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[ October 11 ] [ mood | blah ] [ music | Taking Back Sunday- What's it feel like to be a ghost? ] Hi. You might not remember me. I haven't existed in a very long time. I forgot about LJ. I'm working on a new website.. new aspirations. I live with my old roommate Nadine and my boyfriend Mike. Mike and I met at work a little over a year ago. He was married with a small child. It was the hardest choice I've ever had to make, but I'm glad I made it. He's an amazing man, and a great boyfriend. He has his flaws, and I'm good at making a bigger deal of them then I should. I'm working on that. We're all unemployed. I don't know where the fuck I'm going to get rent money from. I'm kind of stressing that. I need to do something creative. Perhaps sleep would inspire me, but I was in bed overflowing with ideas about writing and things i wanted to do. So I got up. But now I'm empty. I'm just bitter and tired. I want something new. I want to go back to school but if my financial situation continues the way it is, I will never eat again, let alone get to further my education and/or live the life I want to. I just want to be someone. I want to be anything but ordinary. I just want to go back to shows and band interviews and art projects and creativity. But I can't do any of it. I love {blank}. [Error: Irreparable invalid markup ('<save meee...>') in entry. Owner must fix manually. Raw contents below.] Hi. You might not remember me. I haven't existed in a very long time. I forgot about LJ. I'm working on a new website.. new aspirations. I live with my old roommate Nadine and my boyfriend Mike. Mike and I met at work a little over a year ago. He was married with a small child. It was the hardest choice I've ever had to make, but I'm glad I made it. He's an amazing man, and a great boyfriend. He has his flaws, and I'm good at making a bigger deal of them then I should. I'm working on that. We're all unemployed. I don't know where the fuck I'm going to get rent money from. I'm kind of stressing that. I need to do something creative. Perhaps sleep would inspire me, but I was in bed overflowing with ideas about writing and things i wanted to do. So I got up. But now I'm empty. I'm just bitter and tired. I want something new. I want to go back to school but if my financial situation continues the way it is, I will never eat again, let alone get to further my education and/or live the life I want to. I just want to be <b>someone</b>. I want to be <i>anything but ordinary.</i> I just want to go back to shows and band interviews and art projects and creativity. But I can't do any of it. I love {blank}. <save meee...> 0

[ April 21 ] Something today, completely made me realize: I stress stupid bullshit too much. I stress over people who treat me like I'm worthless to them. And at the same time, I wonder how often I do the same fucked up things to people I care about? None of this really makes any sense, I'm sure. And it wouldn't, unless you were sitting in my situation. But How often do we avoid loving and caring people, because we're going to get hurt? How often, do we try to hide ourselves in the deepest recesses of our minds? Honestly, I have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about. But basically, I'm tired of stressing bullshit. There's no pretty way to say that. I'm tired of getting hurt, just because I'm not that person.. because I am mother fucking crazy, and because I'm not afraid of my crazy. No, my crazy doesn't typically make me god damn happy, but like matt put it today, "Sometimes, being alive is harder than being dead. But if you're dead, you don't have as much fun." SO, I gotta quit stressing the dumb bullshit. I gotta quit worrying about who is or isn't in love with me, and who hates my god damn guts. My life is gonna happen my way, or everyone elses, so Hey, everyone else... Go god damn fuck yourselves. I'm tired of crying my god damn eyes out over pointless drama. I'm tired of worrying about people, trying to figure them out.. I'm god damn SICK of my life sometimes, but mostly, I'm sick of you guys. Cuz, hey, I actually love my life. It's pretty fucking fantastic sometimes. Sooooo. Hey. I'm goin crazy. 0

[ April 10 ] Sometimes, I just wish I didn't do this to myself. Occasionally, I wish that I didn't tear myself down every day. I wish I could trust him. I wish I could be me... the me I was before him. I wish I could be artistic and have people to talk to. But instead I sit in the guest bedroom of his house, invading his space... being a pain in his ass, because I feel so fucking alone. I feel like nothing is ever going to get better. I used to put faith in and trust him when he said it was going to be okay, and now, I don't believe it. I'm tired of putting up with it. I'm tired of never knowing. I'm tired of my fate always being in other people's hands. I'm becoming more and more like him... And being further and further from who I wanna be. 0

