The Night When the Sky Glowed Peach

I guess I better get some posting in before I head into the great unknown that is Arkansas.
I was incorrect on previous posts- I leave here on Feb. 3
Just zoning out. Amazingly I am beginning to have those nervous shooting feelings in my stomach, such as I had when I was posting about "him"
Him who I am resisting the urge to call (which isn't hard- its a very small, insignificant urge)
Basically this: "I took the liberty of talking to you on the phone while you were in another time zone. I am supposing that you will not object to doing the same for me"
But I doubt that conversation will actually happen- I am in no mood to be desperate. My stomach is the only part of me that feels panic.
I am having those dreams about an old house again. I believe the first time I had it, it was Kristin's grandmother's or something like that. But it ended up being my great grandmother's old house. Everything- furniture, memos, papers- was still intact. I can't say how long it had been vacant, but there were leaks in the ceiling. Its times like these I wish I were and artist; that what I see in my head I could transfer to some other meidum.
The past few nights I think my dreams have circled around that house. Three stories, I believe, or four.
That and a cracked windshield- something to do with my father's work. I think I took a car from him and the windshield cracked when I tried to defrost it.
Speaking of which- it will be cold when I get back there. That is one thing worth looking forward to (yes yes, among others bla bla fucking bla). I still remember walking in the snow that evening... god, I must have been 10 years old. Walking with my daddy in the snow and the sky was peach. We got down to Mission blvd. and it was completely empty- we saw no cars the entire walk. And I could have almost pretended that there was no other life for miles, that there were no cars and we lived in another time. Just the trees and a untouched blanket of snow that covered the street so purely, and a peach sky. It was beautiful, though I can't tell you what we talked about or why we were walking in the first place- just to get out of the house; I have a feeling it was in the end phase of my parent's marriage- and I can't recall how long we were away. But it was so quiet that night and beautiful- very peaceful, which is beauty at its best.
So I like the cold. We spent a lot of time out in the cold.

Work in Progress: If there already is one, this is #2

I will tell you the truth: it is nice to be on the other side of the conversation for once.
Maybe nice isn't the right word- maybe amusingly interesting.
For my dad to say "Our marketing strategy isn't working anymore"
And for me to say "Then change it"
"Its not up to me to change it"
If it not up to the general manager, I do not know who else it could possibly be. I would hate to think that the owners would be ignorant enough to hinder business with a faulty marketing strategy.
Truly, I hope that my eye stops twitching by the time I go back there- it is annoying me beyond belief.
But the point is maturity- I am sure that he expected me to be like I was when I lived there. To whine and moan (which I still do, don't get me wrong) and bitch (still do that too).
He did not expect that I would spurt maturity and express well-thought and executed ideas. No no- why would he?
But I hope that is exactly what I do when I am back there; that I am somehow able to concentrate all of the successes I have racked up over the past year into a humble radiance. Doing so would be a much safer experience for all than, let's say, me rubbing it in everyone's face- which would, in fact, show my childish brat side (oh yes, i have one of those) completely removing any pleasure in sharing my work? rebirth? KICK ASS MOTHER FUCKING LIFE THAT I HAVE SPENT MUCH TIME NOT EVEN REALIZING I POSSESS UNTIL I AM STUCK WITH PEOPLE THAT HALT MY PROGRESSION.
That's right- I said it, MY PROGRESSION.
I was not on the football team (duh) or the cheerleading squad or in the youth group
Right, in those manners you may say that I have failed. But if there is any one thing that I am proud I have and am achieving, aside the obvious sobriety splurge, it is my appetite for learning
(If it can be called that) I have the need to excel, if only academically and if only in my petty little fashion. For me, that is enough. I have plenty of years to rush romantic relationships and socialize with the world, etc, etc, etc.
It is like this: they say that the sounds that come from a baby's mouth show that (s)he could learn to speak any language in the world; and that the older you get, the more difficult it is to learn a foreign language.
Perhaps that worked against my favor- I was going to talk about learning but I guess that it is profitable for me to examine that quote's implications on love.
Maybe (probably) as a child we are capable of loving any human being
(regardless of the psychology of the child which makes them want attention in the first place)
Right, so as a child you can love anyone in the world- we are not so picky then as we are to become. As you grow older and you get more established in your patterns, the process of loving, or coming to love someone, becomes more difficult. Which would work against my favor completely because I intend on remaining loveless until I have learned enough to know how to deal with such a thing.
So it is- I refrain from loving to easy; either because of past experiences that have hurt me or because I am too set in my ways to do otherwise. More likely both- and that I am afraid of the future, knowing as little as I do about... anything... it would be easy to step all over me
Which I have a suspicion has been done. And I do not trust myself either. Oh God, no. I become something completely different- refer the the writings of a couple of weeks ago about "him". Compare to this post.
Not that I didn't claw and hiss like crazy, but I was too young to know that I was being dicked with. I brought my own issues to the party and was not prepared to assess anyone else's motives... correctly, at least.
Yes, I am thinking about one person in particular. I can only hope that I can LEARN from that. Nothing about him, us, or the relationship do I feel the need to post- none of it is relevant, nor does it matter. The end.
I am a work in progress- and on my deathbed, I still will be.
Goodnight, I am returning to Jane.

For Sobriety, For My Father, For Me

I wonder how I would feel if a medical emergency occurred that required me to stay here instead of flying to Arkansas? I know it is an option. If something comes up, I wonder what I would decide to do.
I guess it depends on the severity, whether I am needed or not, etc.
I should go back though, I know that. Haven't been there in months. My dad is done with cancer treatment and it would be good to see him. I am just not crazy about the whole zoo, about getting sucked in with all these people that I hardly know, totally out of my comfort zone. Luckily, I will take work with me if/when I go.
Its just a totally different world where I do not have the capability to take care of myself properly and I regress. It is such a frustrating place. I don't understand what it is about being there that just seems like dead time, wasted hours, wasted life. Sitting in that office for hours, not going to have a cigarette because I don't want to make daddy look bad. Maybe, more likely, I don't want to make myself look bad. Then after work, going to see LD and the posse where, again, I can't smoke. At this point pissed because I am wasting away time that I could have spent doing other things in other places that piss me off slightly less.
And the worst part is the mentality that I am displaying right now. Obviously it will be a shitty experience if I go into this thinking "this is going to suck ass"
So that has to change, first of all. I have to be at peace with myself before I go, however lame that is. If I go back with doubts or apprehensions, it will be miserable. And I can't do miserable, especially when I know I am the cause.
I will see Kristin and hopefully feel different this time. Last time, for the first time, I felt the distance between us. Before than, no matter how long I had been gone we were still close. I still love her and she loves me, but last time I distanced myself- from the only person I had never distanced myself from. Why? I don't know.
The most important thing you can do for them is to listen. They don't want smug or arrogant, they don't want the bitchy boyfriend's daughter. They want you to listen and look interested, be happy, smile. Answer when asked. I think I am willing to do that for them. Not say anything like an asshole. No one cares about sobriety or rehab, trials and tribulations- they care about my work, my success. Which is fine. I know that my success is merely a subdivision of my sobriety- it is absolutely dependent on the maintenance of my sobriety or it will crumble.
I have been able to repay, at least in part, the kindness of those in California that have supported me, regardless of my behavior and the many ways I have hurt them. It is, I suppose, time to do the same in Arkansas. Not only to make my father proud and to placate my resentment, but also because I will have long years of interaction with these people and my future self asks nicely that I do not fuck shit up for her. And for myself, I will obey.
I must must must think about my future. I must because I require that these not be the best years of my life. I require that as I age, things continue to get more and more sweet and rewarding. This is the path that I am on.
I was at the grocery store the other day getting orange juice and an older lady let me go ahead of her in the door, with a smile she said
"Beauty before age"
I was unable to come up with a reply but I know it would have ran something like this;
"I hope that with age, I am able to maintain kindness and humor such as you"
But I thought that it might come across as condescending.
I am a different person now than I was 15 months ago- by leaps and bounds. Somewhere along the way, a conscious and appreciation was installed in me that I have no control over. Many of the people I disliked, I have come not only to like, but also to respect.
And I do believe that, for me, alcohol solves nothing.
It never has and it never will.
The End- Happily Ever After.

