Moving Out

February 14, 2007

Farewell, WordPress, but I’m moving on… like my dear friend Mythoclast, I’m back to Blogspot. I’m also aiming for a little less anonymity (while not exposing myself in all of my pain-filled naked glory) and a little more transparency. If you want to keep on reading, childrens, follow this link.



January 31, 2007

I realized I hadn’t updated in a while, and I had all these thoughts that would make great blog posts, so I was all like I’ll just go on for a couple minutes and start a draft before I have to  go to class.

So I’m looking at my wordpress stats and you know what, 1,000 hits! On the nose! I like big, round numbers. And I feel very popular all of a sudden. *bats eyelashes* Okay, I know for big time blogs 1,000 is not a lot but it’s a lot to me. Yay!

Now I must jet off to class.

I suck. I suck. I suck.

January 21, 2007

I went to work yesterday, which was okay, except that I was told I’ll lose my job if I miss work without calling in again. My grandma’s still in the hospital, and she keeps getting confused and yesterday she had a fever and they’re afraid she might get pneumonia…

Last night, possibly in reaction to the stress, and hearing some information that pissed me off, I went out and got rather drunk. I just had beer, so I shouldn’t have been as drunk as I was, but I think the not eating as much as I should thing really does decrease your tolerance to alcohol. Huh. Who would have thunk it?

Anyway, I’m a little concerned that I may have said and done some things that I’ll regret if word gets around. God.

And of course, now I don’t feel any better today, I feel worse. Classes start tomorrow. I have to pull myself together but it’s hard because I feel like I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel.

In Which I Am A Mess

January 20, 2007

First of all, it’s that shitty time of year again. I hate it. It’s so dark and cold and dismal and I always get depressed and/or sick. Plus, Liza and Dominique and Ellie have all gone back to their respective colleges and I am alone once more. Okay, not totally alone— I do have a few friends who I’m close with and some who I’m not very close with but whom I can hang out with every once in a while without the overwhelming urge to shoot myself.

I registered for classes today. I’m going non-matric at our local state university, trying to get my feet back in the academic pool or something. I’m excited, but at the same time nervous. After community college and being sick and all the various shit that’s happened to me in the last five years or so, I’ve lost any confidence I may once have had in my abilities as a student. Every day I wake up and I have to convince myself that I’m not a failure, because I always have this feeling that not only am I worthless, but other people know that I’m worthless, and they’re disappointed in me for not being smarter, or better, or perfect.

Earlier today, when I was signing up for my classes, I got really excited. And now? Now it’s like, holy shit, what was I thinking? I can’t fucking handle this.

My best friend from fourth grade through high school, Jo, who’s currently living in Manhattan, called me on Tuesday to let me know she’s going to come up for my birthday in February. I haven’t seen her in forever, so that’s exciting. But it’s like I really want to be happy about that and a few other things but everything else keeps weighing me down.

My grandma’s in the hospital, which is really scary. She’s eighty-nine, and she’s always been very sharp for her age, and in good health, and now all of a sudden it’s like she’s falling apart. She fell down the stairs late Tuesday night and broke her leg in five places. They did surgery on her today, and when I first got in to see her tonight, she seemed to be doing better, but then she went all loopy. She was laying in the bed and she thought she was skiing and then she started screaming and saying, “No, don’t stare at Lucy!” (Lucy is my cousin.)

After I left, I went to the tobacco shop and bought some cigarettes and smoked one. I normally only smoke when I’m out with my friends, but I was so freaked out, and I really craved a cigarette. I guess this means my smoking is escalating. Shit. Next thing you know, I’ll be smoking regularly. I don’t want to, and I think my mom will kill me if I do, but fuck fuck fuck.

I’m popping anti-anxiety pills like candy. It’s not really helping, though. It’s been a while since I felt this bad emotionally. Months, at least. This is not the state I want to be in when I start school again. Gah.

Also? I was physically sick earlier this week, back to the old stupid dog and pony show passing out, and I missed work two or three shifts in a row and I didn’t even call in and I will probably be fired when I go in tomorrow.

And my throat is sore from smoking, and more sore from lying here and trying not to cry.


January 10, 2007

Uh-huh. So I’m really drunk right now. Liza and I went to play team trivia with our friend John and some of his friends, and then we went downtown, and we hung out with one girl who I used to be really good friends with in high school but I haven’t seen in a couple years, which was fun, but weird, and now I’m totally drunk.

