I wanted to post something thought provoking and inspiring but there's nothing like that anywhere in my head today. I'll tell you that I cried and that after I cried I felt numb but being numb is something that I can work with. So that's where I'm at now.

I'm looking for my out. I'm looking for that escape that I'm craving so desperately. I'm looking for something that I can't ever seem to find but I suppose one would have to be lucky first. I've never been that girl- the lucky one- the girl that good stuff happens too. But I'm waiting, patiently.

I've always debated with myself over whether New Year's should be considered the real new year for people when they most likely weren't born on December 31st or January 1st for that matter. Jesus was- if you believe in that guy- and by all means we must revolve everything about him! Me, I was born on this day- the 26th of January- twenty-three years ago and I've always thought it to be more fitting to consider someone's day of birth to be their own personal new year. So Happy New Year to me! Another one down without any thing changing... Another year wasted. Another year of waking up in this room and falling asleep alone. Another year of feeling unispired and misunderstood by my family and peers. Another year of lonely Saturday nights and empty pockets. Another year... dead.

Tonight I go out. Tonight my hair is pink. Tonight I will be someone else and maybe, just maybe if you're there you'll get to see me smile.

I would like you to note the time... and now read this:


The Story of a Squirrel

Susan plopped down onto the couch next to Margot and let out a long sigh. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I don’t know. How about you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you ever finish reading that book that I lent you?”

“Not yet.”

“Jesus. What have you been doing with it- using it for a coaster? I lent you that, like, six months ago!”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Stuff that I do.”

Margot shook her head. “Did I ever tell you the story about the squirrel?”

“No.”

Margot stood up from the couch and sat down on the coffee table in front of Susan, leaning in she raised her hands up as she prepared the first words of her story; the story of a squirrel.

Once upon a time in a forest far, far away lived a little squirrel named Myles. He lived in a great old oak tree with his mother and father and his four older brothers and sisters: Martin, Maureen, Mortimer and Mona (but they don’t come into this story much). Day in and day out they would play together in the familiar branches and on the soft forest floors. Myles was small for his age but he tried so hard to keep up with his brothers and sisters anyhow, matching their jumps and speed as they scrambled from limb to limb. He had once seen his oldest brother, Martin, make a five foot leap from their oak to the one next to it without even flinching. Every now and then Myles would climb to that branch when no one else was around and stare at the distance between the two. Myles wished that he would be big enough and brave enough, like his brother Martin, and be able to make the jump but he never dared try. Myles was afraid.

It was a clear day when Myles was climbing on the great branches of the old oak tree, when he came to the end of that very same branch. A few feet in the distance he could see how the other branch seemed to almost reach out to him, as if it were calling to him to try to jump. Myles was still unsure and as he sat there, he felt himself growing sad and his little squirrel lips began to quiver. Little Myles started to cry. He blubbered to himself for a whole minute before taking his squirrel paw and wiping his little squirrel eyes. He would not cry again. Myles stood up at the edge of that branch and thought about when he watched Martin make the jump. He remembered how Martin had been running very fast up the trunk of the tree and out onto this branch, always sure-footed. It was all so simple. He just had to be going fast enough. Myles was going to try.

Though Myles was a brave squirrel, he was also a careful squirrel. He went to other branches and looked at the distance from different angles. He did a few practice jumps from the shorter branches. Eventually he felt that he was ready. Myles scurried to the trunk of the tree and took a deep breath. In his little squirrel brain he counted to three and then took off running as fast as he could. For a split second he wanted to stop because he realized that he had wanted Martin, Maureen, Mortimer and Mona to see him and all his glory but he kept running. It was now or never. When he got to the end, he leapt out into the air with all his might, reaching for the opposite branch. His little squirrel paws gripped at the bark and his little nails ripped little lines in the wood but Myles hadn't jumped quite far enough. Myles felt himself falling, and down he went all the way to the ground. Myles landed on a rock and his little squirrel body flattened against the stone surface never to attempt any more leaps between the limbs of the oak trees ever again.

Margot sat motionless as the last words set into Susan’s ears with a queer smile on his face. Susan even noticed that he had been holding his breath.

“What?!?” Susan cried. “You killed him!”

“I know.” She shrugged.

“But why?”

Margot just shrugged again and stood up. She walked toward the hallway.

“Wait a minute,” Susan cried after her. “Why the hell did you tell me that story anyway?”