Chrome Spider Tire

This is the new wheel-tire-whatever-else, 20'' and gorgeous: looks like a chrome spider to me, thus it is called so.

Old and New

Shot of the new 20'' wheel next to the 15'' on Layla currently. The current ones are pretty new and in great condition. The new ones are going to be "an investment" I am told.

My Baby is a Genuine Ford

Layla spending some time in the garage- nice shot of her chrome accessories. She really is gorgeous.

Arkansas Trapped: Pretty When She Cries

Well, another day. Today I really did absolutely nothing- I didn't even have to try very hard. Aside going down to the g-parents for an hour, my day was marked by a venture out into the world to get orange juice and coffee beans. That's it
Tomorrow will be much more eventful, productive, whatever else.
My experimental tire and wheel (only one) will be here for a test fitting hopefully.
Ah, about that: my dad found some 20'' low-profile tires and wheels that he thought would look really good on my truck. So, he shipped one- one tire, one wheel.- from Arkansas out to California where I will jack up the truck and test it for fit and looks, responding with a verdict on what to do with the rest of them. Though I cannot imagine that there will be any problem, what-so-fuckin-ever. Very nice of him... and unexpected.
When I got this truck last October, he put brand new tires on them then- 15 or 16''- before I drove it cross country. Therefore I am not actually in need for new tires or anything... so this is very random.
He had them in. Thought they would look good. Sent one out here.
I shalln't complain.
----
I am really needing to get my shit together before I go back there in 8 days. I cannot have any qualms about "who I am" or "why do I need to be nice". Things look strikingly different when you (I) am 2000 miles away-
I am calm and collected out here-
Most importantly, I can escape if I need to- I am not at the mercy of someone else and their best interests.
I can sleep when I want to.
I can get online when I want to.
I can WORK when I want to.
I can have a break when I want to.
Really, when I go back I will be trapped: I have no way of getting around- I can only do what he sets aside for me.
And I tend to express my immediate discomforts until they grow into full-fledged resentments... then I explode.
So I need to get my shit together. Because as much as I can "see" what might happen, when I get there- chances are I will start clawing at the fabric. It is my nature.
I get started feeling like "I don't owe this man anything- why do I have to do what he wants? Isn't this MY vacation too? What the fuck happened to my life and liberty?"
I am not on my own turf and it sucks major ass. I might complain sometimes, but really- I have a damn good situation going for me here and I know it- I really, really know it.
This is my home and the level of comfort and normalacy I have here... its unrivaled.
--
So I get trapped and uncomfortable- and the airport seems like a calm compared. I don't mind switching planes, walking through the airports, reading the departure screens to find out my terminal- this is the last place I will have control...
Its hard to tell the second that I lose control-
It could be when the plane touches down
It could be when the offer comes to help me with my bag
It could be riding in whatever "demo" vehicle on the way back to the house
It could be carrying my luggage over that door jam
It could be the second when he goes to bed and I am sitting up watching that old TV in the living room, smoking one of many cigarettes
It could be when I wake up, go straight for a cigarette, take a shower in that pink bathroom and dry off in a sour smelling towel.
Maybe after the shower when the hardwood floors creak and there is nothing to eat
Maybe when I show up at his work and don't have a damn clue when I will leave, what I will do there, or when the next time I can have a damn cigarette is.
Maybe when people that work there start saying hello and popping in- asking me about California and my truck
I want to like them- I want to shine. I am daddy's only little girl
- Turned out much cleaner than the boy, huh? She ain't got no tattoos or nothing. Yeah, but he got personality, ya know? Interestin' kid.
Does she look like her dad? Everyone says she does- when she was younger they said 'she has everything of her father's except the color of her eyes- that she got from her momma'
Brown eyes. Didn't get the beautiful blue eyes like her daddy
She got the soulful hazel eyes from her mother- deep, like mood rings, green and brown and yellow.
But they look almost blue when she cries. Sure is pretty when she cries, as pretty as one can be. Expressive kid too. Never see it coming, no one would have ever seen it coming.
----
Nothing more for tonight

825 Oakwood Dr.

So... I am remembering Arkansas- the house that I will be going "home" to here soon.
And walking across the sloping driveway, dragging my bag across the uncut yard
Through the fairly new, pale green door- almost funny next to the rusted white handrails that frame out either side of the 3x3 front porch; as well as the white rusted mailbox nailed next to the front door.
Into the house- the good old house- where I spent quite a few of my important "development" years, aka my childhood.
-----------------
I am absolutely no good at describing houses, rooms, backgrounds, etc. so I will not make this too in depth.
-----------------
Descending the stairs from the main floor, down into the basement, there are large framed pictures on either side of the hallway- me and my brother. I would say about 10 of these huge photos, all taken by my father. None of them are more recent than 8 or 9 years.
My room- the closet is filled with clothes and shoes that don't fit anymore, a bean bag that hasn't been used in half a decade, journals with few words- most of which are misspelled.
A shelf of old stuffed animals and other toys, all mine, sits near the ceiling above the bed.
These things being, again, a sharp contrast to the furnishings- new, expensive, matching furniture- dresser and lingerie cabinet with hidden drawers. The old family bed has survived but is topped now with a khaki colored comforter and matching pillows.
The closet in my old room, which is now the office, still had a photo collage I made, from teeny magazines taped on the inside of the door, until recently. I ripped most of the pieces off- it was a naked testament of my past to all that peeked at it, which I could no longer stand.
----------------------
That house is at once both a comfort and a nightmare. Its dual-personality fits it well.
Dirty and clean, sickness and health, old and new- constantly battling among every fiber that makes up the foundation and all built upon it.
I go to it without fear, but a sick feeling in my stomach when I venture out into each darkened room- that I might be perceived as trespassing, even though my pictures are on the wall and my books on the shelves- my writing in permanent marker on the back of closet doors stating "KELLY and SARAH'S CLUB- NO BOYS ALLOWED"
There is a mistake in feeling attatched to this place... if that is the right word, maybe kin.
Goodnight

The Photographer's Daughter

I found some pictures today that I am having a difficult time not putting up here.
Meaning that I would really like to put them up here for some reason
They speak to me very strongly.
Pictures of me and my dad.
But putting them up here, I think something would get lost in translation- the emotions or reservations or memories that they touch in me would only be meaningless pictures of someone else's family to the rest of the world.
The majority of my family history is contained in a old vintage chest. By family history I do not mean passports and diplomas, bank statements and ticket stubs. Just pictures, some artwork from when my brother and I were young, old cracked porcelian dolls of my grandmother's or great grandmother's. And when I dig into it, as I periodically do, and look at those pictures, I say to myself "no one knew, no one could have known what was to come. This is my family."
It is.
And these pictures I have separated out of the volumes (my father was a photographer)... I do not have the ability to describe correctly and will, therefore, refrain from attempting.
---
I will be doing the dinner services tonight at mama and papa's. Which is fine because I don't think I would be capable of doing anything else this evening. My brain is on strike and refuses to work without compensation- coffee, which I cannot make and tried to substitute chocolate instead but with no success.
That is my story. And as soon as I get a scanner or a better vocabulary... or coffee, I will not be able to have the pictures on here. I will be on my way now. Thanks.