S— is still being an ass. I texted him, and then IMed him about my keys, and he finally got back to me via IM that he hasn’t talked to his friend, and gave me his friend’s SN, and I IMed him back, like, “Well, it’s good that you gave me his screen name, because that way you and I won’t have to interact at all,” which may have been kind of bitchy, but what do I care, a) I’m drunk, and b) I’m not his biggest fan right now. Anwyway. then his away message auto responds to me or whatever, and it’s some stupid fucking song lyrics or something like, “Do you wanna be my lady? Are you my lady?” or something, and I’m all, dude, he better not have fucking moved on by now, because he was the one who called me and initiated everything (except possibly the blow job, because I’m a giving person and really drunk as I type this and I like penises or is it penii?) and he’d better not have a fucking new girlfriend, because I am not over him, because he treated me like shit and I still don’t have my fucking keys back.

 Yeah, so I’m not going to delete this in the morning. I’m going to leave it up in all of it s drunken incoherent ramblings. I fucking hate S—, man, unless of course he calls me, in which case I’d probably be as pathetic as my dog and roll over and let him rub my belly and look at him with my eyes and beg him to like me.

I gave my number to the friend from high school who I mentioned earlier, and she keeps texting me, saying goodnight and she wants to hang out with me agian and stuff, and it’s nice to feel liked by someone who you thought didn’t like you anymore/didn’t care. I know she’s drunk (as am I) but it’s still nice to think she likes me again after all (my sparkling personality re-attacks), even if she goes abroad in like a week.

I need to sleep now, because Liza and I have to meet up wiht our best friend Dominique at some unholy hour tomorrow to have breakfast before Dominique goes back to college.

S— sucks, and my period is over, and I’m drunk and fucking horny, and I need a boyfriend.

Gah. I’m going to bed now. The honesty hurts my eyes.

Dear S.,

January 8, 2007

You know what? I don’t care that you haven’t called me in a week and a half. Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care. (That’s the official line at least.) I don’t care that you don’t talk to me for like two years and then all of a sudden are all about me until you get uncomfortable again and then you can’t even fucking talk to me. I’m over it. Obviously, you’re the one with issues, not me. (That’s the official line, as well.)

You know what I do care about? That your stupid friend still has my stupid fucking keys. I need them back, ok? I locked my dog and myself out yesterday when I was in my freaking pajamas, and it was not fun.

I’m thinking of just leaving threatening notes on your car or in your mailbox: Give me my fucking keys back, bitch. Or how about, Return my keys or lose your kneecaps.

And yes, I am pissed off at you. To be perfectly honest, I kind of hate you right now. And I’m trying to be the bigger person and be friends with you, but it’s kind of hard if you won’t even acknowledge my existence.

And yes, I have my period, which makes me a pissy, needy, roaring bitch and if you don’t give me my keys back, you will seriously fucking regret it.

Grow up, dude. And in case I haven’t said it enough, GIVE ME MY FUCKING KEYS BACK.

That Girl Who Had Her Lips On Your Cock Two Weeks Ago

This quiz confirms it!

This Is My Life, Rated
Life: 4.3
Mind: 3.7
Body: 5.2
Spirit: 5.5
Friends/Family: 4.1
Love: 0
Finance: 6.2
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

 Note how the love life is a 0? This supports my suspicion that I will inevitably be alone for the rest of my life. My dear friend Liza was bemoaning the other night how she had taken the free personality test at, and had only gotten six matches. So I took it, and it said that they couldn’t match me with anyone in the world. Very sad, indeed.


when it comes to you I’m so fucking easy
right now I’d like to strangle you
but if you call tomorrow I’ll forgive and not quite forget
kiss you and stroke you and shiver
when you tell me I’m beautiful
try a little harder to make you love me
until you stop calling again
(you always do)

My Best Friend

January 7, 2007

For Liza, who no longer has a blog.

Saturday night in January
it’s raining global warming
we stand in front of the half-lit cafe
smoking cloves and talking
about the men in our lives,
freaks and assholes all.
We laugh and
she’s the only one I’m comfortable with enough to truly
relax relax relax.
There’s no place I’d rather be.

Your Bruise

January 5, 2007

You left a bruise on my breast last week
and I’ve been watching it fade—
purple blue brown tan
soon it’ll be just another piece of skin
forgetting your touch.