[ March 19 ] This is the tale, (and yet true story) of my escape from Las Vegas. All characters and events are true, unless noted otherwise, and are simply the anti-luck-of-the-Irish. "But our trip.... was to be a classic affirmation of everything right and true in the national character. A gross physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country. But only for those with true grit." Our journey was to begin on the eve before St. Patrick's day. Due to some unfortunate events, and drunken times at the Slanted Clam, it was postponed. So, early Saturday morning, Chuck and I set out on an adventure. Our destination was San Francisco, California. Our mission: BABY KITTIES!!! ... And clothes for work, but most importantly... baby kitties. "There was only one road.... - U.S. Interstate 15. Just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker and Barstow... and straight on into frantic oblivion. Safety. Obscurity. Just another freak, in the freak kingdom." So, we went barreling down 15; Southbound, with nothing to lose. Or so we thought. In the end, we weren't wrong, but it sure seemed like we were, way too quickly. When we woke up, it was mentioned repeatedly, "Let's not go today. Next weekend. This is a horrible idea." But our mission for baby kitties meant more to us than the possibility of carrying out a bad idea. The two of us have both been involved in some shitty ideas whose mission held less glory than retrieving those damn cats. So, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, we ran for those damn cats, and we got about as far as Baker. Baker, of course, being about an hour and a half outside Las Vegas; we thought our adventure was over. My loverly beast of a volvizzle, decided to quit accelerating and SHAKE violently until we quit driving it. We sat, exhausted, in the middle of the desert. No drinks. No air conditioning. No working vehicle. No sight of the tow truck that was supposed to be there in 20 minutes. Eventually, Larry, the cleft-lipped, flat-faced tow truck driver, showed up. He loaded up the car, we filled out some paper work, and boarded our cool-aired savior to Barstow (the next town North of Baker). Our sixty some mile tow truck ride, was filled with discussions of kitty names, and intermittent silence. Finally, Barstow appeared, and we headed through town, to a local mechanics shop. Sweaty and exhausted, we got out an explained the issue, and asked if they could fix it. It seemed a sure bet, and we thought, "Hey, we're still gonna get us some baby kitties!" SO, excitedly we waited until they unloaded our car and began work. As the last two wheels rolled off the tow truck, Tommy, the counter guy, came outside into the blaring heat, to inform us, that the only guy who could work on an import in their shop would be busy for the remainder of the day. But, they could do it in the next few days. The hope of getting to our fuzzy, new-born friends quickly diminished. However, Tommy had an answer! There was an import shop down the street. So, we decided we'd just have the truck load back up the car, and to the import shop we'd go. Hypothetically, our problems would have been solved at that point. But of course, that's only hypothetically. No one could have forseen that Larry, the tow truck driver, would have gotten sick of us, and abandon us in Barstow. But, that's exactly what he did. This meant, if it was an import shop we wanted, we were gonna have to drive across town (which incidentally is all of 2 miles from one end to the other) in my violently ill vehicle at all of 15-20 miles an hour, unless there was a downward slanting hill of sorts. Into the angry beast, we climbed. The start was slow, literally, but eventually we got there. We pulled into a dusty, barren parking lot. We got out, to find a guy named Corey. Corey asked if he could help us, and we explained what happened with my car. He followed us over, asked me to pop the hood and start the car. He started silently, only to say, "You've got a dead cylinder or two. Your car is totaled." We asked how sure he was, and his only response was.. "I can do a compression test. But chances are, you're engine is shot. I'd hate to see you spend the money when I'm pretty sure it's a waste of time." We thanked Corey, and watched him walk away. I simply sat on my hood, an emotional wreck, wondering how the hell we were gonna escape from the deserts wrath. We called our parents in a panic, explaining the situation. Chuck's parents wanted to pick us up, but I didn't want to go back to Las Vegas. So, I realized, Barstow has a greyhound station, that couldn't be far. So, we headed out on another mission to find the Greyhound. The original plan, at that point, was to catch a bus to San Francisco, and drive my grandpa's old car to Vegas, until we could figure out another way for me to get around. However, my dad was in Montana, skiing, and didn't answer his phone. We approached the ticketing window, and found out the next bus to SF, was at 5:15. We had 6 hours to devise a plan. Eventually, my dad called me back to inform me that my Mom's car had died that same morning, and she was using the Olds. Lucky fucking us. We walked back to the car, and sat down and began to Stew. Neither of us really wanted to abandon the mission, so we began trying to devise schemes. As we discussed the state of our vehicle, a man popped out from under the pick up truck next to us, and said, "So, it seems like I'm not the only one here with car trouble today, huh?" We just nodded and made some small talk with the guy. Somehow or another, he began trouble shooting my car's issue. We eventually narrowed it down to the pick-up coil, which in other words means, for some reason, my spark plugs weren't getting the energy to send to the engine. Which is why my car was running only on 2 cylinders. He worked on my car for about 45 minutes, brining out random employees of the Barstow station along the way. He eventually offered to take us somewhere, where he could get tools, and he'd attempt to do some more work. We followed him across town, in my lawn-mower sounding, putt-putt mobile. When he turned the corner, we headed towards an alley at a bank. We both got kind of nervous, but figured it couldn't get much worse. He motioned for us to park. HE got out of his truck, and disappeared behind a camouflage painted door. We weren't sure if we were supposed to follow. We waited briefly, and then headed into the mysterious door after him. As we entered, we realized we were in a military surplus store. There was a Native American man sitting at a table, smoking a cigarette. The news was playing and I could see the legs of another person in a chair. The person turned out to be an older woman, who didn't speak the entire time we were there. The shop was full of used military style shoes, and camo gear etc. There were various guns mounted along one wall, and counters full of knives and other types of weapons. Above the T.V. was a picture of a small kitty, which quickly reminded us of our mission. We grabbed some tools and hustled back outside. The took apart pieces of the car until we could narrow it down to a few things. After we figured out what the basic problem was, the man working on our car, told us if we bought the parts, he'd install them. We immediately called every parts shop in town. Not a single one had the part we needed, and again, our dreams slowly faded. Back in the volvizzle, we headed to Barstow station. We ate lunch, and contacted our families again to let them know what was going on. At that point, it was around 3 pm and we decided, perhaps eating would make us less frustrated. Along the course of our lunch, we decided to try renting a car. We found a phone book, took down numbers and began to call. Being that Barstow is the middle of fucking nowhere, apparently, they felt as though it was okay to close EVERYTHING at around 2 pm. The locals informed us, that Barstow is apparently a people-eating vortex from hell, so we decided it was time to get the fuck out, before we never left. The majority of people we encountered that day, told us they never meant to stay in that town, they just ended up there, for one reason or another, and couldn't ever get out. After about an hour in the beaming sun, we came to the best conclusion we've had in our lives... Get towed to the fucking airport, and rent a car.... But of course, being that we apparently have anti-luck of the Irish on St. Patrick's day... that didn't go so well either. "What was I doing here? What was the meaning of this trip? Was I just roaming around in a drug frenzy of some kind? Or had I really come out here to Las Vegas to work on a story? Who are these people, these faces? Where do they come from? They look like caricatures of used car dealers from Dallas, and sweet Jesus, there were a hell of a lot of them at 4:30 on a Sunday morning, still humping the American dream, that vision of the big winner somehow emerging from the last minute pre-dawn chaos of a stale Vegas casino." stay tuned for more. 0