-K

Still Dead.

I am still feeling severely dead.
That is all.

Is anyone alive in there?

So, well, I don't feel very alive.
I am very annoyed that I don't feel very alive.
I think that my auto-pilot is taking over more often than not
I don't think that I really enjoy the things I do for fun
You know, REALLY enjoy them
Its quite possible that I am merely drifting through my life
That's sad. Because I don't like the idea.
But really- I think I am just drifting.
If I paid attention, I might be a very different person.
My eye keeps twitching
I am viewing that as an omen or something
It twitches when I am around my grandparents, their caretaker, or anything related to the concentration and categorization of minerals. My left eye.
I don't like the idea that I am not in control of myself
That my fully conscious self is not in control
I don't like eating too much, or feeling out-of-the-loop, or NOT LIKING THINGS, DAMN IT

I am going back to Arkansas in 2 weeks, which might be relevant to this post in one way or another.
This pisses me off.

How Do You Put a Billet Grille Like This...

How do you put a billet grille like this...

On This Truck...

... on to this truck... (my layla)

With These as the Only Instructions?

... with these as the only instructions?

answer: you don't- you get really pissed off, smoke a cigarette and cuss at yourself in the mirror

JUST USE TAPE DAMN IT

Hello and welcome to Friday Night.
Today was as uneventful as the majority of my days are
(that is not a complaint. seriously.)
Went down to Mama and Papa's house this evening- they were both doing well and the evening wrapped up well.
All is well that ends well.
The majority of the day was me wrestling my irritability, most of the time succeeding.

I almost threw my stupid billet grille in the trash on the basis that it was making me feel incompetant. Whoever wrote the fucking instructions for putting that thing on is an ASSHOLE.

STEP 1: USE THE SUPPLIED HARDWARE TO ATTACH

Lost but not worried

I am hoping that I will have something good to write today. Work was... so-so. It will be better, it was merely a matter of not being prepared for my assignment. Now, however, I have a much clearer idea of what I should expect.
Really though, I have nothing to write. I can feel an underlying agitation with myself for not being able to produce anything.
Yesterday was my 14 month anniversary. I know that there is some sort of irony in the fact that I got lost in the regional park on my 14 month-
Familiar and terrifying, my surroundings- not a fear of death, but a fear of not being able to find my way out. That combined with the knowledge that if I try, I can, indeed, find my way home. Nonetheless, in the darkness, alone, and wondering if this could be a nightmare.
When I found my freedom in the lights of a town- liquor stores and chain restaurants- there was a some sort of aggression, something I had to prove. I wondered where the midnight driver was, with her calm collected nature and simple, quiet beauty. She most definitely was not present.
Something about my whereabouts, about this particular area that seemed so surreal and yet close to the bone- it tore her out of me and she wished not to return until I calmed down.
She who is lost but not worried.

Hunky Dory

I got lost tonight on my way home from an unfamilar grocery store. N gave me accurate directions on how to get back to the house but I, being the wanderer/dumbfuck that I am, decided to take my own route when I couldn't easily get on the street she had suggested.
There the fun begins. The first 20-35 minutes of my being lost I was fine- listening to music, laughing about my predicament, etc.
It was when the lanes started to thin out and cross streets became scarce that I started to get worried. After vain attempts to cross the hill that, I believed, separated me from civilization, the dark became slightly more terrifying and strangely, subconsciously recognizable.
The road I was on began to twirl down a hill. The shoulder on both sides receeded and aside a few cars and trucks that passed in the long intervals, I was the only person there.
Still, I had no doubt I would live- perhaps never find my way home, but driving is not to be my doom.
Further and further away down the road, trees thickly lining either side of the road and beyond
<> a sign read
And sure enough, a stable I saw off the right side, full of horses. I thought that they might be fake, for some reason-
But an increasing resemblance to Arkansas and my disbelief of the horses in the night fueled my thoughts that I could very well be dreaming.
Passing a national park entrance, I drove on for a while until I found a dirt shoulder and pulled over- realizing a little too late that I might be stuck. No one passed either way for the 15 seconds that I sat there wondering what the fuck to do- if I keep on this road, I might not be able to find my way back; it could get worse.
So I took the necessary steps to 180 my course- drive, reverse, drive fast as fuck because there is a car coming around that curve pretty damn fast
I parked myself in the national park entrance waiting area, expecting a spark of genius to come to me- I sat in the dark, with the doors locked, and looked at a partially unfolded map by the light of my radio. Paranoia is something that I come by honestly- it is in my genetic makeup and is far less severe in me than the past generations.
I cracked the windows and shut off the engine- and listened.
The park ranger that talked to me was very nice and sent me off with directions that would lead me home. He told me to come and visit sometime in the day.
Once I had directions, I got home, unloaded the groceries which had sufficently shifted in the long ride,
Hunky Dory.

Photographing Mama and Papa 1

I thought I should make a quick post before I turn in for the night...
Papa is doing... better. If it is, in fact, the blood pressure medicine, as the doctor he saw today said, then by tomorrow morning we should be seeing some improvement. I have been down there every day for the past... a little over a week.
Sometimes I look at them (my grandparents) and I wish I could take a picture. I would never actually take a picture because I have too much respect for them. But I look at him, like this morning when I went down there, and he couldn't get out of bed. And I laid on top of the covers on the bed next to him and talked- about his youth, applesauce, the ceiling, whatever- watching, I can't recall what precisely I was thinking. But just his face- mentally I wanted to take a picture. I think it could be important that I remember.
There have been several occasions like that, where I believe that my memory of the events or expressions or emotions or circumstances, that remembering is very important.
Such as the moment before my mama lights a cigarette- after she has been talking (to us) for a while and swinging around her unlit cigarette in her hand. And in the moment that she runs out of words, the subject she was talking about comes to a close, and the room is silent in digestion.
And she brings the cigarette up to her mouth and the lighter near- pausing a second, to try and catch the faces of the people in the room out of the corner of her eye, to see if there was something more she needed to say, meant to say- but swiftly enough, maybe only a split second later- I would say more about a second- she finally draws her eyes down from the dead space and onto her hands, there lighting a cigarette.
Placing the lighter back where it was. The lull was enough time to regain stamina.
---
My place in that house is greatly up to me. Mum is the one who makes the decisions, the legal guardian, the sole offspring that is present (emotionally and physically) for them.
Her brother has a life in another state, a wife, a job, cats, horses, and many other sweet (or at least semi-sweet) accessories that have made it difficult to find time
Though I do not mean to imply that he does not have sincere intentions or that he does not thoroughly love his parents. He does.
Mum is the one that makes the arrangements, makes those arrangements happen, and makes sure that everything before, after, and during those arrangements is taken care of
So that leaves me. My presence is not particularly "needed" a lot of the time that I am there. Mainly I try to pick up scraps. I smoke cigarettes, watch the room, cuss, act like a clown, entertain? shall I say. I am not a necessity, as my mum so clearly is. I am an accessory- and I cherish the knowledge that any day I could stop showing up without hindering progress.
I just watch, read what I can of others. And it is probably good that I limit my tasks to these few because I believe I can do them well.
In other news there is no other news. This computer- the very one that I am typing on- is being a piece of shit. CRASH BANG BOOM, and another total system meltdown. Heading it off, all my files were copied onto backup CDs today. But it appears there is a break in the porn pop-ups and dial-up disconnects, just so I can write this post.
Anyways, soon there will be more. I am on a deadline, which is quite ironic considering the lack of progress I have made today, yesterday, the day before that.
---