Margot stopped in the doorway and turned around. She smiled a big happy smile, shrugged one more time and disappeared down the hall leaving Susan alone on the couch with her thoughts.

the thing of it is... i've basically convinced myself that this semester has been a total waste so i think that's why it's so hard for me to justify putting any amount of effort into any of it anymore. it's over. it's done. i fucked everything up, yet again. i think the only thing that i can do now is cry myself to sleep.

game. set. match. i fail.

Finals. I don't give a fuck about finals. Finals are a joke to me.

I questioned, for the first time, whether I meant it when I said it to you.

The phrase 'locked in a vacancy' has very strong meaning to me right now. I keep dreaming about things getting better but my dreams are only becoming more and more lackluster. The question is when is something worth fighting for. The answer: when you've hit bottom. That time is now.

***********************************************************
Your Existing Situation

Working to improve her image in the eyes of others in order to obtain their compliance and agreement with her needs and wishes.

Your Stress Sources

Unfulfilled hopes have led to uncertainty and apprehension. Needs to feel secure and to avoid any further disappointment, and fears being passed over or losing standings and prestige. Doubts that things will be any better in the future and this negative attitude leads her to make exaggerated demands and to refuse to make reasonable compromises.

Your Restrained Characteristics

Willing to participate and to allow herself to become involved, but tries to fend off conflict and disturbance in order to reduce tension. Circumstances force her to compromise and to forgo some pleasures for the time being. Capable of achieving physical satisfaction through sexual activity.

Your Desired Objective

Strives for a life rich in activity and experience, and for a close bond offering sexual and emotional fulfillment.

Your Actual Problem

Disappointment and the fear that there is no point in formulating fresh goals have led to stress and anxiety. She wants congenial contact with others and scope for development, but feels that her relationships are empty and her progress impeded. She reacts with an intense and zealous activity designed to achieve her aims at all costs.

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I'm not sure how much more I can take. This isn't normal is it? It kind of feels like I want to cry but I'm too numb to let myself actually do it. Numb. That's a good word. I feel numb. Numb is close to dead but I'm not quite there yet. Maybe If I wake up tomorrow to more doors slamming and yelling I'll move past numb to dead. Maybe tomorrow I'll actually be dead.

More drugs. More drugs. More drugs. My only friend in the world lives in a small wooden box.

I would scream if I could, just to make you hear me. But I can't. I can't bring my voice above a whisper and that's just not good enough. Even when I actually get lucky, I feel anything but. I need to get out of this town. Start over somewhere. Maybe if I leave quietly, the turmoil in my mind and heart will disappear with me and I'll feel better about life and not have to hide in bed for 5 hours refusing to eat or speak to anyone.

All my problems in life are my fault completely. I know this. It all follows my continuing cycle theory. Take this for example: Right now I know that I'm starving but I can't bring myself to eat anything- to be specific the thought of actually consuming food makes me want to vomit- but I know that if I ate something that I'd feel better but as it is I can't stomach the thought in this haze of depression. So I'll go on starving myself until one of two things happen. I'll either cave and eat whether I feel up to it or not or I'll magically revert back to a normal state of mental health. And you all wonder how I maintain this wonderfully girlish figure of stick and bone! Ha. Well I guess the secret is out.

I can't seem to get away from the noise. It's constant, incessant and it makes me see red. I had severe urges to punch my brother in the face and keep punching him until my knuckles were red with blood and broken and he was dead. It doesn't ever stop. I can't get away from it and I feel torn and twisted inside with loathing because of it. Then there's the yelling. Always yelling. No one can pick anywhere else in the house to yell at one another besides right outside my door. And it's not an occasional show. It's every day. Have I told you about the dysfunction?

... I think I'm going to be sick...

Here's a playlist for you assholes. I didn't put much thought into the order if you plan to take it seriously. This is what I've been listening to- for the most part- lately. You may well notice that it's very Alk3 heavy which isn't really a surprise for some of you but I'll have you know it's been a while since I've been listening to them as much as now. I figure that music can sum up what I'm thinking better than me trying to. I started a novel tonight. Maybe someday I'll find it on a shelf.

How To Fight the loneliness - Wilco
A Rush of Blood to the Head - Coldplay
97 - Alkaline Trio
This Place is a Prison - The Postal Service
Better Man - Pearl Jam
23 - Jimmy Eat World
Talk Show Host - Radiohead
Goodbye Forever - Alkaline Trio
Those Who Stated - Murder By Death
Good Fucking Bye - Matt Skiba
The View - Modest Mouse
I'm Not OK (I promise) - My Chemical Romance
As You Were - Alkaline Trio
Grunge Pig - The Get Up Kids
Look What You've Done - Jet
Ode to Manheim Steamroller - Reggie & the Full Effect
At Your Funeral - Saves the Day
Bankrupt on Selling - Modest Mouse
Straight to Hell - The Clash
Take Lots with Alcohol - Alkaline Trio
Anne Arbour - The Get Up Kids
subterranean Homesick Alien - Radiohead
Polaris - Jimmy Eat World
Needle In the Hay - Elliot Smith
Nerve Gas - Kill Hannah
Alert the Audience - The Lawrence Arms
Stay Gone - the Get Up Kids
The Revisionist - The Lawrence Arms
Bloodied Up (from which this blog was born) - Alkaline Trio
So Says I - The Shins
All on Black - Alkaline Trio
It's Not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish - My Chemical Romance
Radio - Alkaline Trio