[ March 9 ] I'm kind of torn. I'm ready to embark on a new journey. I'm ready to break away from the bastards I know at home. I'm thrilled to start over. I'm at a job, I REALLY love. The people there don't think I'm weird, or make me feel inferior. But it seems like I need to get the fuck out of this house. I'm so god damn ready to sleep in my car until I get on my feet. I'm ready to sell myself so I don't have to fucking be here. I want to sit Chuck down and say, "You used to tell me I un-broke you. I never wanted to be so responsible for someone. I kept you away.. I wouldn't let you into my heart, but I couldn't deny the fact that I was in love with you from the start. There were ways I'd try and convince myself I hated you and you weren't the guy for me. There were times I just wanted to fucking kill you, but I did everything I could to fucking work "us" out. And instead, you decided one day, you didn't want to try anymore. I didn't want to let anyone in my life. I didn't want to fucking care. I didn't want to be responsible for someone when I couldn't even keep my own head up. But I took you on. I loved you with everything I had, and you broke me over and over. And now I'm here, hoping that for once, my gut instinct could be right... Hoping that maybe if I made the effort, you'd realize what you mean to me.. realize that I love you to death, and that I'm content being your friend, if that's all I can be." But none of it makes a difference. He doesn't love me. He doesn't want to be with me. He can't even stand being around me. Nothing I do is good enough or right. Nothing I say fixes anything. No matter how far I run from him, he haunts me. No matter how many times I finally puke my self to the point of realizing this isn't worth it, he still makes me stick around. Even now, I know that I can't be here much longer. I know that I can't take this. I can physically feel him making me sick. And I still want to be near him. The harder I fucking fight him, the further he gets. This "relationship" is about him. My life, is centered around him. And none of it's good enough. And at the same time, through all the lies, and all the times that he's broken me and fucked me over, I love him. I can't imagine waking up next to anyone. He is my audrey. He has officially shattered me. I should have listened to Gary in high school. I should have put off dating. I shouldn't have cared. I shouldn't have loved. I shouldn't have done anything that I have, but I'm fucking here. I'm stuck here. I've got no one. I've got no where to go. I only have this fucking piece of shit journal, that no one reads.. to help me through this petty bullshit that won't matter in a few years. I'm alone. I'm terrified. I hurt so much. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't think about anything. 0