Robert, I guess

It has been a while, huh? Well my stepsister left yesterday morning and S.G. came to stay one night in her place. Papa is doing... okay? shall I say. I am bored beyond my own comprehension, just wasting time until I can leave here and go down to LR to visit mama and papa.
I have lost most of the feeling that I had towards him (not referring to papa). This... mutation that he seems to undergo, without any notice, is not anything that I want to spend time on. He is, indeed, not the nice guy that I thought he was. And I am not of worth to him as I once was. So it is only fair to call it a tie and walk away. I won't say that it is "scary" to watch somebody be such a... mutant is all I can think of. More jolting than anything else. I have gotten more involved with my work, once again, and am being rewarded extensively, making the idea of giving up hours of work to fuck around on the phone with a jerk seem even more ridiculous. In fact, I say him yesterday driving right past me into my work parking lot and turning around, speeding off. For a moment I toyed with the idea of honking but instead turned up the music and adjusted my sunglasses. Fuck yes.
It is interesting to be the honest one for once. There is no "proof", in flesh, that he is a liar but I refuse to be gullible to stupid sounding facts. What I am referring to mainly is the whole memory thing, which does not compute as anything but a lie for so many reasons I can't even begin... actually, I can: so memory is shot, right? Okay, but he keeps making these slips that I don't think he notices, but they are making it extremely clear that he is a dumbfuck and a pretty bad liar. I called him on it once or twice because it just seems like such a remarkably layered pile of crap. The more I think about it and strengthen my case, the less I want to be around him- so reciting these things has a benefit for me.
The point was that I am the honest one. You ask me if I still smoke, I say (reluctantly) yes. I call when I say I will, I listen when I need to listen, and I bitch when I know I have been wronged. And I think that I deserve a confidant that is rather similar in those qualities. I really don't give a shit if people like video games or dressing up as ninjas, seriously I don't give a flying fuck. What I do give a fuck about is honesty and trustworthi-bullshit-ness. Other than that, you can do whatever the fuck you like. But those 2 things (well, and others that are just common, moral principles) are absolutely vital. Dumbmotherfucker.
There isn't much to say- a lot has gone on, but I don't think that any of it is noteworthy. Papa's balance is going to shit and he is not able to get up on his own. It should be said that my mama is about 85-90 pounds and very short whereas my papa is 6 ft and over 200 pounds. You do the math- a lot of help is needed.
They have acquired the help of a care giver named Robert. Robert is Filipino and only 23 years old. From the way he smokes his cigarettes, I can tell that he has/does drugs- the slow exhalation out of his nose, the enjoyment of the smoke and hours (most likely) zoned out, playing around with it, different configurations and patterns. I could be wrong though. I am rather full of shit. Robert seems very nice and very intimidated, which I can't blame him at all. He always wears a hat- the first time I saw him it was a beanie, last time it was a baseball cap. So he has a 4 year old son in the Philippines. Interesting, would not have coined him as the father type. Very proud of his kid though. What the fuck does it matter?
I am going to go waste brain cells doing something other than this. Goodbye.

Hospital 1: Broken Shoulder

I can't write anything too long because I am in the "guest room" which will be occupied later this evening by my step sister after she finishes watching a movie downstairs.
So a few quick notes.
Yesterday, "he" and I went to lunch and it was interesting. Talk about polar opposites. There are very few things about us that are similar. Which is good because I have had enough of me.
Today, though, not so good. Its has been raining like fuck all day. But that isn't why this day is bad.
My papa is in the hospital. He fell this morning at about 5:30 am, in the bathroom. Subsequently he broke his shoulder and cut up his face pretty bad. 4 paramedics went to my grandparent's apartment and took him away on a gurney. My mumsy got the call quite a while before I did and took her place at the ER by his side. My mama was being dramatic at the ER, I am told, and was taken back to the apartment until they could get papa in a room.
Of course when I became informed of the situation, my duty was to go to the apartment and take care of mama until... whatever, there was more news.
Which I did. Promptly. Without a jacket. I went straight to my truck and only ran back in the house for some nicotene gum before I left. (priorities)
I helped get the apartment back together and waited for mum to come get us to go to the hospital. Bla bla bla.
I will shut this down quickly by just a few memos:
1) There was blood on the bathmat, on a wash rag (which had to be thrown away), and on his shirt (which was removed by the paramedics and placed in a white and red mound atop the washing machine)
2) The hospital room smelt bad- the smell of to smokers who hadn't a chance to shower that day- and a smell which still seems present on me every now and then.
3) There were bandages on his face, from the fall- obviously gashed pretty badly as noted in point 1
4) Shoulders cannot be operated on and therefore his shoulder was immobilized instead
5) He will stay in the hospital overnight- precautionary measure I guess.
6) My wonderful mother will be staying with him. We fear that he may wake up in the middle of the night and try to leave- dementia.
7) This is a sad sign of things to come, of that I am sure
8) It is his right shoulder- he eats with his right hand.
9) It is immobile- he must use both hands to get out of bed, out of a chair, etc.
10) point 9 refers to the fact that we are all totally fucked and that this has widespread side effects
11) I can still smell that.
---
In other, less frightening news, I had 2 fillings yesterday. I was in a dentist's chair for 3 hours. Which isn't really a problem because the dentist is extremely good and funny. However, the material that the use to fill teeth with tastes like liquid burnt plastic, a fact that I pointed out to the dentist. He thought it was quite funny. 3 numbing injections means that one half of my face was completely drooping- really funny. Those injections also mean that if I open my mouth really wide and put my lower jaw to the right, my gums hurt real bad. Not that I do that very often or anything.
Fuck. Damn it. Fuck Fuck. Damn it Damn it.
I will go relieve my mum in the morning and switch shifts. Wonderful woman and daughter she is.
I guess that is all. I really have nothing funny or anything of quality to write at the moment. I will go kill some brain cells creating worthless art and wasting paper.
More tomorrow. God take care of us.

