The Hipster Brigade
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
i tried the whole day but this was all that came out
there are some days that i can't rescue with music. some days that the right song just doesn't sound right to me anymore. some days where i shuffle through my entire cd collection and nothing looks right.
those days i put on the classical station and stare at the ceiling till i fall asleep. those days are hopeless. those days i want everything to stop making noise. where i step out of my room and everyone is stopped frozen with time and i walk forward while everyone is stuck. fast. not going anywhere. they are, what i feel like.
those days i know i can't be anything i want to be because i don't know how to sing or play the guitar and that i only write in fragments and no one understands what i say. those days i think about every single failure. every single fall. every single regret.
sometimes i like these days because i know they will be over soon. and i never ever spend these days alone. i always go out and walk around. by myself or with a friend. whenever i feel like the meteor is heading for my little closet dorm room, i move out of the way.
¶ 10:40 PM
|
there are some days that i can't rescue with music. some days that the right song just doesn't sound right to me anymore. some days where i shuffle through my entire cd collection and nothing looks right.
those days i put on the classical station and stare at the ceiling till i fall asleep. those days are hopeless. those days i want everything to stop making noise. where i step out of my room and everyone is stopped frozen with time and i walk forward while everyone is stuck. fast. not going anywhere. they are, what i feel like.
those days i know i can't be anything i want to be because i don't know how to sing or play the guitar and that i only write in fragments and no one understands what i say. those days i think about every single failure. every single fall. every single regret.
sometimes i like these days because i know they will be over soon. and i never ever spend these days alone. i always go out and walk around. by myself or with a friend. whenever i feel like the meteor is heading for my little closet dorm room, i move out of the way.
¶ 10:40 PM
|
Monday, December 29, 2003
just a big fat loser at winning
i have never won anything. that used to be the case. but now i'm lying for attention.
things i've won:
1. (1998) The Poetry Society of Texas's Dimmette Prize, First Place for "Under Bridges"
2. (1998) The 1st Annual Aardvark Studios/Parent Talk Kids Poetry Contest, Award of Distinction for "Isolation"
3. (1997-1998) The Alexander School's The Sundial, Third Place Poetry for "Eleven Line Poem"
4. (1999) The Poetry Society of Texas's The Upper Class Western Haiku Award, Honorable Mention
Stodghill High School Free Verse Award, Honorable Mention
The "I Remember" Award, Honorable Mention
The Jeanna Hickman Haiku Prize, Third Place for "disappearing act"
(2003) Then I won an autographed ted leo poster off of www.onlyundiesclub.com. it didn't quite feel the same though.
¶ 3:21 PM
|
i have never won anything. that used to be the case. but now i'm lying for attention.
things i've won:
1. (1998) The Poetry Society of Texas's Dimmette Prize, First Place for "Under Bridges"
2. (1998) The 1st Annual Aardvark Studios/Parent Talk Kids Poetry Contest, Award of Distinction for "Isolation"
3. (1997-1998) The Alexander School's The Sundial, Third Place Poetry for "Eleven Line Poem"
4. (1999) The Poetry Society of Texas's The Upper Class Western Haiku Award, Honorable Mention
Stodghill High School Free Verse Award, Honorable Mention
The "I Remember" Award, Honorable Mention
The Jeanna Hickman Haiku Prize, Third Place for "disappearing act"
(2003) Then I won an autographed ted leo poster off of www.onlyundiesclub.com. it didn't quite feel the same though.
¶ 3:21 PM
|
you give me an ulcer in a good way
when i think of you. when i think of us. even though there is no us and it's just a metaphor in my head. i always think of being in bed with you. not sexually. just lightly touching arms and staring at the ceiling, maybe there are glow in the dark star stickers. and we talk. about robots. and cats. you'll ask me some hard thinking question where i'll hmm outloud and close my eyes and turn away. there will be music. something you picked out. i get too nervous to pick out music. something quiet. i think lying there listening to quiet music would be the best part.
then we'd probably draw some pictures with crayons and markers. and hang them up on the fridge with ABC magnets.
then we'd go out for a walk. i'd bring an umbrella but i know it wouldn't rain. then we could duel in the neighbor's lawn. umbrella vs. big moldy stick. i would win. but then because it's fall, you'd sneak up behind me and dump crinkly orange leaves down my shirt. and i'd laugh. and curse the day you were born.
i think right around here we'd notice we didn't eat a thing all day. so we would either eat pizza or fruit. maybe we could eat the fruit with toothpicks and pretend we are at some kind of fancy party. that would also require making alcoholic drinks with umbrellas just for fun. but we probably wouldn't have anything to make those, so we could drink beer out of the can with umbrellas. yeah, that's class.
i think fancy pants would make a great name for a cat, especially a persian. i'd say out of nowhere. your reaction would amuse me, i'm sure.
then we'd take a nap. together.
and this is how a really great day would go in my head.
sometimes i pray to buddha or allah or god -- that you will go away or stop talking to me or both. i find you the single most fascinating/frustrating person on the planet.
oh, and sometimes i just think about making out. but whatever.
¶ 3:20 PM
|
when i think of you. when i think of us. even though there is no us and it's just a metaphor in my head. i always think of being in bed with you. not sexually. just lightly touching arms and staring at the ceiling, maybe there are glow in the dark star stickers. and we talk. about robots. and cats. you'll ask me some hard thinking question where i'll hmm outloud and close my eyes and turn away. there will be music. something you picked out. i get too nervous to pick out music. something quiet. i think lying there listening to quiet music would be the best part.
then we'd probably draw some pictures with crayons and markers. and hang them up on the fridge with ABC magnets.
then we'd go out for a walk. i'd bring an umbrella but i know it wouldn't rain. then we could duel in the neighbor's lawn. umbrella vs. big moldy stick. i would win. but then because it's fall, you'd sneak up behind me and dump crinkly orange leaves down my shirt. and i'd laugh. and curse the day you were born.
i think right around here we'd notice we didn't eat a thing all day. so we would either eat pizza or fruit. maybe we could eat the fruit with toothpicks and pretend we are at some kind of fancy party. that would also require making alcoholic drinks with umbrellas just for fun. but we probably wouldn't have anything to make those, so we could drink beer out of the can with umbrellas. yeah, that's class.
i think fancy pants would make a great name for a cat, especially a persian. i'd say out of nowhere. your reaction would amuse me, i'm sure.
then we'd take a nap. together.
and this is how a really great day would go in my head.
sometimes i pray to buddha or allah or god -- that you will go away or stop talking to me or both. i find you the single most fascinating/frustrating person on the planet.
oh, and sometimes i just think about making out. but whatever.
¶ 3:20 PM
|
Saturday, December 27, 2003
i like a good dialogue or a scene from a soap opera
hi.
hi.
it's been forever, hasn't it? how are you doing?
i am doing well. thank you for asking.
i think i'd like to start seeing you again. you know if you were interested.
oh jesus, daniel. i don't know. can't we leave this alone? please stop calling me.
krista, i think i love...
no. you. don't.
how can you know for sure?
i saw you yesterday with what's her face at the mall.
you mean my sister?
no, i mean the girl you were tongue kissing by the escalator.
oh. her. well, she is nothing. she has to go back to her pod today anyways. it was just one time.
don't you get it?
i guess not.
then she walked out of the elevator leaving him standing there with a dill pickle in his right hand. the napkin soaked green.
¶ 12:15 AM
|
hi.
hi.
it's been forever, hasn't it? how are you doing?
i am doing well. thank you for asking.
i think i'd like to start seeing you again. you know if you were interested.
oh jesus, daniel. i don't know. can't we leave this alone? please stop calling me.
krista, i think i love...
no. you. don't.
how can you know for sure?
i saw you yesterday with what's her face at the mall.
you mean my sister?
no, i mean the girl you were tongue kissing by the escalator.
oh. her. well, she is nothing. she has to go back to her pod today anyways. it was just one time.
don't you get it?
i guess not.
then she walked out of the elevator leaving him standing there with a dill pickle in his right hand. the napkin soaked green.
¶ 12:15 AM
|
Friday, December 26, 2003
this doesn't make much sense but it can be done. oh, IT CAN BE DONE.
i was nine lying to my mother and singing in the rain. i'd twirl the red umbrella with the yellow ducks in galoshes and yell out in my tiny voice at the passing cars. "just singing in the rain. yeah, singing in the rain." i'd make up my own words. shout my own tune. play in the puddles. i remember watching the rain rolling down the car windows on the way to Wendy's. i could never eat there till i got older. i'd only eat McDonald's cheeseburgers. something about those onions. that red sauce. that ketchup. i remember i used to like those cardboard chicken nuggets with honey mustard until i started getting those hard spots of unidentifiable meat. i think that was one of the reasons i had to stop. well, it took me years to decide to live solely on a diet of bananas and meatless chikin patties.
i never asked for a pony for christmas. i asked for a poodle. i never got one.
¶ 3:24 AM
|
i was nine lying to my mother and singing in the rain. i'd twirl the red umbrella with the yellow ducks in galoshes and yell out in my tiny voice at the passing cars. "just singing in the rain. yeah, singing in the rain." i'd make up my own words. shout my own tune. play in the puddles. i remember watching the rain rolling down the car windows on the way to Wendy's. i could never eat there till i got older. i'd only eat McDonald's cheeseburgers. something about those onions. that red sauce. that ketchup. i remember i used to like those cardboard chicken nuggets with honey mustard until i started getting those hard spots of unidentifiable meat. i think that was one of the reasons i had to stop. well, it took me years to decide to live solely on a diet of bananas and meatless chikin patties.
i never asked for a pony for christmas. i asked for a poodle. i never got one.
