Sleeping Alone

I'm not good when it comes to dating and I'm not good at letting someone know that I'm interested in them or that I'm not interested and I often take too much time and thinking over how I could avoid hurting someone in the emotional type and sometimes I don't care and sometimes I don't want to go to sleep even though I'm tired and sometimes I can't go to sleep even when I'm tired and sometimes I go on for no apparant reason but to get the point across to myself that I am hopelessly befriending and unfriending and I'm cold and I want a blanket to make the cold go away and I want to go outside and I don't want to go to sleep alone but I am okay with sleeping alone but it'd still be nice if I weren't and I want to sleep but I can't sleep but I can sit and think it all over.

For a While, at Least, She and I Were in Love

SHe: I wish I were her.
He: WHy?
She: Because it would be nice to have someone feel that way about me.
He: You've never been in love?
She: Not even close.
He: And no one's ever been in love with you?
She: Men always want to fuck me, but no one has ever loved me.
He: I don't believe that.
She: It's true.
They stare.
He: If it makes any difference, I don't want to fuck you.
She laughs
She: Thanks
He: I think you're beautiful, but I wouldn't fuck you because when we were done, I wouldn't want you to feel fucked. I would try to make love to you, and I would probably be clumsy and awkward, but when it w as over, I would want you to feel loved.
She smiles
She: Thank you.
He smiles.
He: Thank you.



I listen to the tick of an unseen clock marking moments of time long passed. It makes me the tick and it holds me and it carries and keeps me like the slow swing of a pendulum before the eyes of an idiot. The WOrld has stopped not like before and not in a good way. It has stopped and is not going forward the same way my life has stopped and is not going forward. It is not going forward or backward or anywhere at all it has just stopped. It has just stopped.
The clock holds me nowhere. Nowhere. Nowhere. There is nothing else but now and the shifting depth of night. I sit at a table alone smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee and listening and surviving. I should not be here or anywhere. I should not be breathing or taking space. I should not have been given this moment or anything else. I should not have this opportunity again to live. I do not deserve it or deserve anything yet it is here and I am here and I have it all of it still. I won't have it again. This moment and this chance they are the same and they are mine if I choose them and I do. I want them. Now and as long as I can have them they are both precious and fleeting and gone in the blink of an eye don't waste them. A moment and an opporturnity and a life, all in the unseen tick of a clock holding me nowhere. My heart is beating. The walls are pale and quiet. I am surviving.
--James Frey, A Million Little Pieces

Walking In...

So, I come in the house, and I just want to go to bed. I want to sleep because it is late and I'll be waking up early. I walk in and there are four guys, one of them has a credit card or ID or something in his hand, a plate in his lap, and I white line of powder on the plate. I walk in on him about to sniff it up his nose.
It makes me angry. He's a cute guy, I've never seen him before, but he's a cute guy dressed in nice clothes and he's probably...18? 19? Maybe younger, maybe older, I don't know.
But all this powder, all these pipes, all these lines, they make me want to....
THey make me want to strangle this stupid guy with nice clothes on and pour the stupid powder on top of his head and it makes me want to scream and it makes me want to kick him in the head, because maybe his brain may make a positive alteration.
I go to sleep instead. Read a book about drug addiction and recovery and going to rehab. WHY?
To hell if I know. To hell with the four guys across the hall. Before I go to sleep I hear someone across the hall sniff hard.
Good. Night. I don't know why it gets to me, I don't know why I care, but over the last two years, I've come to grip with these past times that people have and I've come to grip on my senses and my reaction to them.
Oh. Well. What's there to do? I don't know.
Oh. Well..

Translating

UPS rang the bell, the brown box was on the porch. I opened it, and it doesn't matter what was in it but the name that was on it.

I'll bend to your will. And I've taken a lot of things for granted while glorifying the Infatuation, the Us.
My eyes float, they don't wander because 'wandering' makes me feel guilty, and I see things that interest me. I'm not going to ask permission.
Okay, so your voice over the phone doesn't tell me much. Your words don't tell my anything.
My words don't tell you anything. I don't want my words to tell you anything because yours don't give me anything either, and I'm childish and stubborn and if I'm going to go under like this, I'm taking you too.
But I'm not going under. Then what am I doing to you? Does this classify me as 'evil'? "Purely high school." No, I'm not evil, we're just typical, bottled, expected. This was inevitable, if you get on the outside and look in. Which is always a clearer view.
Not that this is breaking news. Not like we are either. Not like we're a big mark on the tragically broken hearted map.
Not like we're different. Romeo and Juliet? Not like this hasn't happened before. Gatsby and Daisy?
This isnt a push-over. Should it be?
I'm not confused. I mean, is there a word for beyond that? And naive? And bitter? All in one? I'm sure there is, my vocabulary is just short.
But I've gotten so off, talking about greedy love and now vocabulary.

Cat's Outta The Bag

Alright, alright, I *am chilling out. I do have a lot to say, but I also don't know how to say it. I feel analyzed, after the confrontation with Brie, but that aside, her paper is now over, and so am I in her blogging world.
I should probably thank her though, because after reading her rough draft it kind of gives myself insight of how I am perceived, at least from someone looking in. The obsession I do have, and this makes me feel better at any rate, is easing and dulling and I think I can honestly say it is because she has shown me that it has been obsessive (not to mention the unneccessary emotion I put in). Teenage angst at its best, eh?

Baby..

Okay, it is safe to say that I am happy. Happy with things. Accepting. That's the basic jist of everything, in a nut shell.