Surprise Gift for the Supreme Bitch

This is the sound of me smiling... can't hear anything can you?
After venting, my stomach finally took a vacation and I felt MUCHO better.
(aside the impending fact that I made myself look like a monsterous ass)
So the day goes. My work received much praise, of which I am pleased.
So after dicking around with my closet for a while, I retired to the hot tub.
- this is where it gets good -
Right, so I retired to the hot tub with my semi-disgusting hot chocolate and cigarettes and little plastic mold thing that I try to make funny shapes out of in there.
I have serious fears about being watched when I am... doing anything. So hearing a car stop and seeing someone get out and look over the fence- pretty damn scary. But I knew the hair right away. And he just peeked over and ran off, back into whatever car and drove off. Even though I should be all "yo, why somebodies trackin' on my turf" but I wasn't.
Instead I closed up the hot tub and went inside, (smiling I should mention). What was I saying to myself walking up the stairs and changing into dry clothes?
Phrases include:
"Upping the Dur factor to the max"
"But impressive. Definitely noted."
Changed clothes. Went for a drive. Don't like the way that Layla is running... its making me nervous. Really got to get a better air filter...
Anyway, went for drive, uneventful.
Okay, let's cut the shit before I get too tired to finish this post.
He left me flowers. 3. One rose and two other flowers. Just dropped them off and left and didn't tell me until later.
I am totally impressed and totally smiling. Especially after my display last night.
Wow. What a sucker I am. Every time before this, notes and whatnot didn't strike me with any importance. He has never been able to get the kind of reaction he wanted, at least not sincere.
But this time... I came into this honest.
I called, half-asleep and bitched. Flat out bitched. And he talks to me for 2 hours and leaves me flowers the next night after work. A-freakin-mazing.
Absolutely. 2 thumbs up. Bravo.
This is the guy that I talked in Chicago. This is the guy that I have known all along. And I am pleased beyond my own understanding.
Anyway, I know tomorrow I will have mellowed out and I might forget the way this made me feel so I wanted to get it down. Just so I can keep the appreciation. Because I need to.
N couldn't believe it- she came outside with me to hunt for the "something" that was left for me. I will mellow, yes yes. But for now, there needs to be some award
"Best Performance in Response to insurmountable Display of Assholiness"
indeed. in-fuckin-deed.

Moment of Weakness

I have nothing to say for myself. There is no excuse- I could blame it on being half-dead and wanting my stomach to leave me the fuck alone so I could sleep. But I really can't do that. It was a moment of weakness and will cause considerable embarrassment. That is all I have to say.
I could not have expected the force at which this came to hurt me, especially considering past experiences. I never had any attachment really. But the minute that I vented the feeling in my stomach subsided. If that is what I needed to do to be okay again, then it is done.
There was no way of knowing and I would like to go home for a while- a couple of days would be fine. Its not so much about running away as it is about laying my head, purpose, a sense of love and testing my capability to love. This happens sometimes but I could have never imagined... the tailspin this shot me into and I would never expect to lose my faith in his kindness. Flaky, yes, different, yes, but rude or truly not trustworthy, no- I would have never seen that coming.
He was the first person I called when my dad told me he had cancer. Even then, even after crying, the departure from my life again did not strike me as upsetting. My independence stifled that. The fact that allowed me to call on him, again and again, in times that I needed someone... someone, is that he would be kind to me. I made no lies about myself this time- I didn't need to because so few questions were asked about who I am. I feel like a royal ass, calling... its a regression that is inexcusable and must be viewed as so. There came a point at which I could have said 'never speak to me again', but if nothing else, I hope to have moved past from that girl. If nothing else, I would hope that I stop pushing.
Today, work- and trying to make sense of my blowout. I don't want to be the girl that needs to know. I want to have the ability to walk away. For a year, I was able to. I left everyone from my past- all my friends, all my drugs- and am able now to say that I have no feeling towards these people. Artwork that was made for me is in storage. Clothing left by ex-boyfriends is all packed away in a box. I started going to a different grocery store, all the way across town. I deleted their names and numbers from my phone. All the pictures got filed away. If AA can say anything about me, it is that I was able to cut them all off and stay out of any relationships- and stay sober. The zig-zag joint roller, pill wrappers, empty bottles stuck wrapped in an extra comforter all thrown away. Even my corona bottle salt and pepper shakers were wrapped and packed.
I left the old blog, left no trail of crumbs behind me. No forwarding address.
My rebirth was stunted by the prospect of the I.E. move falling through- and it did.
The point is that I went to great, pain-staking lengths to remove my old identity from me.
And now I want to go home. I don't want to clean the house and I don't even particularly want to shower... I do want to brush my teeth but I am waiting to finish my coffee.
So I think that I can be different this time, because I know that if it hurts to be rejected or neglected by someone you never had true attachment to, it would be extremely bad to do that to people you know are your family now. I don't want to fight with anyone anymore. There just needs to be some part of me that I am totally sure of, something that is not erasable like piercings and paint. And that is my sobriety. That is what I am most selfish about and as long as I have it, I will not die in pain. As long as I am sober, there is hope.

Sizable Piece of Crap

Now that I have somewhat accepting the feeling of being a sizable piece of crap, I am ready to rant once more.
What the fuck is there to say? For a while today I was able to calm my stomach down, joking around. But now that stabbing feeling has returned.
I keep checking my phone, why do I keep checking my phone. Quarantine me, please, I need to get this disease off quickly before it permanently penetrates my skin.
I thought once of Arkansas, in the midst of driving down Bonita Canyon. The thought was accompanied by another sharp, hot poker gliding through my stomach which I abruptly named "homesickness". There is no cause for this.
When I woke up early this morning with pain, however mild, I came close to crying.
In fact I did cry late this afternoon to N. I have lost my fucking mind.
Time to go back to therapy. I would pay someone $90 for 50 minutes just to see a familiar face- to have somebody listen, someone outside of this house. Anything to feel like I have some sort of life force left in me. That's not right, that's not what I want to say.
I am getting closer and closer to pure frustration by the second. Just the brutality that I am currently showing the keyboard... I hate this. I purely fucking hate it. And I don't have any idea what the fuck is the matter with me. Still, I am resisting the urge to put things in cap-lock and bang random letters in rapid succession. I haven't lost it completely yet. Its getting there though.
I can just imagine what other people see when they look at me.
I smoked less. I was willing to meet half way.
There is now a brand new, crater sized hole in my ability to trust again. Just when I was starting to think I had filled them all up. That is the crappiest part and probably what has me so hung up. This was going to be the first time I tried to be a part of society again in a year. It was supposed to be a sure bet, someone that I could depend on, even just slightly. Life isn't like that.
So I do want to go home. I just want to go away. I want to have a reason for being who I am, an agenda- not just dead hours. I cannot do anymore dead hours here for a while. I will be nice as I can because I know how it feels when people treat you bad. I am bitter. I am not so sick of "what" happens as I am to "how" I react to it. That is what truly makes me feel like a total dumbass piece of shit. I cannot control myself. I do not understand myself and I am not able to read my own reactions like I could read someone else's. That is- when I get angry, I don't understand what is "really" going on. I can't self-diagnose myself because I don't want to see what's really there. I am willing to pay someone else to tell me, just as to leave the journey unexplored for future breakdowns.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
That is really what I have to take out of this: add to my list of "things not to do to other people so they can live without any craters and without feeling like a sizable piece of shit"
my step sister, is coming in from out of state this Friday. I have yet to begin to process that. But it will be good. It will get my mind off of everything, anything. For some reason I still think that something is going to happen in that time to shock me back into reality. Then I will be fine.
It isn't going to happen. I need to understand WHY I feel like this. I truly, deeply, madly need to understand.