¶ 3:24 AM
|
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
boring christmas themed blog entry just like eveyrone else even if i wanted to avoid it. i failed. i apologize beforehand for this mess.
i just kicked my sister. in the thigh. she was sitting down and i just go so fed up with her couch potato attitude that i nailed her one right in the leg. i then stormed away and played some obnoxious music for my ears only courtesy of my headphones.
i haven't wrapped any presents. i don't plan to either. i'll just tell everyone to close their eyes and pull it out of my suitcase. maybe i'll launch it at their heads courtesy of a nerf gun.
christmas music is on tv. on the radio. everywhere. i will erase it courtesy of my new invention that i haven't invented yet.
i have to sleep on the floor in the corner by the fire place. i hope santa doesn't step on me with his big black boots or else i'll pop him one courtesy of my red ryder bb gun.
all i want for christmas is corduroy pants.
¶ 7:23 PM
|
i just kicked my sister. in the thigh. she was sitting down and i just go so fed up with her couch potato attitude that i nailed her one right in the leg. i then stormed away and played some obnoxious music for my ears only courtesy of my headphones.
i haven't wrapped any presents. i don't plan to either. i'll just tell everyone to close their eyes and pull it out of my suitcase. maybe i'll launch it at their heads courtesy of a nerf gun.
christmas music is on tv. on the radio. everywhere. i will erase it courtesy of my new invention that i haven't invented yet.
i have to sleep on the floor in the corner by the fire place. i hope santa doesn't step on me with his big black boots or else i'll pop him one courtesy of my red ryder bb gun.
all i want for christmas is corduroy pants.
¶ 7:23 PM
|
Monday, December 22, 2003
it could be worse and as soon as anyone says that it always becomes much much worse than before
tomorrow, i go back to work. back to the library. i never write about working when i'm at school, even though i have a job. perhaps it was the hours. early morning friday, saturday and sunday. seven ante meridiem to nine ante meridiem. perhaps it was because the job was so easy. sitting at the front desk of my dorm swiping IDs and making sure people were where they were supposed to be, which was rare since no one was up that early on the weekend. except for the film shoots.
when the film kids would sit on the bench, we'd exchange a look. the "oh man, i know how you feel" look. i'd play Interpol or Postal Service or Elliott Smith, and we'd stare at each other. sometimes they would steal the C Store bagels and they would ask me if they could, and i'd just shrug my shoulders. "i dunno, i don't work there." i'm sure there are worse crimes to commit that snatching one lousy bagel from an overpriced on-campus convenience store.
sometimes i'd fall asleep if it was really slow. other times i'd be way too alert for so early in the morning. i'd write letters and do homework and read novels. great things to accomplish.
later at 10am, i'd fall back asleep till the late afternoon and curse my non-existant internal alarm clock. i missed sleeping in on the weekends. uninterrupted sleep.
now at home, people are on this european time. meaning everyone is asleep by 10pm and i'm still awake, stubborn. not ready for bed. but since tomorrow is a work day. i better get there soon. asleep. zzz.
¶ 11:14 PM
|
tomorrow, i go back to work. back to the library. i never write about working when i'm at school, even though i have a job. perhaps it was the hours. early morning friday, saturday and sunday. seven ante meridiem to nine ante meridiem. perhaps it was because the job was so easy. sitting at the front desk of my dorm swiping IDs and making sure people were where they were supposed to be, which was rare since no one was up that early on the weekend. except for the film shoots.
when the film kids would sit on the bench, we'd exchange a look. the "oh man, i know how you feel" look. i'd play Interpol or Postal Service or Elliott Smith, and we'd stare at each other. sometimes they would steal the C Store bagels and they would ask me if they could, and i'd just shrug my shoulders. "i dunno, i don't work there." i'm sure there are worse crimes to commit that snatching one lousy bagel from an overpriced on-campus convenience store.
sometimes i'd fall asleep if it was really slow. other times i'd be way too alert for so early in the morning. i'd write letters and do homework and read novels. great things to accomplish.
later at 10am, i'd fall back asleep till the late afternoon and curse my non-existant internal alarm clock. i missed sleeping in on the weekends. uninterrupted sleep.
now at home, people are on this european time. meaning everyone is asleep by 10pm and i'm still awake, stubborn. not ready for bed. but since tomorrow is a work day. i better get there soon. asleep. zzz.
¶ 11:14 PM
|
Sunday, December 21, 2003
i'm gone, dead and alive and still get invited for tea
diana is invited to tea
diana is set in stone
diana is so kawaii
diana is dead
diana is currently working on
diana is my favorite
diana is collecting votes
diana is a single mexican woman
diana is waning in britain
diana is invited to tea with tragic results
diana is back
diana is practical action
diana is alive
diana is an unmanned generating station capable of local manual and automatic control operation
diana is the innocent little ca who's consstantly asking *innocent* questions
diana is awesome and we will do her pageants any day of the week
diana is nice
diana is a product
diana is now underway
diana is crowned 'queen of hearts'
diana is blind and has over 400 seizures daily * she requires multiple drugs * tight
diana is currently a consulting dietitian/nutritionist and vice president of eating for energy
diana is no longer made
diana is pretty
diana is kidnapped by the pirate marcus
diana is very much in affinity with the archetype of the divine mother as she has entered the next phase of her eternal life and service
diana is pregnant?
diana is no longer manufactured
diana is a colorful spokesperson for the aquatic disciplines
diana is the last guardian cat to appear on the show
diana is known for her impassioned songs
diana is in charge of many activities
diana is a woman with a troubled past filled with nightmares
diana is popular in many countries
diana is captured and awaits trial by humanity for her crimes
diana is fun
diana is no lady
diana is currently the senior sports correspondent for fox sports news
diana is on an internationaltour and may be in a city near you soon
diana is developed by civil engineers from a civil engineering perspective
diana is the author of 'don't you know
diana is currently working on ideas for a couple of self
diana is for entertainment purposes only
diana is also known for her work as a small business coach
diana is more interesting to talk about and
diana is an unlikely company to find in the middle of an internet controversy
diana is the super cute kitty from the future
diana is currently taking acting lessons at the new york school of acting
diana is a multiple award
diana is a world
diana is no elvis five years after her death
diana is an efficient implementation of the variable target function algorithm in dihedral angle space for the calculation of macromolecular structures on the
diana is known as "diana lucifera"
diana is recovering from a visit from her niece who is indirectly keeping her alive and kicking
diana is a toy camera made of plastic
diana is usually cited for her more poetic
diana is one of the most talented and brightest stars of dfw's armenian community
diana is now the first and only american artist ever to be convicted of obscenity for his or her artwork
diana is gone
diana is beckoned back to the royal fold
diana is a self
diana is tucked away in a quiet corner of the city
diana is my big sister
diana is now engaged in satisfying her creative urge through fine art
diana is a sixth year graduate student in philosophy at the university of california
diana is oedipus
diana is living the american dream
diana is the collaborative venture of a consortium of law librarians
diana is now working on a time
diana is as good a god as any
diana is realistic guy cumming
diana is ballet transsexual porno
diana is looking for an european gentleman
diana is cumming
diana is couch sex g spot
diana is apple legal brothel
diana is suck homo porno
diana is wet swinger couple
diana is playing pool
diana is painting
diana is picture handjob ejaculaton
diana is closed
diana is such a faithful student
diana is magic little nickel
diana is too young looking
diana is cool
diana is dood
diana is back' from freedom
diana is a very nice looking blonde who was introduced to me by a friend and his wife
diana is the feisty heroine
diana is the name that signifies the very best in sable brushes
diana is going to be resurrected as a superhero in x
diana is the daughter of jupiter and latona
diana is a graduate
diana is now underway
diana is confident she will not go to jail for that
diana is currently the senior sports correspondent for fox sports news
diana is relatively inconsistent
diana is frequently depicted with nymphs lovingly caring for her body
diana is currently working closely with the center for business and government on the hiv/aids symposia
diana is "still a reference point
diana is no longer manufactured
diana is a conniver
diana is trying to come to terms with what her life will be after he dies
diana is fun
diana is experienced in contract sales
diana is truly the dream companion for those special moments alone
diana is in accord with that tradition
have fun with googlism.
¶ 2:39 PM
|
diana is invited to tea
diana is set in stone
diana is so kawaii
diana is dead
diana is currently working on
diana is my favorite
diana is collecting votes
diana is a single mexican woman
diana is waning in britain
diana is invited to tea with tragic results
diana is back
diana is practical action
diana is alive
diana is an unmanned generating station capable of local manual and automatic control operation
diana is the innocent little ca who's consstantly asking *innocent* questions
diana is awesome and we will do her pageants any day of the week
diana is nice
diana is a product
diana is now underway
diana is crowned 'queen of hearts'
diana is blind and has over 400 seizures daily * she requires multiple drugs * tight
diana is currently a consulting dietitian/nutritionist and vice president of eating for energy
diana is no longer made
diana is pretty
diana is kidnapped by the pirate marcus
diana is very much in affinity with the archetype of the divine mother as she has entered the next phase of her eternal life and service
diana is pregnant?