[ March 6 ] So, I guess I kinda officially live in Vegas now. I'm living with Chuck, until I get on my feet. His parents offered, and it's super sweet of them, but still kinda awkward. I've been ridiculously depressed. I've been running in circles trying to figure out how to make things work out for myself, and I honestly don't know anymore. Everyone from home seems to hate me. Nadine decided I'm the biggest fucking piece of scum on the earth, and I don't honestly know why. I CANNOT keep a friend for more than a year. I feel like being here will be amazing. It's gonna be my chance to be free and start over and learn everything from the begining. But at the same time... I don't know anyone here, except for taylor, deb and Chuck, who have been the center of every god damn overly dramatic situation in my life in the last year. And worse than that, I've been talking to a few guys out here, but I don't know how to date, while I'm living with my exish THING. I don't understand my relationship with that punk ass. Some days, he treats me like- he's mad about me... and some days, he treats me like he doesn't want me within 500 feet of him, let alone in the same city. And I'm not sure I'm okay with living here, if it means, one day I could be completely alone. In the back of my head I keep thinking, "Just keep it together, and you'll be fine," but at the same time, I KNOW there's really no going back. I have no one at home. I can't really say that aside from James I have anyone there. My parents even don't entirely seem to want me. They want to help, and see me do well, but I can't say they'd welcome me home with open arms. I just want something to be clear. I want to understand the stupid things that everyone appears to be avoiding. I just want everything to stop being obnoxious, and overwhelming. I'm so tired. So sick. So fucking sick and tired. 0

[ February 14 ] By the way. What I just said, isn't to be taken as an insult. I dont care who you are. I dont care if you're the person who said/did all that fucked up shit. I dont care if you're her, or if you're him, because no matter which of the three of you it is, I think you know me well enough to know, to me.... friendship is friendship. I love him, to no end. He was there for me through the most fucked up of fucked up. When shit went down with my family, and even people who knew me since kindergarten backed down, he stood up to teachers, friends, family. She kept his chin up. And you, I dont really know you, enough to say much, except for you've made me smile. You gave me something to laugh about. You gave me boy advice. Not always the best, but you did. I just want to know... are you who you say you are, or are you... Him? That is all. NO offence. Please. <3 I love you te. 1

[ January 7 ] I'm moving. asap. <3 0

[ January 3 ] Ello Loves. This is the new journal. It will be FRIENDS ONLY> It should be outrageous. I hate LJ making custom styles only for paid accounts, and I hate being WAY too lazy to custom style it via over rides. ...way too much work. Anyway, add me, I'll add you, ya dig? <3 0

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