Pimp Daddy Assessor

Its interesting to see how people change depending on their company.
I notice that a lot with guys and it is actually pretty disgusting at times. There is no possible way that I can describe what assholes people can turn into…
Its just like when people drink. Same thing, different cause
I am the same way; this I know for sure. I change completely depending on who I am with. Largely you can notice it in physical traits- whether a person is solemn or smiling and stuff like that. When I am around certain people, I smoke as I please, even smoke a lot. Around other people, I don’t smoke at all. That is life and it is human nature to want acceptance from the people around you. Everyone wants to go into a situation not looking like a complete ass. The best way, or at least the most effective way, is to modify one’s behavior to fit the new dynamic. Hopefully, the old one wasn’t that important because it is common to fuck up relationships by faking to please others. Does that make any sense?
You can have someone totally kind, caring, whatever the fuck else, but the second you get them with an asshole that they (not look up to…) admire, WHAM they are a fuckhead and a half. Really, it is pretty disgusting and I can’t imagine what others think of me when I do that.
Anger, smartass-ness, retardation, general rise in level of yuckiness
This is very noticeable in alcoholics when they drink. In a matter of minutes they are totally different and a lot of the time real shitfucks.
Thus you have seen a rise in the average level of yuckiness. It wouldn’t be uncommon for them to get angry or short with you, definitely more upfront and usually you can see their self-Sauvé meter increase as well. Superbly disgusting
So I have an interest in studying the socialization process of self-diagnosed “pimp daddies” because… just because, damn it. That will be my profession “pimp daddy assessor”. I can devote half of my time to research and half of the time to beating the dumb fuck out of these people. AND I will get paid for it. Success

Attitude: Choosing an Early Death

I can pretty much guarantee that this will not be the only time I post today.
Been up since 5:20am or something like that and I know that this is going to be a long day.
I went to the grocery store, pretty much zoned the entire way there, dicking around with cds or whatever like the ignorant fuckhead I am. When I got there, though, I couldn't go in. I didn't want to go in. So I just sat in my truck for a few minutes, contemplating, letting the song that was playing finish out. Then, I drove off and came back home.
Here I sit.
After lunch I will go down and visit my grandparents. N assures me that I don't need to go there if it makes me upset. It doesn't really. The least that I can do is try to improve the last years of their lives. They ask so little of me and it takes so little to make them happy(happier?). Of course there are the errands, but they don't bother me too much. Really, if you just listen, let her talk, that will make her happy. Him, all you have to do is joke. It doesn't matter if the joke makes any sense or if it really isn't funny at all. Just joke. That is what brings him back to life. Humor, laughing, has the capability of taking years off you. Maintaining a sense of humor, that is what will keep you alive. When I say that, I don't mean "heart beat, breathing" alive, I mean truly, inside alive. At least that is how my family has viewed it.
That is how he has viewed it. Only God knows how gracious this man really is. I have yet to see either of them in a hospital since I was a little girl. He had a stroke and went into brain surgery when I was about 7 or 8. That was the last time. I know that it will happen again.
Young-old- at 71 & 72, they fall into the category of "young-old" which is amazing to me. No one would ever be able to tell that they are "young-old". Medical problems, medicines, allergies piled up on them quickly.
I have noticed that my papa does not smoke as often as I think he once did. This could be attributed to wanting to have some say in his health, or it could be that he can't remember when he last had a cigarette. He hides his lack of memory so well that we may never know, he may never know.
I know this sounds morose. I don't mean it to be. It is life, an ominous warning to the future that awaits all of us. But we do have control. Hair will gray, skin will wrinkle, cells will die, muscles will shrink- that, my friends, is inevitable. Medical conditions will compound, the body will function more and more slowly- as is the way that God intended old age to be we might say. The only reins to which we can hold onto through all of that is attitude. Yes, sense of humor is vital to survival and easing the adjustments, but humor is part of a greater force- one's attitude which will substitute for every cell that dies, every pigment lost, every medical bill. Cliqued? Yes, it is. It is a shame that I cannot provide a better word than "attitude" because I think that idea revolts even me to some extent. You cannot give up, absolutely not. It is at the very moment you quit fighting that you lose your sense of humor- your true sense of humor. And it is at that moment that a light within in you dims and finally burns out. Whether or not you finally reach death in 2 months, 2 years, 10 years, you have already, at that very moment, died.
There are ways to resuscitate "yourself" as there are when you are younger. Do not feel that this is written solely for those furthest along in the aging process because it is not.
Unhappiness is a very real choice. Cliqued as well is the idea that you can't change what happens to you but you can change the way you react to it. But it would not be so infamous if there was not a grain of truth in it.

Midnight Driver.

I wanna drive.
If there was no one else, just me, I would drive.
I would drive all the way to Needles and crank up the music until I got there.
By then I would need gas so I would so I would stop at the gas station we stopped at before. About then the gas pump would find that my credit card is maxed out and I would be stranded there. But then again, by that point I wouldn't care. There is that sense of not really caring when you know that you aren't actually heading anywhere and there is no reason why you would turn back.
Of course I could go in to the clerk and hand him two twenty dollar bills and fill up my tank, but I will wait a while before I do that. Go get a cappucino and sit at one of those booths for a while, looking out at the lit pumps and parking lot, probably a few rigs parked for the night, and on further out into the nothingness.
Serenity. Nothingness, far away from everything. Me, the clerk, possibly a few midnight stoners with the munchies coming in and out buying funions and whatnot. No one is getting gas, though. Just me. And my big black truck in the parking lot.
Yes, there is a little over $150 in my wallet and therefore I did not need to get the smallest coffee cup but I am looking for a bit of simplicity.
And the booth... how many mothers with children had sat there while daddy paid for gas. Some probably bought ice cream from Dairy Queen and sat in that yellow booth.
But then they got on the road again. Because they had somewhere they needed to get to. And god only knows how long ago it was since the last family sat in this booth.
Mainly truckers, on their way in from out of state, just passing the border and stopping for gas at the last place in California you can buy diesel for that dirt cheap.
That passes through my mind. But it doesn't stay long. More prominent is that darkness past the parking lot. Its almost hard to believe its California.
Then again, its not too far to the border, Arizona being the beautiful state it is. But I know that I am not going to Arizona. If I were going to Arizona, I would have paid the clerk those two twenties and tried to make it before sunrise. But that isn't where I am going.
I won't stay here all night either. No, just finish my cappachino. Then I will give the clerk a $10.50, see how far back that takes me. There is always room for another cappachino.
Now, though, I just look. A couple stray thoughts over the identities of some of those truckers. Wonder if they have families, like children, a wife. Wonder if its a good profession. Rewarding, I bet.
But this is just a dream. This is just a dream. And seeing it again, I have a sense that I know that place very well.
I imagine that on the way back I will leave the windows down for a while. Undoubtedly the wind isn't as cold as I had first thought.
Can't hear the music that I would be playing. Perhaps it is some that I have yet to come across. When I hear it, I hope that I know where that song is going to take me.
That girl isn't the kind to sing outloud. She is kind of a mystery. But she puts too much sugar in her coffee to be a sailor. And she cusses too much to be a saint.
You wouldn't know how much she cusses when you first see her, walking on that linoleum floor, taking a coffee cup, small, and filling it, glancing out the window across the parking lot. She came in alone, didn't she? Her truck is behind her so there is no telling what she is looking at. But its quiet, she's quiet. Calmly but quickly looking sideways to locate the coffee lids, stirrers, creamers, and all. Doctoring on up that coffee it becomes apparent that she has done this before. Stirring quickly, but slowly gliding away from the coffee machine and into one of the booths.
Paying for the coffee on the way out, saying something nice to the clerk with a little smile. Fiddling with her change and purse and keys so she uses her back to open the door. On into the truck, a moment of settling in.
Keys. Ignition. Quick glance up for... what was she looking for? But looked back down too quickly for the clerk to make eye contact. Shifting into reverse and on back and out. Onto the road she came on. Going back to wherever she came from. Off and away, windows rolled down. Looks like the interstate is deserted tonight. She'll be the only one on there until morning.
But ten fifty for gas, well that can't get her far. That should put her right nose to nose with San Bernadino county, if that truck gets good gas mileage.
The thought slips one's mind. Like it was meant to.
No cell phone rang. Don't know if she had one. Just a couple bucks in cash, a big old bag one could call a purse, keys, and that truck. Blue Jeans. Couldn't tell you much about her, only what I saw and what I saw wasn't much.
But the clerk looked back across the parking lot past the pumps, wondering if what she saw was still there, that might be something.
Just dark, a couple rigs parked for the night, like it always is.
Shrug. Funions and Dr. Pepper again. Stoners.
Who knows.
Back down the 40 towards... not a Barstow girl, I wouldn't say. Maybe takin the 15 on into Los Angeles.
Shrug. She would be lucky to get to Barstow, ten fifty. Going to the city of Angels, could be.