diana is no longer manufactured
diana is a colorful spokesperson for the aquatic disciplines
diana is the last guardian cat to appear on the show
diana is known for her impassioned songs
diana is in charge of many activities
diana is a woman with a troubled past filled with nightmares
diana is popular in many countries
diana is captured and awaits trial by humanity for her crimes
diana is fun
diana is no lady
diana is currently the senior sports correspondent for fox sports news
diana is on an internationaltour and may be in a city near you soon
diana is developed by civil engineers from a civil engineering perspective
diana is the author of 'don't you know
diana is currently working on ideas for a couple of self
diana is for entertainment purposes only
diana is also known for her work as a small business coach
diana is more interesting to talk about and
diana is an unlikely company to find in the middle of an internet controversy
diana is the super cute kitty from the future
diana is currently taking acting lessons at the new york school of acting
diana is a multiple award
diana is a world
diana is no elvis five years after her death
diana is an efficient implementation of the variable target function algorithm in dihedral angle space for the calculation of macromolecular structures on the
diana is known as "diana lucifera"
diana is recovering from a visit from her niece who is indirectly keeping her alive and kicking
diana is a toy camera made of plastic
diana is usually cited for her more poetic
diana is one of the most talented and brightest stars of dfw's armenian community
diana is now the first and only american artist ever to be convicted of obscenity for his or her artwork
diana is gone
diana is beckoned back to the royal fold
diana is a self
diana is tucked away in a quiet corner of the city
diana is my big sister
diana is now engaged in satisfying her creative urge through fine art
diana is a sixth year graduate student in philosophy at the university of california
diana is oedipus
diana is living the american dream
diana is the collaborative venture of a consortium of law librarians
diana is now working on a time
diana is as good a god as any
diana is realistic guy cumming
diana is ballet transsexual porno
diana is looking for an european gentleman
diana is cumming
diana is couch sex g spot
diana is apple legal brothel
diana is suck homo porno
diana is wet swinger couple
diana is playing pool
diana is painting
diana is picture handjob ejaculaton
diana is closed
diana is such a faithful student
diana is magic little nickel
diana is too young looking
diana is cool
diana is dood
diana is back' from freedom
diana is a very nice looking blonde who was introduced to me by a friend and his wife
diana is the feisty heroine
diana is the name that signifies the very best in sable brushes
diana is going to be resurrected as a superhero in x
diana is the daughter of jupiter and latona
diana is a graduate
diana is now underway
diana is confident she will not go to jail for that
diana is currently the senior sports correspondent for fox sports news
diana is relatively inconsistent
diana is frequently depicted with nymphs lovingly caring for her body
diana is currently working closely with the center for business and government on the hiv/aids symposia
diana is "still a reference point
diana is no longer manufactured
diana is a conniver
diana is trying to come to terms with what her life will be after he dies
diana is fun
diana is experienced in contract sales
diana is truly the dream companion for those special moments alone
diana is in accord with that tradition
have fun with googlism.
¶ 2:39 PM
|
Saturday, December 20, 2003
bento
the lunchbox. the boxed lunch. batman plastic case with matching thermos. my little pony pink. spiderman blues and reds. it defines us as either "it" or simply "not it." as a child, i was made fun for bringing sushi. i was ahead of the times. i would have been it girl, instead of weird girl. i hated peanut butter sandwiches growing up. whenever lunch finally rolled around the bread was lifeless and the peanut butter looked way too oily. those days, i'd mooch off my best friend, stealing carrot sticks and chips. i remember bologna lunchables saved my life. i'm probably one of the only people that genuinely enjoyed bologna sandwiches, but i did. other days, i'd get rolls from the german bakery with salami and butter and swiss cheese. those were good days.
in high school, i lived off wendy's baked potatoes or peanut butter m&m's. now lunch mixes with breakfast and dinner. i'm either too early for one or too late for the other. as i get older, i think i'll just settle for one daily banquet.
¶ 10:45 PM
|
the lunchbox. the boxed lunch. batman plastic case with matching thermos. my little pony pink. spiderman blues and reds. it defines us as either "it" or simply "not it." as a child, i was made fun for bringing sushi. i was ahead of the times. i would have been it girl, instead of weird girl. i hated peanut butter sandwiches growing up. whenever lunch finally rolled around the bread was lifeless and the peanut butter looked way too oily. those days, i'd mooch off my best friend, stealing carrot sticks and chips. i remember bologna lunchables saved my life. i'm probably one of the only people that genuinely enjoyed bologna sandwiches, but i did. other days, i'd get rolls from the german bakery with salami and butter and swiss cheese. those were good days.
in high school, i lived off wendy's baked potatoes or peanut butter m&m's. now lunch mixes with breakfast and dinner. i'm either too early for one or too late for the other. as i get older, i think i'll just settle for one daily banquet.
¶ 10:45 PM
|
hello, how do you do?
i'd like to take the time to introduce myself. hi, i'm diana. i am a virgo. i am twenty-two years old. i like english muffins with butter. i'm terrible at remembering to remove nail polish, so it sits chipped on my nails for months. i cut my hair to match ryan adams. i like listening to music more through headphones. i like taking naps for hours. i like early mornings and late nights, often they slur together. some of my favorite places are cememtaries, libraries and laundrymats. i prefer cats to dogs. i am vegetarian. i notice hair, eyes and wrists in that order on the opposite sex. my feet are most comfortable in converse chuck taylors. i crave popeye's red beans and rice and biscuits while at college in boston. i don't want children. i like stripes and scarves. my favorite smells are clean laundry, cut grass and blown out matches. i know how to speak japanese. i have an unhealthy obsession with photobooths. i want more stuffed animals for my room. i don't watch the news. i like talking about the weather. my sexual fantasies include masturbating in front of someone, and having my hands tied. my favorite colour is dark blue. i am fascinated with comics. i miss my gameboy. i have kept a handwritten journal since i was 9 years old. i want to work in the pirate museum in salem, mass. my favorite band of all time is smashing pumpkins. i want to own a record store. i want to live in chicago. i swear to god i didn't rip that off of high fidelity. (the book was so much better) my favorite actor is johnny depp. my favorite movie is edward scissorhands. i don't write poetry anymore, except haikus. i have run out of things to say. for right now.
¶ 3:00 AM
|
i'd like to take the time to introduce myself. hi, i'm diana. i am a virgo. i am twenty-two years old. i like english muffins with butter. i'm terrible at remembering to remove nail polish, so it sits chipped on my nails for months. i cut my hair to match ryan adams. i like listening to music more through headphones. i like taking naps for hours. i like early mornings and late nights, often they slur together. some of my favorite places are cememtaries, libraries and laundrymats. i prefer cats to dogs. i am vegetarian. i notice hair, eyes and wrists in that order on the opposite sex. my feet are most comfortable in converse chuck taylors. i crave popeye's red beans and rice and biscuits while at college in boston. i don't want children. i like stripes and scarves. my favorite smells are clean laundry, cut grass and blown out matches. i know how to speak japanese. i have an unhealthy obsession with photobooths. i want more stuffed animals for my room. i don't watch the news. i like talking about the weather. my sexual fantasies include masturbating in front of someone, and having my hands tied. my favorite colour is dark blue. i am fascinated with comics. i miss my gameboy. i have kept a handwritten journal since i was 9 years old. i want to work in the pirate museum in salem, mass. my favorite band of all time is smashing pumpkins. i want to own a record store. i want to live in chicago. i swear to god i didn't rip that off of high fidelity. (the book was so much better) my favorite actor is johnny depp. my favorite movie is edward scissorhands. i don't write poetry anymore, except haikus. i have run out of things to say. for right now.
¶ 3:00 AM
|
Friday, December 19, 2003
the newly discovered pleasure of being alone
last night, i read five incidents concerning the flesh and the blood by frank moorhouse. it was one of those short stories where i keep mentally highlighting the quotes i want to use later. in here. in my AIM profile. on a tattoo. those are my favorite stories, the ones that make me want to write, the ones that make me want to steal the best lines and say they are my own.
i keep thinking of what i'd be doing right now if i was still in boston with nothing to do. i'd probably still be sitting here writing this entry. probably different words about different things. about the boy i saw for five days straight. about the valentine's day card i never sent. about how i would like a boyfriend but don't need one. maybe i would have went to the photobooth and taken more cheesy photos of the back of my head to show off my new amelie-esque haircut. i'd be doing things like that. toting around a thai iced tea.
i left with a bag of 10 cds. ones that will most likely make me want to get up and do something. there is music that i just listen to and enjoy and then there is music that makes me ache. music that makes me want to invent/create something for someone else to enjoy. i want to pass that feeling on down to someone else. i've been called a muse. i've had people say, "yeah, that one thing you wrote, it made me want to write a song." i think the best compliment i've ever gotten was that my words were beautiful. that meant a lot more to me than saying i am beautiful. i'd like to be remembered by what i did, not what i looked like.
once, my friend chase who lives in ohio now. he wrote a song for me. he said, "i wrote this while thinking of you" and he put the phone down and played the song for me. on piano. it sounded beautiful. i told him that. i could hear him smiling over the phone. that is the last time i remember chase thinking about me at all. he probably doesn't even remember my name anymore. funny how his made such an impact on me.
¶ 12:06 PM
|
last night, i read five incidents concerning the flesh and the blood by frank moorhouse. it was one of those short stories where i keep mentally highlighting the quotes i want to use later. in here. in my AIM profile. on a tattoo. those are my favorite stories, the ones that make me want to write, the ones that make me want to steal the best lines and say they are my own.
i keep thinking of what i'd be doing right now if i was still in boston with nothing to do. i'd probably still be sitting here writing this entry. probably different words about different things. about the boy i saw for five days straight. about the valentine's day card i never sent. about how i would like a boyfriend but don't need one. maybe i would have went to the photobooth and taken more cheesy photos of the back of my head to show off my new amelie-esque haircut. i'd be doing things like that. toting around a thai iced tea.
i left with a bag of 10 cds. ones that will most likely make me want to get up and do something. there is music that i just listen to and enjoy and then there is music that makes me ache. music that makes me want to invent/create something for someone else to enjoy. i want to pass that feeling on down to someone else. i've been called a muse. i've had people say, "yeah, that one thing you wrote, it made me want to write a song." i think the best compliment i've ever gotten was that my words were beautiful. that meant a lot more to me than saying i am beautiful. i'd like to be remembered by what i did, not what i looked like.
once, my friend chase who lives in ohio now. he wrote a song for me. he said, "i wrote this while thinking of you" and he put the phone down and played the song for me. on piano. it sounded beautiful. i told him that. i could hear him smiling over the phone. that is the last time i remember chase thinking about me at all. he probably doesn't even remember my name anymore. funny how his made such an impact on me.
