perfectly- even a little lose. That was a fucking HUGE thrill.

So yes. I now fit in my skinny jeans. Fuck yeah! 18 more lbs to go and I am done. Starting size; 8/10 Current size; 6 Goal size; 2

In other fabulous note worthy things to mention; the poet and I hit out 5 month aniversary today. Well it's not the exact, exact 5 month aniversary but we decided to ignore our month long split.

18 more lbs to go. Let's do this.

I must be a woman.

I'm a little ticked at myself right now. In the past couple months I managed to lost 10 pounds and now I'm about 18 lbs away from my goal weight.

It's partially for reasons of hating my body, and partially because I'm about to do the walk to end Breast Cancer which is 60km in two days. It's more of a run than a walk... ANYWAYS.

Today I was so good. I woke up early, went to the gym, ate healthy all day, went for a run, lifted some weights--- and now I threw it all away by eating a bagel and some whoppers. My chocolate cravings are retarded- I must be a woman.

Arg. I was so close to losing another lbs. Sometimes I want to hit myself. Bah!

Hoodie.

Will someone please remind me why I was worried? Because honestly, I don't even have a clue.

Today I brought the Poet to the big city to see some museum exhibitions at the Contemporary Museum of Fine Arts. Two bus rides, a train and a long walk later we found ourselves downtown. (fucking suburbs.) And we found ourselves slightly distracted by the sights.

We got downtown at about 3pm-ish and we browsed used bookstores, university campuses that we dreamed of going to, and the Apple store. We thought we wouldn't find the museum and by fluke around 7:30pm-ish we found it. We browsed holding hands.

All in all, today was wonderful. He walked me to my door and kissed me goodnight. He gave me his hoodie for the night to keep me warm.

It's funny how one person can completely alter one's mood.

I swear next post will be about something different.

'Goodnight darling.' 'Goodnight angel.'

So I do believe I scared him as if I haven't already scared him witless in these past 4 months.

Last night we were talking on the phone, lazy late night conversations have become the norm for us. When we don't have things to do in the morning we'll stay up till 2 am just chatting about everything and nothing.

It was around 1:30 in the morning and I was feeling particularly tired and really down on accounts of fearing the loss of a good friend of mine and I spilled something that I'm worried freaked him out.

I told him that I was scared that I'm starting to depend on him too much. And he was quiet for a very long time then made me explain. Which was cringe worthy. We changed the subject and talked for another 45 minutes before admitting exhaustion.

I had trouble sleeping. It isn't that big of a deal, I'm aware of it. But really, if he were to go away I would be really alone. It's not a fact of needing to be with something, it's the fact that he's the only one who has been willing to stay.

So I sit here, wrapped in his ugly hoodie that I adore, pondering the meaning of words. I either say too much or nothing at all.

Giving Up -Ingrid Michaelson

Look that song up, really, it's that good.

Update

My day was uneventful.
My room is a mess.
My coffee is cold.
Sex and the City is on. <3
There's nothing to really say, or to complain about.

And you melt like snow, before you let me know.

I think I've just experienced the most romantic afternoon of my life.

As of last night I got back with my ex. We forgave eachother everything. We talked about what scared us, what we want, what we missed. The call lasted 4 1/2 hours. I went to bed very late.

Rolling out of bed this morning I looked out my window to see the most perfect snowfall I have ever seen. Big puffy white flakes fell. I usually dislike snow but this morning was different. I saw the forest in my back yard perfectly white. The kind of perfection you'd see in nature photographs.

We skipped last class to walk through the forest in the back of my school. The snow was still falling. It was perfect for snowballs. We threw a few at eachother and made snow angels. We kissed in the snow and shook the snow out of our hair. By the end of the hour we were both soaked from head to toe.

And I didn't think I would ever say this about him but... I can see myself with him for a very, very long time. Because in the end, it is very, very hard to find someone who still finds you beautiful when you're soaking wet, in sweatpants with dripping makeup. And it's even harder to find someone who'll forgive you for your irrational behavior.

'If this isn't love, it's the closest I've ever been.'
-Anberlin

Nightmares.

I will never fall asleep again.

Last night I had a fight with my mother before bed over something as stupid as pizza. I regretted it upon falling asleep, but she went to bed before me so I couldn't apologize.

So my dream started in my dinning room, my mom, dad and I were eating. Then these people came in and shot both of my parents. I go hysterical, crying, kicking and screaming as one of the guys pull me upstairs by my hair. They bring me to my parent's room and tell me to show them where my parents kept all their information or they'd kill me. I showed them where my mom stored the bills and said that's all I knew. I lied. I didn't tell them where my parents kept their precious posessions. They'd be pissed if I was stupid enough to show it to them.

I thought they'd leave after that. They didn't. They brought me to my room, which I painted purple this summer and added furniture. But when they dragged me in the room was totally white and empty like it used to be. Just one Anberlin poster was on my wall. I was confused. They made me sleep behind my door.