3 Days and Counting: PMS excuse valid again

What the fuck is this funk I am in? Seriously. I don't know how much longer I can take this. I really don't.
What else is there to say? That's it. And I am really fucking pissed about it. I am really fucking pissed at myself, at least I think that is who I am pissed at.
I don't want to do this anymore and I am about the boil over with frustration. My life is good enough for me god damn it. Why then?
No, that's true, I have no where to go.
No, I don't have any "friend" that I can lean on
No, I am too moody for anyone to stick around
And No, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me. Seriously.
Somebody just fucking shoot me. It has been a long time since I have felt this... this. In fact I don't know if my stomach has ever fucked with me like this before. And there is absolutely NO FUCKING REASON FOR IT. Not a god damn reason. I can't even make any up.
This pisses me off. I don't know why I can't be myself. I don't know what the fuck is the matter with me. Whatever it is, it isn't good. I am sick of my stupid bitchy little self and being here. But what makes me the most disgusted is that I have absolutely no other option. Not a fucking one. THAT is what the worst thing is.
There is no reason. There is no where to go. There is no one to cry to.
And I, by myself, made it this way.
Worthlessness. IT MAKES NO SENSE.
This is going to land me back in therapy, damn it. Because I sure as hell don't understand.
Why now? This has to be PMS. There is no other possible way that I could have done a 180 this quickly on my own. There has to be some chemical deficiency somewhere fucking with my head.
I NEED AN INJECTION DAMN IT, NOW. SOMEONE WRITE ME A PRESCRIPTION.
Regression, Aggression, Repression, bla bla bla. I don't care, I need a diagnosis.
The thing is that in the midst of writing this, I can feel the clarity. I can feel that there is a calm in me below all this. I can feel normal and content and I know that I am still in there, I am not as desperate as my stomach wants me to believe.
THIS IS MY LIFE. I set it up this way. I did it myself and I did well. I am doing well. There is no way in hell that I would possibly promote such a pathetic stupidity within myself. No chance.
NICOTINE, NOW. NOOOOOWWWWW.
The true scraping nails against the chalkboard... I am not there yet. If there is anything different about me from right now and from back then it is that I am not scraping myself nails against the chalkboard or pulling my hair out. There is a girl, underneath this all, that is not even concerned. She is not enthused. I like her.
My mind doesn't slip and slide like this. This is PMS and that is a really good way to look at this.
I wouldn't want to put anyone else through my PMS. So there. Done. Nail it.
3 days because this is just fucking retarded. And in reality, if it is PMS, I have about 3 days left anyway.
Fuck off desperate girl.

Self-Help: PMS excuse void

I am taking all available offers to beat me with a stick. I have no clue what is wrong with me. If you had told me that I would be this strange a week ago, I would have thought you were totally full of shit.
I could say "oh this just came at the wrong time; any other time I would have dealt with it soooo much better". Yea. Okay.
Normally I don't feel the need to be a major part of society. In fact, most of the time I don't want to have any part in society. But I am willing to bet that came with time and digestion. And I really, really do not like what my stomach is doing to me. I don't want to be this girl. I really, really desperately don't. And I have to take some real steps to changing this.
What the fuck is the matter with me? I am the girl that got put on probation for battery at the age of 14. I am the girl that cusses in front of her grand parents. And apparently I have an almost-enirely-submerged squishy side that is really fucking with me AGAIN.
This is a major part of why I don't like people. Not because of "them", as the saying goes, but because of "me". I am a real oddity.
So adding to that list...
I need someone who:
- totally supports my quitting smoking but doesn't feel the need to make me feel guilty in the meantime.
okay, I know, no one is MAKING me feel guilty. What-the-fuck-ever
And I realize that I have a wicked sense of humor and I really am a cool (misunderstood) girl. So why then the sudden rage of dissatisfaction?
I need this to end.
---
Its like the situation with G., which I will continually reference as my victory story until I feel better. And that persisted for a while, yes, but when it came down to the decision that would put me with him or at home by myself, I chose to be myself
(NOTE: that did have a lot of quirks. But I could have chosen to go to that party damn it. And I didn't. And when shit started going wrong with my truck, I could have reverted back BUT I DIDNT FUCKERS.)
----
I just need some sense of "AH YES, WOMAN HAVE PLACE ON PLANET" kind of thing.
I don't like it. I don't like it. I don't like it.
I DONT WANT TO WANT ANYTHING... along these lines.
Managed to leave myself with no form of communication with the outside world in any fashion that would not echo desperation. I didn't keep an online account so no "chatting" with "buddies"
Who would I call? Kristin? I doubt she could possibly have any patience for me left after the array of shit I have put her through.
I SUCK ASS. BIG TIME.
That is sort of how my life has gone and this time around was going to be totally different. I was going to "smile and shit sunshine"(in my own words), or at least attempt to not make myself look like an ass in retrospect.
---
Calming down... will frame artwork. burn cd. shoot myself in the head.
PMS? Could this be PMS? I would love Love LOVE to have that as an excuse. It would warm my fickle heart.
right... go downstairs and watch TV until I get tired enough to fall into bed without looking at my cell phone.
What the fuck is this all about, Kelly? Seriously. What the fuck is going on with you?
You know. YOU KNOW what it feels like. Drink your orange juice, woman.
You didn't start this 14 months ago only to go weak because of... social "issues"
There is no disease to hide behind.
There is no excuse to shadow me.
There is no reason I should make myself feel so insignificant.
There is just no way this can continue.

In 4 days I will laugh at myself. And in 4 days, the lady who reads this needs to remember:
SUBMERGE THE SQUISHY FUCKHEAD IN YOURSELF.
lol. ok, I am better.