¶ 12:06 PM
|
Thursday, December 18, 2003
the aeroplane flies high
the process of packing is long and tedious, often taking me hours to complete. there are constant motivation breaks consisting of sodas and IMs. i often break down in tears, at least once. so, when the holidays roll around, i don't look forward to returning home. there's too much to do, i don't want to be doing. i want to stay in one place. one unchanging thing. instead, i am whisked out of my dorm room to sit on planes for several hours, then a long car ride home, where i will collapse in a heap with my dog begging for attention and the cat kneading her paws into my arm.
yesterday, i found myself surprisingly organized for someone that slept through their 4am alarm. in fact, packing went a bit too smooth. too fast. everything falling into place. i found myself able to fit everything i wanted in my suitcase, instead of doing the stereotypical move of lying flat on top of one's bag in order to make everything fit inside. i went on the T instead of taking a taxi, saving myself 20 dollars of roller coaster and cranky drivers. not to mention, while on the subway, some important political somebody appeared with an entourage of other importants. there were cameras. and flashes. and smiling way too big.
i didn't know who he was. but i also thought i recognized another man as stephen king. i think i was wrong.
my belt went off through security. always does. i got starbucks caremel apple cider and burnt my tongue. like always. couldn't find a seat while waiting to board my plane, got furious at this boy and yelled a bit too loudly, "where the fuck do you want me to seat then?" and sat on the floor and listened to the new strokes cd. (thanks numidas)
on the plane i slept through beverages and mini pretzels. i woke up in chicago and in the airport i bought a fancy sandwich for 6 dollars. on the plane, i got bored sitting next to an asian man and his wife. they had the cutest child ever. she slept the whole way. i read v for vendetta. tried to listen to music. noise of airplane didn't allow for that priviledge. i wrote. i read some more. then i fell asleep.
in dallas, i took a green surburban back home. i talked about fleetwood mac and jazz and blues. i felt smart. i felt tired. i wanted miso soup. at home, i watched a special on charles dickens on PBS, where they conducted interviews with his parents and with dickens himself. it was weird.
i went to sleep at 10pm. since i couldn't find my super nintendo.
¶ 1:17 PM
|
the process of packing is long and tedious, often taking me hours to complete. there are constant motivation breaks consisting of sodas and IMs. i often break down in tears, at least once. so, when the holidays roll around, i don't look forward to returning home. there's too much to do, i don't want to be doing. i want to stay in one place. one unchanging thing. instead, i am whisked out of my dorm room to sit on planes for several hours, then a long car ride home, where i will collapse in a heap with my dog begging for attention and the cat kneading her paws into my arm.
yesterday, i found myself surprisingly organized for someone that slept through their 4am alarm. in fact, packing went a bit too smooth. too fast. everything falling into place. i found myself able to fit everything i wanted in my suitcase, instead of doing the stereotypical move of lying flat on top of one's bag in order to make everything fit inside. i went on the T instead of taking a taxi, saving myself 20 dollars of roller coaster and cranky drivers. not to mention, while on the subway, some important political somebody appeared with an entourage of other importants. there were cameras. and flashes. and smiling way too big.
i didn't know who he was. but i also thought i recognized another man as stephen king. i think i was wrong.
my belt went off through security. always does. i got starbucks caremel apple cider and burnt my tongue. like always. couldn't find a seat while waiting to board my plane, got furious at this boy and yelled a bit too loudly, "where the fuck do you want me to seat then?" and sat on the floor and listened to the new strokes cd. (thanks numidas)
on the plane i slept through beverages and mini pretzels. i woke up in chicago and in the airport i bought a fancy sandwich for 6 dollars. on the plane, i got bored sitting next to an asian man and his wife. they had the cutest child ever. she slept the whole way. i read v for vendetta. tried to listen to music. noise of airplane didn't allow for that priviledge. i wrote. i read some more. then i fell asleep.
in dallas, i took a green surburban back home. i talked about fleetwood mac and jazz and blues. i felt smart. i felt tired. i wanted miso soup. at home, i watched a special on charles dickens on PBS, where they conducted interviews with his parents and with dickens himself. it was weird.
i went to sleep at 10pm. since i couldn't find my super nintendo.
¶ 1:17 PM
|
Monday, December 15, 2003
playing catch up
i knew it would be all over on thursday. the semester. the whole fall semester is through. i have no idea where the time went or if i had spent it wisely. i feel like i've accomplished a lot without actually doing a thing. things just seemed to fall into place or out of place. i was moving and the things were happening to me. i wasn't making the things happen. i was just an innocent bystander.
_______________________________________________
there was a lot of bad luck and miscommunication. lost feelings and then ones i never thought i'd have about anyone again. the best crush ever. there was the 10 day relationship and being lost over thanksgiving. there was a weekend of never-ending snow. there were train rides that i wished lasted forever. ones that reminded me of ian and how i went a whole semester without seeing him. the end of the red line. parties and white russians. my window. actually, knowing what i was doing with my writing. feeling content with the amount of work i was doing. realizing, i'm the worst student ever. interpol and the punk rock flea market. spending over 20 dollars in photobooths. making mix cds. ryan adams overload. missing home. hating home. avoiding europe. understanding professors. falling in love with blues music. drinking more tea. drinking less coffee. not buying new clothes. buying too many cds. finding my trademark -- ribbons worn around my neck. feeding squirrels in the common. the stare down with the boy on the stairs. the best taco salad ever. thai iced tea. new scarves. missing video games. late night phone calls. piss fights with sabrina. selling dick for cock. scottish accents! rangeboy. the thing with the stuff. being completely ricky zero. eric hutchinson. finding my calling: haikus. finding myself. being sappy. not caring. caring too much.
the end. for now.
¶ 1:36 PM
|
i knew it would be all over on thursday. the semester. the whole fall semester is through. i have no idea where the time went or if i had spent it wisely. i feel like i've accomplished a lot without actually doing a thing. things just seemed to fall into place or out of place. i was moving and the things were happening to me. i wasn't making the things happen. i was just an innocent bystander.
_______________________________________________
there was a lot of bad luck and miscommunication. lost feelings and then ones i never thought i'd have about anyone again. the best crush ever. there was the 10 day relationship and being lost over thanksgiving. there was a weekend of never-ending snow. there were train rides that i wished lasted forever. ones that reminded me of ian and how i went a whole semester without seeing him. the end of the red line. parties and white russians. my window. actually, knowing what i was doing with my writing. feeling content with the amount of work i was doing. realizing, i'm the worst student ever. interpol and the punk rock flea market. spending over 20 dollars in photobooths. making mix cds. ryan adams overload. missing home. hating home. avoiding europe. understanding professors. falling in love with blues music. drinking more tea. drinking less coffee. not buying new clothes. buying too many cds. finding my trademark -- ribbons worn around my neck. feeding squirrels in the common. the stare down with the boy on the stairs. the best taco salad ever. thai iced tea. new scarves. missing video games. late night phone calls. piss fights with sabrina. selling dick for cock. scottish accents! rangeboy. the thing with the stuff. being completely ricky zero. eric hutchinson. finding my calling: haikus. finding myself. being sappy. not caring. caring too much.
the end. for now.
¶ 1:36 PM
|
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
monday morning
my heart races and then i wake up. it's 4:45am. i'm wide awake. thirsty. i should be studying, but i don't. i decide to wear mascara and my favorite pink shirt. i practice in the mirror with electrical tape over my nipples. little red x's. my next move into the realm of photo booth porn. i decide it looks good, but save it for another day.
i'm hungry. i haven't eaten all day. i get breakfast and i sit alone. like always. i never know anyone there. i eat cheerios.
i'm antsy to get out of class. two pieces get handed into class, both are good. i still shake-shake-shake my leg. i think about the photo booth and maybe that scarf in the window.
the wind doesn't feel as cold as i remember from this morning. i don't get snow in my shoes. no one honks their horn or whistles at me.
the scarf is there and i pick it up. the matching gloves and hat. i want them all. brown, pink and grey angora. i rub it against my cheek and carry it around like a lost puppy. i put it back. i pick it back up. i'm about to walk out and i go back and grab it again. i put it back.
i think about buying cds. i can't figure out what i want.
the photo booth has a line. a fucking line. two blonde chicks. two asian chicks. i don't want to wait. i glare at them. they flip their hair in the reflection of the sporting goods store. they don't see me. i don't smile. i stomp away unsatisfied.
then there's grey slushy snow and eating doughnuts i smuggled from the dining hall. they are good, i decide they are my new favorite food.
no one turns their head when i walk by. i don't smile. but i'm in a good mood.
later:
i like his voice over the phone. but nothing seems clear.
¶ 1:45 AM
|
my heart races and then i wake up. it's 4:45am. i'm wide awake. thirsty. i should be studying, but i don't. i decide to wear mascara and my favorite pink shirt. i practice in the mirror with electrical tape over my nipples. little red x's. my next move into the realm of photo booth porn. i decide it looks good, but save it for another day.
i'm hungry. i haven't eaten all day. i get breakfast and i sit alone. like always. i never know anyone there. i eat cheerios.
i'm antsy to get out of class. two pieces get handed into class, both are good. i still shake-shake-shake my leg. i think about the photo booth and maybe that scarf in the window.
the wind doesn't feel as cold as i remember from this morning. i don't get snow in my shoes. no one honks their horn or whistles at me.
the scarf is there and i pick it up. the matching gloves and hat. i want them all. brown, pink and grey angora. i rub it against my cheek and carry it around like a lost puppy. i put it back. i pick it back up. i'm about to walk out and i go back and grab it again. i put it back.
i think about buying cds. i can't figure out what i want.
the photo booth has a line. a fucking line. two blonde chicks. two asian chicks. i don't want to wait. i glare at them. they flip their hair in the reflection of the sporting goods store. they don't see me. i don't smile. i stomp away unsatisfied.
then there's grey slushy snow and eating doughnuts i smuggled from the dining hall. they are good, i decide they are my new favorite food.
no one turns their head when i walk by. i don't smile. but i'm in a good mood.
later:
i like his voice over the phone. but nothing seems clear.