I sat behind my door and couldn't cry, the sun was up. There appeared 3 guys as my window which was open. One of them shot the guy that was still in my room. I started begging for them not to kill me, then I realised it was my history teacher. I blinked and realised he was a cop. Running over I gave him a hug and said there was someone else in the house.

The guy ran off, and I went down the stairs to the kitchen; my parents were gone. I woke up in a panic.

Realising it was 5:30am I crawled into bed with my mom.
I guess I can still be a baby sometimes.

Dearest you,

I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know why I told you that I'd erase all the memories as if we lived in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind. I don't want to erase them. I want to lie on the ice and watch the stars with you. I want to listen to your lame jokes. I want to hold your hand. Oh God, I've never been my aware of the space between my fingers. I miss you, I miss you so much. I hate that our phone calls are cut short now. I hate that everytime I'm upset I feel the need to talk to you. I'm scared and I'm lost and I don't know what to do in regards of us. But I guess I shouldn't add another thing to my list of problems. You're over me aren't you? You said it and I'm going to believe it. I lost my chance to fix things between us. It's all my fault. I want everything erased.

-Darling you

He wrote me something today...

'Did you catch my name?
I'm the one who's heart you broke
You can call me ____'

I censor things because I'm a paranoid bitch. I don't know what I want. Dreams are killing me.

Two nights ago I was back in the hardest part of my adolescence and he was there instead of the son of a bitch who messed me up in the first place. If I met him first, I don't think I'd be so cynical. I hate looking into things but I've analysed and analysed that dream. I see a little...

I refuse to say what last nights dream was at all. For the sake of this being a censored blog. But oh dear sweet Jesus. I woke up in a state of 'wtf'.

Dearest you, by writting what's on your mind; you're killing me.
Dearest dreams, leave me alone; I barely sleep anymore.
Dearest heart, shut the fuck up; I don't want to hear you.
Dearest readers if you exist, think I'm crazy yet?

I used to be a good girl.

I skipped class today with him because I know he'll listen.

He listens, and talks and sometimes gives bad advice. But even if it's sucky, he tries so I give him points. He's not an asshole, he just has no off button.

I broke up with him because he wasn't perfect. Everyone whispered in my ear 'You can do better, you can do better.' and on some disgusting sick level I know it's true. I hate how some people can be branded better than others. He pissed me off, he was too clingy, too annoying, too close to me for comfort.

And after spending three hours with him I'm brought back to where he and I used to be. I miss it. I hate myself for missing it. He said he was over me today. He said he was over everything and was ready to move on.

If he's fine....why aren't I?

and MEANWHILE

Why do guys think they can get away with constant bullshit!??!? I'm not saying all guys of douchefucks but oh my god; there's this one guy that I could rip his balls off right now and hang them as fuzzy dice on his locker. Don't fuck with my friends-- or I will fuck you up.

Bruises

When we are little and we fall down and get hurt; any owwie can be resolved with band aids or an adult kissing it better. But what happens as we get older? Who will catch us when we fall?Is it our friends who will constantly have our backs? And what if they don't?

Today someone I dislike stronger 'hurt' herself. She 'fell' and 'broke' her ankle. In your senior year of high school this kind of dramatics is just plain annoying. I went to the main office to grab her some ice. I hated doing it, because I knew she was lying. It was beyond fake.

And it made me realise if it was me who had done that, she wouldn't get ice. No one would.

And what happens when your heart hurts? Who kisses and fixes that? Are you supposed to lie there and endure the pain till it goes away? Does it really go away or does time just make it grow numb. You tell me.

I have a heartache, but there's no kisses to make it better.

Coming to Terms

Tonight there was a school dance. I of course wanted to attend, but being 1. Without a date and 2. Not wanting to crash my best friend's date I ended up here, at home, sitting in my room. Not to say tonight wasn't productive.

I waxed my legs, did my bikini line, tweezed my eyebrows, used some pore strips, gave myself a facial, took a bath, puminced my feet then sat my lazy infront of the television to watch more of Sex and the City. So I feel significantly less fabulous than those at the dance (especially since I even bought a dress...) but at least I'm slightly more improved than prior this evening.

While beautifying myself; my phone rang. I didn't have time to catch it. One missed call. My heart pounded. I rushed to facebook like a fool 'hey you, did you call?' and my reply? 'no, i'm watching family guy.' Intelligent. I feel like an idiot. It was probably a friend of mine I'm ditching tomorrow for more productive things-- like going to the gym at the unholy hour of 8 in the morning with my mother then dragging my sweaty ass to David's Tea for some oolang.

And I've finally come to a realisation regarding the whole situation with my ex. So yeah, we did agree to be friends but I think I wanted the friendship more than he does. I think he wants distance. So, I truly believe he won't call me ever again just to say hi. But you know, I think I can be cool with letting go of the friendship too. Next fall I'm heading out into the city for school so there's definantly a place I don't want to be tied down with baggage.

So from this night forward I won't wait for calls. If the lonliness gets too bad, I'll go to bed. If the boredom makes me insane, I'll read more. It's just a question of getting out of the habbit. I've now grown the habbit of buffing my nails before bed. Works for me.