DUMB FUCK

GOD DAMN IT DUMB FUCK STUPID FUCKHEAD IGNORAMUS ASSHOLE.
so, after I finished writing that post, within... 2 minutes (I would venture to say 1 minute) I picked up the phone. BEING THE DUMBFUCK THAT I AM.
but it makes me happy. and I like super nintendo. and its not like i have anything else to do...
but it makes me feel like shit and I don't like who I become. and its not like i don't have other things to do

The idea

One final thing. It is important for you (meaning me) to realize that this is not the person. It is the idea. It is 100% the idea. That is obvious. And knowing and accepting this might make it slightly easier.
It is the idea, the life, the world that is appealing. That is what is worth holding on to. It is not the person and that fact makes the entire situation more sick.
Bad Kelly, bad. No biscuit.
A vampire is a good analogy; get ahold of someone and suck the life out of them...
No, nevermind, not a good analogy.
But the concept that perhaps if I engage in activity with this person I can insert a little of that world into me. Its sick, though, because I don't think that there is any real connection to the actual person. It is very likely that this is strictly a game.
And that is very, very not cool on my part.
So I need to get ahold of myself. When I think of it like that, it isn't as difficult.
My stomach calms down and there isn't... anything.
Domino effect. DAMN IT. KELLY.
Because I know that there is nothing there and that I have no reason to feel anything or pretend anything. That leaves... the idea that I can integrate myself back into society by this person.
ITS MY LAST HOPE DAMN IT kind of thing. And that's not true.
And even if I was able to integrate myself, I don't think these are the kind of people that I would choose to do so with. So there.
And yes, "its better than nothing," but nothing has gotten me pretty far and I think it is a sure bet. Unlike anything else.
I get all weird. Knowing that this time I got weird, like in the past, makes me even more sure that I have more "stuff" to do before I am going to be able to get out there.
At this point it is going to be about ignoring my cell phone. Hiding it, making my mind do other things.
See what a weirdo I get to be? I am like this EVERYTIME.
---
Let's try another approach:
I need to have a relationship (of any kind) with someone:
- who understands my sense of humor
- who is curious about me
- who can deal with my mood swings
Fuck that approach, that approach sucks.
---
So ignore the cell phone. And trust me, that takes some real effort. Keep myself busy, prove my independence by doing something awesome by myself (weirdo), work, just don't fold. Otherwise this is going to be a miserable, miserable experience. And besides, this is a test of my endurance. Let's see how far I can take it because its good knowledge to have for the future.
(I should mention I am already doubting myself... weirdo)
Vampires. Endurance. Whatever else.
Right on. Think M.

Let the Countdown Begin

What did I say in my last post? A week?
Right then. A week it is. I am officially counting down and when it is over, I will completely banish all of this.
Fuck it, a week is way too long. I think I can only stand to waste 4 days on this, max.
I cannot let myself get this way.
This will not last more than 4 days. End of story. That is what has to happen for me to maintain my strength. Every little defeat adds up.
4 days. That's it.
Then I am going to plunge into my work and never think of super nintendo ever again.
Done deal. Nail it.

Pop art.

Pop art is good.

My pop art, damn it.

Break Over

My vacation time is essentially over.
Damn it. I know that I need to get back to work and that I really do want to. I was just hoping that something would happen over this break.
A conclusion.
But none came. Its okay, really. It usually takes a few days before I can completely banish something from my head but it does eventually happen.
Take for instance G.- that stuck in my head for a little over a week and then I was able to let go of it all together. So I just have to wait now.
But yes, back to work. I won't lie and say that I am worried that I have forgotten what the hell I am suppose to know over this break. If I have, I am not fretting about it.
I think that it will all come back to me once I get back into the swing of things.
And it will be unspeakibly wonderful to wake up, shower, make coffee, smoke a cigarette, and work my ass off. There is instant gratification in it that has kept me from walking away. It just takes time to get really motivated.
My new personal motto: So it goes.
That's it. Take a look at my pretty art.

Stoners vs. Katie: attacking the fort

I feel like puking. All I want to do is get in that truck and drive.
Just drive.
Those are just words that I never wanted to hear again
"do you know where i can get some bud?"
Fuck this shit. Its times like this I really wish I had moved.
Its times like this I wish that person I used to be just never existed. I don't like her. I really don't. And I am not dealing with this well.
My stomach is telling me that I am nervous or something along those lines.
And regression. I am so pissed at myself for ever being like that. I am so pissed at myself for being such a dumb fuck in my past and for making retarded mistakes that can really fuck this up. I am pissed at myself about everything that I do when I am in those situations and I feel like a want to puke.
I don't want to deal with this. I resigned to the office to finish this paper and I did not expect to see C. when I answered the door. That caught me way the fuck off guard.
I can't eat lamb right now. For some reason eating lamb seems like some sick, ironic joke that I can't comprehend at the moment. And I really don't like this.
What the fuck was I thinking? I hate wondering that. I may never escape. And I may never be able to follow the great advice "rise above it"
I am way off kilter. This isn't a funny, witty, smart ass post. This is a... not desperate, I am not that far yet. Not angry, not that I can see. Not sad.... fuck it, I am angry.
I am angry in that way where I am still functional and capable. And that is the only type of angry that I can stand.
It is truly amazing how fucking disgusting I can feel in 3 minutes. The idea that there are people hiding in the bushes. I shiver at the thought of ever getting in that hot tub again.
And it is so like my past. I get way nervous when I think other people are watching me.
And you know what? I might not be all that paranoid.
So I want to drive. I want to get in my truck where no one can find me, find a good CD and just drive: where I am in control, lock my doors, and there are rules and configurations that are easy for me to follow.
I need to get gas. And I am not pleased at the idea of going to a gas station. I just feel weird. And the good feelings of spending the afternoon with my grandparents is rapidly depleting.
I don't like this at all.

Attention Whore

This is just going to be a short post (my first of this year HURRAY!)
A lot of shuffling going on tonight. It will be my first night in the blue room. As it is human nature to be resistant to change I will pretend it isn't really fucking retarded of me to be under enthusiastic for some reason that I cannot explain. I just want to sleep in my bed and know where I am and be who I am, etc.
------
I don't like this situation. I think that I could continue avoiding any situations of this nature for quite a long time.
Fuck.
I smoke cigarettes.
I cuss when I am joking.
And I think that I like to have people get to know me (as oppose to me knowing them and them not knowing me). But I cannot really be sure about that for a few reasons:
a) it might be nice to not have to explain or talk about myself. I am sure that it would be somewhat of a relief to not have to worry that every question I answer I am turning down a bad mother fucking path.
b) it is easier to sneak out of obligations and expectations if you are kind of a mystery. that one is harder to explain.
---
Anyway I have tried to piece it together it just doesn't fit. And its beyond me why in the fuck I would put myself in such a remarkably idiotic position. I don't have any real interest in getting in any sort of relationship right now.
It boils down to the fact that I am an attention whore.
I really don't want to go out to eat with someone. I have worked really hard to make sure I maintained this way of life because it suits me.
I don't want to feel guilty about the fact that I smoke. I don't want to whine to other people. I don't want to be touched. I want to do my work and get my rewards in ways that allow me to remain sane.
This works. In fact it works very well. And I feel guilty for being stupid enough to carry on like that for even 5 minutes. And guilty because I don't want to be an asshole (imagine that).
I would like to understand this part of me so I can beat the shit out of it with a stick.
Its just uncomfortable... no that isn't the right word. Compromising. That is the word.
I want to disappear and study my sociology and live like that.
It isn't so much this particular instance that is alarming to me as much as the idea that I might fall out of this routine that has been so good to me.
And for what? Attention. That's it. Because there is no other true connection that I can find. And there is no other reason that I would possibly compromise my stability.
You must be wondering; how is it possible that this one instance could be such a big deal?
Because one of the things I have learned is that the easiest way to end something is to never start it. And the truth in that statement is astounding.
And it is not a valid solution in every case. But this one, it is.
If you give a mouse a cookie...
And I am pissed at myself for repeating old behaviors. Its just not right.
Its not right for me
Its not right for me to inflict my idiocracy upon another
Its not right that I should feel guilty for being who I am
Its not right that I should doubt who I am over something trivial.
Its just not fucking right. At all. The pieces are so far from fitting together.
Its not possible.