¶ 1:45 AM
|
Monday, December 08, 2003
this one is just because i like lists so much
10 things i would definitely NOT do:
10. play strip poker. the logic behind this is that i don't know how to play poker. i'd be naked faster than Michael Jackson at an orphanage. i would play strip uno though, because i play a mean game of uno and i like naked men.
9. marry for money. money is essential to living, i do understand. i just wouldn't be able to fuck some fat bearded businessman, even if he was worth 3 million. let's face it, i'm going to be poor and married to some artsy type.
8. be a clown. seriously, why do clowns make people laugh? clowns are frightening. have you seen the movie It? i mean they made a goddamn movie about how frightening they can be. i avoid clowns at all costs, which means when i am dragged to the circus, i have to close my eyes when it's their part. seriously, wearing that much make-up can't be healthy. just ask tammy faye.
7. make out with brad pitt. i just can't bring myself to join in that "i wanna sex brad pitt" army. don't get me wrong, brad pitt has his moments of sexidom but like he is not my type. i'm trying to overcome it, really, but i just can't. i'd much rather sex rufus wainwright and he's a gay man. not to mention that i'm on a blonde hair/blue eyes kick lately.
6. own a gerbil. most people know me as being a very humane person, but there is no way i'd own a gerbil. in fact, i hope that an army of Predators come and line them up and have their way with them. i guess i could have one forced on me from the save-a-gerbil foundation, but i'd like to avoid them. they are ugly creatures. i have no idea what mother nature was thinking -- a face only she could love, perhaps.
5. shoot/own a gun. i remember growing up and hating the man that invented guns. i still have no idea who that man is, but i mean i guess there are some acceptable gunnage i'd own, like a potato gun or a Red Ryder BB gun. it would be more of a conversation piece, i think. otherwise, they just don't appeal to me in the least.
4. get my breasts augmented. i hate when i'm watching porn and i have to watch some woman with enormous tits blow some ugly dude. that does not get me off, well that, and i can't get off to blow jobs. there is much to be said about real breasts, and that it's they're awesome.
3. fuck in a public bathroom. i mean i like the element of being caught and all. that's exciting and sexy, but i have no idea what else has been happening in that bathroom. i just can't get the image of me and conor oberst going at it, and then the person in the stall over asking for a roll of toilet paper because they are out or maybe they are constipated and you know, having a hard time. there is no way i can continue to be turned on when someone is gruntily trying to go about their business. perhaps if it was one of those self-cleaning ones in Japan than maybe. oh, i'd definitely sex in the famous CBGB's bathroom. seriously, that bathroom is the stuff of legends. sometimes you have to amend your own nevers.
2. flirt with a homeless person. homeless people hit on me all the time. homeless people hit on everyone, but i don't care if they are the most attractive homeless person in the world, i would still steer clear of their urine smell and their lack of being able to keep their internal monologue internal. although, i do that sometimes and people give me strange looks in the Common. yeah, i guess that's why i can't get dates.
1. wear depends. ever. i'd rather have a catheter, because there is a great band named the catheters and i'd like to be associated with only the great, not the geriatric.
¶ 6:02 AM
|
10 things i would definitely NOT do:
10. play strip poker. the logic behind this is that i don't know how to play poker. i'd be naked faster than Michael Jackson at an orphanage. i would play strip uno though, because i play a mean game of uno and i like naked men.
9. marry for money. money is essential to living, i do understand. i just wouldn't be able to fuck some fat bearded businessman, even if he was worth 3 million. let's face it, i'm going to be poor and married to some artsy type.
8. be a clown. seriously, why do clowns make people laugh? clowns are frightening. have you seen the movie It? i mean they made a goddamn movie about how frightening they can be. i avoid clowns at all costs, which means when i am dragged to the circus, i have to close my eyes when it's their part. seriously, wearing that much make-up can't be healthy. just ask tammy faye.
7. make out with brad pitt. i just can't bring myself to join in that "i wanna sex brad pitt" army. don't get me wrong, brad pitt has his moments of sexidom but like he is not my type. i'm trying to overcome it, really, but i just can't. i'd much rather sex rufus wainwright and he's a gay man. not to mention that i'm on a blonde hair/blue eyes kick lately.
6. own a gerbil. most people know me as being a very humane person, but there is no way i'd own a gerbil. in fact, i hope that an army of Predators come and line them up and have their way with them. i guess i could have one forced on me from the save-a-gerbil foundation, but i'd like to avoid them. they are ugly creatures. i have no idea what mother nature was thinking -- a face only she could love, perhaps.
5. shoot/own a gun. i remember growing up and hating the man that invented guns. i still have no idea who that man is, but i mean i guess there are some acceptable gunnage i'd own, like a potato gun or a Red Ryder BB gun. it would be more of a conversation piece, i think. otherwise, they just don't appeal to me in the least.
4. get my breasts augmented. i hate when i'm watching porn and i have to watch some woman with enormous tits blow some ugly dude. that does not get me off, well that, and i can't get off to blow jobs. there is much to be said about real breasts, and that it's they're awesome.
3. fuck in a public bathroom. i mean i like the element of being caught and all. that's exciting and sexy, but i have no idea what else has been happening in that bathroom. i just can't get the image of me and conor oberst going at it, and then the person in the stall over asking for a roll of toilet paper because they are out or maybe they are constipated and you know, having a hard time. there is no way i can continue to be turned on when someone is gruntily trying to go about their business. perhaps if it was one of those self-cleaning ones in Japan than maybe. oh, i'd definitely sex in the famous CBGB's bathroom. seriously, that bathroom is the stuff of legends. sometimes you have to amend your own nevers.
2. flirt with a homeless person. homeless people hit on me all the time. homeless people hit on everyone, but i don't care if they are the most attractive homeless person in the world, i would still steer clear of their urine smell and their lack of being able to keep their internal monologue internal. although, i do that sometimes and people give me strange looks in the Common. yeah, i guess that's why i can't get dates.
1. wear depends. ever. i'd rather have a catheter, because there is a great band named the catheters and i'd like to be associated with only the great, not the geriatric.
¶ 6:02 AM
|
Sunday, December 07, 2003
mystery letter
tonight, i decided to clear out my desk drawers. i found this unsent letter. i don't remember who it was to or any of the references in it at all. it's nice to have mysteries sometimes.
¶ 5:57 AM
|
tonight, i decided to clear out my desk drawers. i found this unsent letter. i don't remember who it was to or any of the references in it at all. it's nice to have mysteries sometimes.
¶ 5:57 AM
|
Saturday, December 06, 2003
there is no turning back now
i fail at humor but here goes it.
inspired by her post of 10 things she'd never do, i decided to make a post about 10 things i would definitely do:
10. be an exotic dancer. i know that a lot of women find this sort of behavior degrading. however, i think there can be some sort of tact involved when slithering around a pole in 5 inch heels to "low rider" by war. seriously, it's not about the money, it's just that i feel comfortable letting 50 businessmen with hard-ons drinking beers watch me prance around a stage with nothing more than a g-string on. let me tell you, i am not running into this occupation with open arms, but if i had to support my hipster coke habit, then maybe.
9. not give my subway seat to an old woman. yeah, maybe it's a little harsh, but think about it. they are going to die soon, and well, my legs are tired. it makes them tougher in the end. plus, an old woman once hit me with her purse and another one said i was "not pretty." they totally have it coming to them. however, i'd like to say that if an old man with a cane, top hat and monocle needed a place to sit on the T, i'd have no problem giving it to him.
8. join a hair metal band. i think wearing spandex and having big hair would be kind of liberating really.
7. let my dog leave his business in the neighbor's yard. it's not that i have anything against them, it's just that i don't own a pooper scooper. what am i supposed to do, i can't really punish the dog for letting him answer nature's call. if someone caught me i'd just blame guillermo.
6. eat baby food for weeks. sometimes i'm lazy and chewing is a lot of trouble. i'd skip the peas and carrots, and stick to the fruits. also, there is nothing wrong with Cheerios. you can use them as mini-lifesavers for bugs and throw them at your friends. yeah.
5. live in a tree. i once read about saving the red wood forests in a rolling stone magazine, ever since then i've been obsessed with the idea of living in a tree or going out there and yelling at lumberjacks. one day, it'll happen.
4. be that lady with the 10 million cats. i'm sure by this point, i'll have no teeth, no friends and no taste in fashion. i've given up the idea of gracefully aging into my hipsterdom.
3. kiss a girl. i'd like to try just once. just out of curiosity.
2. have sex in a elevator. there is something about the possibility of being caught. i remember there was this elevator with mirrors in it at a hotel that my family was staying in when we were visiting hawaii. i remember when i would step into it by myself, i would lift my shirt and play with my breasts, hoping that i would get caught. i'm not sure what i would have done if i did though. sometimes i'm a bit too racy for my own good.
1. quit school and work as a pirate wench in the pirate museum in salem, mass. does there really need to be an explanation for why i do such a thing? i think not.