So much for romance.

I should stick to buying shoes.

I sit here again frustrated.
Tonight I will not call.
Tonight I will blog.

I feel so pointless right now. I've seen so many episodes of Sex and the City today that I feel as if I've lost braincells. Carrie Bradshaw is amusing, but I need to stop assuming that her advice is valide in my life. It is not.

There is no excuse for feeling lonely. There just isn't. I should be over this now, considering I dumped him. I'm just feeling overly alone lately.

I need a rebound.

No good guys around me, they're all too emotionally young.

Guys? Anyone?

I refuse to join a dating site.

Telephone.

I'm frustrated. I firmly believe in the half-of-the-time-you-went-out to get over someone. I'm almost there, give me another 4 weeks and I'll be totally over it. I'm just pissed right now. More at myself than anyone else.
I want him to call me. Not because it gives me butterflies, but because I love him to death (platonically) and I want to hear his voice. He makes me laugh.
I called him last night and he left to go play videogames (you really think men have their heads on right? I doubt it.) Boo. I'm losing it.
I refuse to call.
I refuse to call.
I refuse to call.

Think. What would Carrie Bradshaw do? ...she would sit here pondering her options.

FUCK! I hate men. My room looks like insane. I need to clean. I need to brush my teeth...

refhgureigirejgfi
I refuse to call.
I refuse to call.
I'm so calling. Someone stone me.

One shot.

Last night I had the scariest dream I've had in a very, very long time.

I was with my mother and we were taking a short cut through an alley and this man started chasing us. He had huge butcher knives in his hands and he was waving them around at us yelling for our money. My mother ran away without me and I was left standing there. I tried to dodge him but he kept flailling his arms. I threw my wallet at him, but for some reason gravity wasn't working and it landed at my feet. I sprinted. He took my wallet and stopped chasing me. I kept running. I got to a huge door, and I saw my mother. Relief. I got to the door and said "This man took my wallet!" And then I looked up and saw a tall asian man standing in the door. He lifted a gun to me and shot me.

I woke up covered in sweat and out of breath. It felt like there was a bullet hole in my neck for a second, then I rationalized and realised it was a dream. I got out of bed and tip toed across the floor to my mother's room. I could hear her breathing and decided against waking her at 2am for something so ridiculous.

I tried to concentrate on other things and fell asleep a bit later.

Who will sing me to sleep?

Tonight, my fascination with The Smiths has grown to a larger proportion. I passed by an old music store today, and I discovered that they sold vinyls. Which peaked my curiosity, I went searching and I was impressed to find 'Louder than Bombs' my favorite Smiths album and 'Outlandos d'Amour' by The Police.

So tonight, I've been lulled at a constant by Moz's voice. The last track stays with me like a ghost. I'm not even quite sure why.

There is another world, there is a better world.
Well there must be.
Well there must be.
Bye bye

Monster.

There is a monster growing inside me and I'm unsure on what to do.
Everything is so completely wrong.

The monster has taken it's hold on me. It chokes me, closing off my throat from air. It's closing my heart, I can feel it.

I miss the way I used to feel.
I don't know what's wrong and it terrifies me.
The monster is slowly having it's way.

Hello Alone

You know you're just a teenie tiny bit sad when you're your blog's only follower.

The Underdeveloped Story

So this is the New Year. Do I feel different? Possibly. I'm not really sure just yet. Although I doubt this change in emotion really has anything to do with the change of the decade. I think this is just me changing as a person. It happens occasionally doesn't it? I just want to perfect what has flaws. Seemingly an impossible task but I have years to continue the improvements.

Last night when the ball dropped, I had a strange heart to heart with my father. The thing you must understand is that my father and I haven't spoken for about 4 months. He and I basically came to a one sentence understanding that we shouldn't be living like this. Considering we still do live together. So by baby steps we've been trying to mend what's been screwed with. It's not working at any great speed but we actually said something to each other today. He even bothered to crack a telephone joke regarding the amount of time I spend on the phone with my boyfriend. It was unusual, but it brought back some strange feelings of nostalgia. I guess all along I've missed my dad. It's just a question of when he's willing to be my dad. He'll be great for periods of time, then the tiniest of thing will set him off and my mother and I cease to exist. It's taken a bit of time to get used to the reoccurring incidents. I know we're getting better, but I also know as soon as it gets better he'll go back to his old ways. I'm just not ready to give up on our father-daughter relationship just yet.

On another note; I've actually come up with New Years resolutions. Believe it or not. If I can stick to them, that'll be another story. I guess we'll just have to wait it out and see.

Right now I'm listening to some old school Anberlin (back when they radiated awesomeness) and being a bit reminiscent. It's going to be a year since I last saw them play on January 13. It's been a while since I gave them a good listen and it feels a little different. That's what I love about music; you can put a record down and pick it up in a year and everything will just come rushing back to you. Music and memory hold together in my mind. Anyways. Life is decently good. No complaints so far-- well not many.


While spell checking this entry, under suggested things for the mispelling 'Anberlin' was 'Angela'. I say it's a sign. Or not.