¶ 4:46 PM
|
i fail at humor but here goes it.
inspired by her post of 10 things she'd never do, i decided to make a post about 10 things i would definitely do:
10. be an exotic dancer. i know that a lot of women find this sort of behavior degrading. however, i think there can be some sort of tact involved when slithering around a pole in 5 inch heels to "low rider" by war. seriously, it's not about the money, it's just that i feel comfortable letting 50 businessmen with hard-ons drinking beers watch me prance around a stage with nothing more than a g-string on. let me tell you, i am not running into this occupation with open arms, but if i had to support my hipster coke habit, then maybe.
9. not give my subway seat to an old woman. yeah, maybe it's a little harsh, but think about it. they are going to die soon, and well, my legs are tired. it makes them tougher in the end. plus, an old woman once hit me with her purse and another one said i was "not pretty." they totally have it coming to them. however, i'd like to say that if an old man with a cane, top hat and monocle needed a place to sit on the T, i'd have no problem giving it to him.
8. join a hair metal band. i think wearing spandex and having big hair would be kind of liberating really.
7. let my dog leave his business in the neighbor's yard. it's not that i have anything against them, it's just that i don't own a pooper scooper. what am i supposed to do, i can't really punish the dog for letting him answer nature's call. if someone caught me i'd just blame guillermo.
6. eat baby food for weeks. sometimes i'm lazy and chewing is a lot of trouble. i'd skip the peas and carrots, and stick to the fruits. also, there is nothing wrong with Cheerios. you can use them as mini-lifesavers for bugs and throw them at your friends. yeah.
5. live in a tree. i once read about saving the red wood forests in a rolling stone magazine, ever since then i've been obsessed with the idea of living in a tree or going out there and yelling at lumberjacks. one day, it'll happen.
4. be that lady with the 10 million cats. i'm sure by this point, i'll have no teeth, no friends and no taste in fashion. i've given up the idea of gracefully aging into my hipsterdom.
3. kiss a girl. i'd like to try just once. just out of curiosity.
2. have sex in a elevator. there is something about the possibility of being caught. i remember there was this elevator with mirrors in it at a hotel that my family was staying in when we were visiting hawaii. i remember when i would step into it by myself, i would lift my shirt and play with my breasts, hoping that i would get caught. i'm not sure what i would have done if i did though. sometimes i'm a bit too racy for my own good.
1. quit school and work as a pirate wench in the pirate museum in salem, mass. does there really need to be an explanation for why i do such a thing? i think not.
¶ 4:46 PM
|
Friday, December 05, 2003
Next Time I’m Choosing the Movie
I could hear them clawing on the other side of the door like nails against a blackboard. The groaning was getting louder. At first just the sound of a whisper from your best friend in the movie theater, now the sound was a room full of dentists drilling 150 decaying teeth.
At first, I couldn’t decide what to do. Should I barricade the door? Jump from the window? Hide under the bed? Call all my closest friends and tell them all the things they did that irritated me and then say “I love you” and hang up? Then I remembered the phone didn’t work, and when I looked out the window they were out there limping around the streets, heads down and drooling.
So, I wrote letters to all my friends, addressed them and placed “please spay/neuter your pet” stamps on the corner. I sprayed them with perfume and included lipstick kiss smudges on the flap of the envelopes. I had to make up for all the love letters that sat unsent in my desk drawer. All those years my mom said I wasn’t girly enough to get a boyfriend. She was wrong, but I felt like I owed her one since this would be my last hour, two hours, three hours here. I wasn’t sure. They were much slower about breaking down the door than I had thought. It had been at least a half an hour. There was no thrilling Jack Nicholson style axing, and surely Jason Voorhees would be disappointed in these guys.
I was starting to get bored, trapped in my bedroom. I wanted to do everything but all those things were out there with them. I wanted to make microwavable pizza bagels, take a shower, watch Fight Club and read Lolita. All those things were out there in the living room, kitchen, bathroom. Everywhere I was not.
I looked around the bedroom. The disconnected Snoopy telephone, the vibrator with dead batteries, the digital alarm clock with the flashing 12 O’clock, the A-L Yellow Pages, ten dirty t-shirts waded in the corner and a pair of jeans that didn’t belong to me. Two months ago, I made it a mission to clean up, shape up and make this place livable. I failed. I still had a pile of rejected letters on the coffee table, and I still hadn’t finished chapter one of the new story. I was living out of boxes and eating mini pizzas and ramen everyday. I had to admit that this starving artist stint was not want I thought it would be. Then I heard the wood crack, and their arms tore through, splintering the last remains of me against them. I sat on the bed and waited the inevitable. I hoped the cuter one would get to me first.
I had been romanticizing them for all this time. They weren’t even scary, more like sloth-like smelly regulars. The usuals. The people I saw in the post office, Subway and dive bars. There was nothing great about an army of undead after the only brain left in town.
¶ 11:40 AM
|
I could hear them clawing on the other side of the door like nails against a blackboard. The groaning was getting louder. At first just the sound of a whisper from your best friend in the movie theater, now the sound was a room full of dentists drilling 150 decaying teeth.
At first, I couldn’t decide what to do. Should I barricade the door? Jump from the window? Hide under the bed? Call all my closest friends and tell them all the things they did that irritated me and then say “I love you” and hang up? Then I remembered the phone didn’t work, and when I looked out the window they were out there limping around the streets, heads down and drooling.
So, I wrote letters to all my friends, addressed them and placed “please spay/neuter your pet” stamps on the corner. I sprayed them with perfume and included lipstick kiss smudges on the flap of the envelopes. I had to make up for all the love letters that sat unsent in my desk drawer. All those years my mom said I wasn’t girly enough to get a boyfriend. She was wrong, but I felt like I owed her one since this would be my last hour, two hours, three hours here. I wasn’t sure. They were much slower about breaking down the door than I had thought. It had been at least a half an hour. There was no thrilling Jack Nicholson style axing, and surely Jason Voorhees would be disappointed in these guys.
I was starting to get bored, trapped in my bedroom. I wanted to do everything but all those things were out there with them. I wanted to make microwavable pizza bagels, take a shower, watch Fight Club and read Lolita. All those things were out there in the living room, kitchen, bathroom. Everywhere I was not.
I looked around the bedroom. The disconnected Snoopy telephone, the vibrator with dead batteries, the digital alarm clock with the flashing 12 O’clock, the A-L Yellow Pages, ten dirty t-shirts waded in the corner and a pair of jeans that didn’t belong to me. Two months ago, I made it a mission to clean up, shape up and make this place livable. I failed. I still had a pile of rejected letters on the coffee table, and I still hadn’t finished chapter one of the new story. I was living out of boxes and eating mini pizzas and ramen everyday. I had to admit that this starving artist stint was not want I thought it would be. Then I heard the wood crack, and their arms tore through, splintering the last remains of me against them. I sat on the bed and waited the inevitable. I hoped the cuter one would get to me first.
I had been romanticizing them for all this time. They weren’t even scary, more like sloth-like smelly regulars. The usuals. The people I saw in the post office, Subway and dive bars. There was nothing great about an army of undead after the only brain left in town.
¶ 11:40 AM
|
Thursday, December 04, 2003
i'll settle for this
one day, i'll reach 10,000 hits and be awesome, but for right now i can settle with being just mediocre.
¶ 7:30 AM
|
one day, i'll reach 10,000 hits and be awesome, but for right now i can settle with being just mediocre.
¶ 7:30 AM
|
you need to hear this
go to sabrina's blog and listen to the conversations we have at ridiculously early times in the morning. also, folks this is us totally sober. we...are...really...this...weird...in...real...life.
¶ 6:45 AM
|
go to sabrina's blog and listen to the conversations we have at ridiculously early times in the morning. also, folks this is us totally sober. we...are...really...this...weird...in...real...life.
¶ 6:45 AM
|
Wednesday, December 03, 2003
psychic cat a-go-go
i revised She Can Read Your Aura, Too. i'm still not sure how I feel about it, but this is how finished it's going to be for at least tonight.
In Santa Monica
I called Mom from the payphone outside of Haley’s BBQ Pit. I was about half way there, and I still hadn’t told her I had left the house. That somewhere out there a cat was waiting for me. That I had been wishing for the last five years to be in California.
My fingers shook as I dialed the phone. It was always strange when I couldn’t remember my own phone number, but I never had to call home, since I was always there. The answering machine picked up.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Anna. I’m in California searching for the cat. Did you get my note on the fridge?” I hung up because there was nothing left to say.
It was 9pm Friday night by the time I finally got there and pulled into Danielle’s driveway. She’s the one that told me about the cat. That I just had to see it. I had never met her, but there was no reason to be scared of first times. I had been writing letters to her since I was ten years old. Twelve whole years. Some elementary school pen pal system, Meet-A-Friend, and she ended up being more of a friend than my friends there in Texas.
The street was quiet except for the low thud of music coming from her house. I didn’t tell her I was leaving, but Danielle knew that something was up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was holding this party for me. Both sides of the street were lined with cars. Funny, how her driveway was open just for me. When I knocked on the door she opened and yelled in my face, just how I was expecting. I had grown used to her wild rants and the fast life she was leading her in Los Angeles.
“Anna! Anna! Here have these,” she said, pushing a bag of blue pills into my hand. Then she hugged me. “Trust me.” She winked and then told me to mingle. Instead, I took a handful of the pills with water from the bathroom sink, and find the first empty bed.
When I woke up, my head felt heavy, like I had been sleeping for days. I was still in my clothes, I hadn’t even bothered taking my shoes off.
“It’s about time, sleepyhead,” Danielle said, from the doorway. “You missed your own party.” There was still glitter smeared on her face from last night, and there were mascara smudges left under her eyes. “I guess you want to go see the cat.”
I nodded. I’m not sure what I thought the cat would tell me, if anything, but I figured working at the library wasn’t working out for me anymore. One day, you’d see a young child and then the next day, they’d come in wrinkled and weary. The library was just one big cycle and I didn’t want to see myself getting old with everyone else in a small town, where I still lived at home. I really needed to get away. Twenty-two years being stuck in one place was just too long.
In the car, she knew I didn’t feel like talking so we listened to the radio to block out the silence. She kept looking over and smiling, urging me on that I had done the right thing. I felt so at home with her. I kept tracing the outlines of everything around me in the car. The stripes on my skirt, the knob of the radio and the silver handle of the door. I kept flipping open the vanity mirror and touching my cheeks. I was really here.
“Anna, you are really here. Stop distracting me,” she said, breaking the lyrics of the song on the radio she was singing. I laughed.
“I know but still.”
At the next red light, she just looked at me. “It will be okay.”
It was just how I thought it would be. Harry stood on the corner and the cat was dressed in a doll’s polka dot dress sitting on an upturned milk crate. He was spoon feeding her Frisky’s from a plastic spork. The sign on the crate read: “Welcome to Harry’s Fabulous Psychic Cat. She Sees the Future for $10.” Danielle nudged me closer and pointed to the rope where the cat was tied to the crate.
“There she is.” She looked at me, eyes big and bloodshot from last night’s party. “You have to save her.”
This was my second wish. I was in California and I was saving the psychic cat. It happened so fast that I don’t remember it happening at all. Danielle punched Harry in the ear by mistake, not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to where he stumbled back and I picked up the cat and ran to the car. Danielle spat in Harry’s general direction before she ran after me. Now, that I had the cat there was nothing else I could think of that could make this any better. I stared at Danielle.
“What next? We’ve got the cat.” I looked at her while holding the cat tightly in my arms. She purred and this seemed to be just how I would have pictured it in my dreams.
“I don’t know. Ask the cat. She’s the psychic.” She laughed, but her laugh is loud and for a few minutes I can’t hear the music on the radio.
I figured I had nothing to lose. I looked right into the cat’s green eyes and asked the question. “What next?” She stopped purring and her eyes glazed over like she was thinking really hard. I got scared that maybe I did something wrong, but just then she meowed. It sounded like something. A name, maybe.
“Welch?” I asked. Pyschic cat purred loudly. “So, Danielle. We are supposed to find Welch. Whatever that is.” Danielle laughed again and I couldn’t help but laugh, too.
That night Danielle and I dressed in glitter, stilettos, low slung jeans and tight shirts. She said that I needed a night out. I still hadn’t called my Mom back, and Danielle knew I was worrying about home. Psychic cat purred as she watched us. We were ready to be seen. Danielle liked making a scene wherever she went, and everyone knew her, so they played along. This Welch was still on the back of my mind. Maybe it was just a hairball in the back of her throat. This was nothing. I wished I could find it.
There was no place where we were turned down. Danielle got us behind any door or beyond the silk red ropes like they were merely pieces of cotton candy floss. We bar hopped the whole night, getting rides with strangers and with acquaintances. Some of the names of the people were familiar from Danielle’s letters. Others weren’t. Danielle kept nudging me and winking at me. I kept placing loose hairs behind my ear and smiling bigger than I could ever remember, hiding my hands behind my back. The boys were too intimidated to say no or to make a first move. We weren’t there for them, and they knew it. Danielle would line boys up at the bar and they would buy her drinks, no questions asked. I sat next to her and would write poetry on cocktail napkins, keeping one eye open for Welch. I’m sure it would come, pointed out to me with a flash of bright light. Lit up like the Hollywood sign in postcards.
Danielle kept making out with different boys – ones with dark hair, ones with blonde hair, ones whose hands would go immediately to her big breasts, some would kiss her slow and others would leave their mark on her neck like they owned her. I kept one eye on her and another scanning the room. I tapped a pen on the bar, nervously, looking for it. Welch. I couldn’t focus on my writing. I looked down on my napkin, and all I had scribbled was one haiku:
It will come to you
Patience is a virtue, wait
It will all make sense
Then I feel Danielle’s arm on my shoulder, she’s whispering in my ear. “Over there, Anna. Over there. He’s your type.” Danielle pointed to a boy with blonde hair standing by the wall. There were several boys surrounding him, and I figured he would not be interested in me. “Just go say hello. Just go.” She pushed me off the stool and I could feel her eyes burning holes in my back.
He looked bored and the guy next to him was asking him question after question. He rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets. He looked how I felt – misplaced. He caught me staring at him, quickly turning his head and staring back at the floor again. Another man approached him with a cup of beer, which he took, without a smile or thank you.
“What no manners?” I asked, approaching him.
“Not for him, the asshole. I just let them buy me drinks. I don’t even know why I’m here.” He took a sip from his beer.
“Then come with us if you want, we’re leaving soon.” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.
I could see that he was interested as he seemed to really look at me then. “Okay,” he said, following me back to Danielle.
“So, people call me Welch,” he said to us in the booth at Denny’s. I was sobering Danielle up with any amount of food I could get past her lips. She was sucking down coffee like it was her blood.
“The psychic cat, man. The psychic cat was right.” Danielle shouted, waving her arms around. “We have found Welch.”
I elbowed Danielle and smiled back at him. I noticed his blue eyes for the first time then. How they smiled when he looked at me. His hands were gripping a white mug, and I followed his fingers with my eyes all the way up to his arms finally reaching his shoulders. I avoided his face, embarrassed that I was staring. I couldn’t help but smile.
“You mean, Harry’s Fabulous Psychic Cat?” He asked, before taking a sip from his tea. “I used to dream about rescuing her and taking her home with me.”
“I wish could remember my dreams, but they always fade right before I wake up. I think it’s worse knowing that something was there, then knowing nothing was there at all,” I said, tracing my finger around the rim of my mug, stopping to pull out the tea bag.
“That’s too bad. Actually, there was always one part I could never remember about that dream. I’d wake up too fast and lose it. It was something familiar, like when you’re thinking of the name of a character in a movie and you know you know it, but it’s just out of reach.” he said, stirring a spoon in his cup.
“Yeah. You know this seems so familiar to me, like I’ve been here before.” I tugged on the bottom of my shirt, avoiding his eyes again. His hand moved across the table, and he placed a piece of my hair behind my ear.
Then we just sat there silently taking it all in. I looked at my watch, it was nearly six in the morning. Danielle and I had been out for hours. Her head rested on my shoulder.
Then not able to keep quiet any longer, Danielle interrupted. “We rescued the psychic cat. She told us to find you. She told us to find Welch.”
Welch nodded. “I know. This is what I could never remember.”
¶ 12:30 AM
|
i revised She Can Read Your Aura, Too. i'm still not sure how I feel about it, but this is how finished it's going to be for at least tonight.
In Santa Monica
I called Mom from the payphone outside of Haley’s BBQ Pit. I was about half way there, and I still hadn’t told her I had left the house. That somewhere out there a cat was waiting for me. That I had been wishing for the last five years to be in California.
My fingers shook as I dialed the phone. It was always strange when I couldn’t remember my own phone number, but I never had to call home, since I was always there. The answering machine picked up.
“Hi, Mom. It’s Anna. I’m in California searching for the cat. Did you get my note on the fridge?” I hung up because there was nothing left to say.
It was 9pm Friday night by the time I finally got there and pulled into Danielle’s driveway. She’s the one that told me about the cat. That I just had to see it. I had never met her, but there was no reason to be scared of first times. I had been writing letters to her since I was ten years old. Twelve whole years. Some elementary school pen pal system, Meet-A-Friend, and she ended up being more of a friend than my friends there in Texas.
The street was quiet except for the low thud of music coming from her house. I didn’t tell her I was leaving, but Danielle knew that something was up. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was holding this party for me. Both sides of the street were lined with cars. Funny, how her driveway was open just for me. When I knocked on the door she opened and yelled in my face, just how I was expecting. I had grown used to her wild rants and the fast life she was leading her in Los Angeles.
“Anna! Anna! Here have these,” she said, pushing a bag of blue pills into my hand. Then she hugged me. “Trust me.” She winked and then told me to mingle. Instead, I took a handful of the pills with water from the bathroom sink, and find the first empty bed.
When I woke up, my head felt heavy, like I had been sleeping for days. I was still in my clothes, I hadn’t even bothered taking my shoes off.
“It’s about time, sleepyhead,” Danielle said, from the doorway. “You missed your own party.” There was still glitter smeared on her face from last night, and there were mascara smudges left under her eyes. “I guess you want to go see the cat.”
I nodded. I’m not sure what I thought the cat would tell me, if anything, but I figured working at the library wasn’t working out for me anymore. One day, you’d see a young child and then the next day, they’d come in wrinkled and weary. The library was just one big cycle and I didn’t want to see myself getting old with everyone else in a small town, where I still lived at home. I really needed to get away. Twenty-two years being stuck in one place was just too long.
In the car, she knew I didn’t feel like talking so we listened to the radio to block out the silence. She kept looking over and smiling, urging me on that I had done the right thing. I felt so at home with her. I kept tracing the outlines of everything around me in the car. The stripes on my skirt, the knob of the radio and the silver handle of the door. I kept flipping open the vanity mirror and touching my cheeks. I was really here.
“Anna, you are really here. Stop distracting me,” she said, breaking the lyrics of the song on the radio she was singing. I laughed.
“I know but still.”
At the next red light, she just looked at me. “It will be okay.”
It was just how I thought it would be. Harry stood on the corner and the cat was dressed in a doll’s polka dot dress sitting on an upturned milk crate. He was spoon feeding her Frisky’s from a plastic spork. The sign on the crate read: “Welcome to Harry’s Fabulous Psychic Cat. She Sees the Future for $10.” Danielle nudged me closer and pointed to the rope where the cat was tied to the crate.
“There she is.” She looked at me, eyes big and bloodshot from last night’s party. “You have to save her.”
This was my second wish. I was in California and I was saving the psychic cat. It happened so fast that I don’t remember it happening at all. Danielle punched Harry in the ear by mistake, not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to where he stumbled back and I picked up the cat and ran to the car. Danielle spat in Harry’s general direction before she ran after me. Now, that I had the cat there was nothing else I could think of that could make this any better. I stared at Danielle.
“What next? We’ve got the cat.” I looked at her while holding the cat tightly in my arms. She purred and this seemed to be just how I would have pictured it in my dreams.
“I don’t know. Ask the cat. She’s the psychic.” She laughed, but her laugh is loud and for a few minutes I can’t hear the music on the radio.
I figured I had nothing to lose. I looked right into the cat’s green eyes and asked the question. “What next?” She stopped purring and her eyes glazed over like she was thinking really hard. I got scared that maybe I did something wrong, but just then she meowed. It sounded like something. A name, maybe.
“Welch?” I asked. Pyschic cat purred loudly. “So, Danielle. We are supposed to find Welch. Whatever that is.” Danielle laughed again and I couldn’t help but laugh, too.
That night Danielle and I dressed in glitter, stilettos, low slung jeans and tight shirts. She said that I needed a night out. I still hadn’t called my Mom back, and Danielle knew I was worrying about home. Psychic cat purred as she watched us. We were ready to be seen. Danielle liked making a scene wherever she went, and everyone knew her, so they played along. This Welch was still on the back of my mind. Maybe it was just a hairball in the back of her throat. This was nothing. I wished I could find it.
There was no place where we were turned down. Danielle got us behind any door or beyond the silk red ropes like they were merely pieces of cotton candy floss. We bar hopped the whole night, getting rides with strangers and with acquaintances. Some of the names of the people were familiar from Danielle’s letters. Others weren’t. Danielle kept nudging me and winking at me. I kept placing loose hairs behind my ear and smiling bigger than I could ever remember, hiding my hands behind my back. The boys were too intimidated to say no or to make a first move. We weren’t there for them, and they knew it. Danielle would line boys up at the bar and they would buy her drinks, no questions asked. I sat next to her and would write poetry on cocktail napkins, keeping one eye open for Welch. I’m sure it would come, pointed out to me with a flash of bright light. Lit up like the Hollywood sign in postcards.
Danielle kept making out with different boys – ones with dark hair, ones with blonde hair, ones whose hands would go immediately to her big breasts, some would kiss her slow and others would leave their mark on her neck like they owned her. I kept one eye on her and another scanning the room. I tapped a pen on the bar, nervously, looking for it. Welch. I couldn’t focus on my writing. I looked down on my napkin, and all I had scribbled was one haiku:
It will come to you
Patience is a virtue, wait
It will all make sense
Then I feel Danielle’s arm on my shoulder, she’s whispering in my ear. “Over there, Anna. Over there. He’s your type.” Danielle pointed to a boy with blonde hair standing by the wall. There were several boys surrounding him, and I figured he would not be interested in me. “Just go say hello. Just go.” She pushed me off the stool and I could feel her eyes burning holes in my back.
He looked bored and the guy next to him was asking him question after question. He rolled his eyes, hands in his pockets. He looked how I felt – misplaced. He caught me staring at him, quickly turning his head and staring back at the floor again. Another man approached him with a cup of beer, which he took, without a smile or thank you.
“What no manners?” I asked, approaching him.
“Not for him, the asshole. I just let them buy me drinks. I don’t even know why I’m here.” He took a sip from his beer.
“Then come with us if you want, we’re leaving soon.” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.
I could see that he was interested as he seemed to really look at me then. “Okay,” he said, following me back to Danielle.
“So, people call me Welch,” he said to us in the booth at Denny’s. I was sobering Danielle up with any amount of food I could get past her lips. She was sucking down coffee like it was her blood.
“The psychic cat, man. The psychic cat was right.” Danielle shouted, waving her arms around. “We have found Welch.”
I elbowed Danielle and smiled back at him. I noticed his blue eyes for the first time then. How they smiled when he looked at me. His hands were gripping a white mug, and I followed his fingers with my eyes all the way up to his arms finally reaching his shoulders. I avoided his face, embarrassed that I was staring. I couldn’t help but smile.
“You mean, Harry’s Fabulous Psychic Cat?” He asked, before taking a sip from his tea. “I used to dream about rescuing her and taking her home with me.”
“I wish could remember my dreams, but they always fade right before I wake up. I think it’s worse knowing that something was there, then knowing nothing was there at all,” I said, tracing my finger around the rim of my mug, stopping to pull out the tea bag.
“That’s too bad. Actually, there was always one part I could never remember about that dream. I’d wake up too fast and lose it. It was something familiar, like when you’re thinking of the name of a character in a movie and you know you know it, but it’s just out of reach.” he said, stirring a spoon in his cup.
“Yeah. You know this seems so familiar to me, like I’ve been here before.” I tugged on the bottom of my shirt, avoiding his eyes again. His hand moved across the table, and he placed a piece of my hair behind my ear.
Then we just sat there silently taking it all in. I looked at my watch, it was nearly six in the morning. Danielle and I had been out for hours. Her head rested on my shoulder.
Then not able to keep quiet any longer, Danielle interrupted. “We rescued the psychic cat. She told us to find you. She told us to find Welch.”
Welch nodded. “I know. This is what I could never remember.”
¶ 12:30 AM
|
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
i come to you from the future
Dear Diana,
Hey, snap out of it. You are not the most important person in the world. Remember, your friends are being patient with you and you are lucky. Also, Andy does not like you and that is okay. There will be plenty of boys, if you wait. Please, remember that you are very beautiful and that you don’t need validation from anyone else. It’s alright to be scared to do things, but in the long run you will be much better for them. I hate to tell you this, but Mom is always right. She is looking out for you, even if you don’t think she is. It is best not to argue with someone as wise as Mom. It will save you a lot of grief.
It is very hard being a teenager and it’s okay to be moody, everyone else is, too. You have to understand that there are a lot of people out there that are not as genuine as yourself. You cannot trust everyone, even if you would like to. Once, you know who your real friends are, then you will rule the world. Everything will not start to come together till much later, but take what you have now and use it wisely. You are a smart girl, you know this. Stop calling yourself stupid and useless. That is so far from the truth.
It’s okay to be the quiet one, the shy one. It gives you more time to sit and observe people. You will use this later in your writing. Do not listen to people that say you will not write, because you will. You might not be famous, but that is not why you do it. You do it, because you don’t know any other way to be. It’s just a part of you. It feels really great when someone compliments you, but there will not always be someone there to do that. Someone there to pat your back, and sometimes you have to be that person.
It’s okay to be alone sometimes. No one says you have to fit in with everyone else or look like everyone else. All those faces you see everyday, even the smiling ones, are insecure. Use that and remember it well. Everyone else is just like you. They just show it in a different way. Just do things the best you know how and try to live up to your own expectations, and sometimes you have to push yourself to work harder.
It’s okay that you don’t know what you want to do with yourself. No one has it all together and the ones that seem like they do, well they are lying. You probably just don’t see them suffering. Please use the talents you do have though. You have many of them. When people compliment you, don’t brush them off. They mean it and it’s the truth.
I think that it’s best to remember that this is just a phase. Also, you should stick with those piano lessons, because you will be very thankful for them in the future. You might even be able to play keyboards in a really kick ass band, and you would really like that. But there is nothing wrong with playing tambourine or maracas, if that is really what you want to do.
Most importantly, stop being so serious. Have some fun. Being so tragic just gets old.
Love,
Diana
¶ 8:11 AM
|
Dear Diana,
Hey, snap out of it. You are not the most important person in the world. Remember, your friends are being patient with you and you are lucky. Also, Andy does not like you and that is okay. There will be plenty of boys, if you wait. Please, remember that you are very beautiful and that you don’t need validation from anyone else. It’s alright to be scared to do things, but in the long run you will be much better for them. I hate to tell you this, but Mom is always right. She is looking out for you, even if you don’t think she is. It is best not to argue with someone as wise as Mom. It will save you a lot of grief.
It is very hard being a teenager and it’s okay to be moody, everyone else is, too. You have to understand that there are a lot of people out there that are not as genuine as yourself. You cannot trust everyone, even if you would like to. Once, you know who your real friends are, then you will rule the world. Everything will not start to come together till much later, but take what you have now and use it wisely. You are a smart girl, you know this. Stop calling yourself stupid and useless. That is so far from the truth.
It’s okay to be the quiet one, the shy one. It gives you more time to sit and observe people. You will use this later in your writing. Do not listen to people that say you will not write, because you will. You might not be famous, but that is not why you do it. You do it, because you don’t know any other way to be. It’s just a part of you. It feels really great when someone compliments you, but there will not always be someone there to do that. Someone there to pat your back, and sometimes you have to be that person.
It’s okay to be alone sometimes. No one says you have to fit in with everyone else or look like everyone else. All those faces you see everyday, even the smiling ones, are insecure. Use that and remember it well. Everyone else is just like you. They just show it in a different way. Just do things the best you know how and try to live up to your own expectations, and sometimes you have to push yourself to work harder.
It’s okay that you don’t know what you want to do with yourself. No one has it all together and the ones that seem like they do, well they are lying. You probably just don’t see them suffering. Please use the talents you do have though. You have many of them. When people compliment you, don’t brush them off. They mean it and it’s the truth.
I think that it’s best to remember that this is just a phase. Also, you should stick with those piano lessons, because you will be very thankful for them in the future. You might even be able to play keyboards in a really kick ass band, and you would really like that. But there is nothing wrong with playing tambourine or maracas, if that is really what you want to do.
Most importantly, stop being so serious. Have some fun. Being so tragic just gets old.
Love,
Diana
¶ 8:11 AM
|
Monday, December 01, 2003