Dysfunction.

dys·func·tion:
n. Abnormal or impaired functioning, especially of a bodily system or social group.

That word has plagued every major relationship that I've ever had. I hate that word. I'm sick of thinking it, hear it, and living it. It drives me mad!

What makes me even more mad is when people who know better start to question my motives or my word. I'm not a liar. I don't have a fucking thing to hide from anyone- especially people whom I call friend.

I should want to vent. I don't though. I'll say this and hope it all goes away when I'm done:

Today was shitty. I got yelled at by my teacher in front of my whole class so I walked out and have been stewing in anger and sadness for some time now. I don't really want to talk about it anymore than that.

My head hurts really badly today. Especially bad right now. Welcome back tension headache! I've missed you so! I look forward to having a constant headache for the next two weeks, as standard.

shoot me.

It feels like I have a lump in my stomach that keeps getting rolled over tearing at my insides. Though it's probably the pizza that I ate not too long ago- I'm leaning toward nervous tension about school in the mourning. Everything that revolves around school for me this semester has been a torturing nightmare and I want it to be over- completely over- but that won't happen for a long time. I'm scared. I tell everyone that I don't care- trying to convince myself that it's what I actually believe but it isn't. If I didn't care I wouldn't feel this way right now. I do care. I care a whole fuck ton. I'm not lying when I say that I wish it was over though. I've never been a student, conventionally. I love learning. I love experimenting and experiencing but as far as being a "student" goes it's never been my thing. I've always struggled. I have motivation issues. Really I just don't see the point. I can't seem to justify in my head actually working at things that I'm expected to work on. I have no idea what that says about me except that I'm a lazy bastard- which I admit.

right now I feel like hiding. I feel like pulling my covers over my head like I used to when I was a little girl afraid of her own shadow. If I could I would hide there forever and never come out. I was looking through some old journals of mine last night when I had trouble sleeping. I came across a work in progress that never made progress beyond what I had scribbled that day last year. I have no idea why I didn't develop it...

****
I'd rather not be here. He has no idea. I wonder if he even notices.

"It totally sucked." He said stirring sugar into a cup of coffee. "I missed the train and then next one smelled like someone had died on it..."

I'd rather no be here. He has no idea.

"...And then this guy got on and stood next to me and he smelled even worse. It was ridiculous. The guy fell asleep within two stops, still standing up, and he started snoring."
The waitress appeared, "More coffee?"

I should just get up and leave. Get up and walk out. Make an excuse, any excuse and go.

"So anyway, I get off and am walking down the street and I see this thing on the sidewalk and it looked like a necklace so I picked it up." He took a red beaded chain out of his jacket pocket and lay it on the table in front of me. "Check it out." It had a red cross charm on it.
"What are you going to do with it?" I spoke for the first time. He shrugged.
"I don't know."
"You aren't even religious."
"I know." He pushes the rosary to another space on the table and pours more sugar into his coffee cup. I take the little bowl of plastic creamers and begin stacking them in an semi-intricate tower. The waitress sets a plate in front of each of us but instead of food I see a face on mine. The face is frowning at me and I look away and over to another table with a man and woman sitting across from one another. She is telling him a story. I watch her gesturing with her hands and I watch him pick up a glass of milk and take a sip.

I'd just really rather not be here. I should just tell him that I don't feel well and get up and walk out.

"Wow! Did you see that?"
"What?"
"Milk just shot out of that guy's nose! You didn't see that?"
"No."
"But I saw you watching them."
"What?" I shook my head to look at him. "I didn't hear you."
"Never mind."

I should go. I stare at the rosary on the table.

"Aren't you hungry? You haven't touched anything on your plate."
"I guess not."
"Are you ok? Is something wrong?"
I stare at him but I can feel something burning in my eyes so I look down at the face on my plate again and this time it's smiling but the smile is sneer. I can feel eyes on me from multiple directions. He's looking at me but there's someone else. I can feel it without looking up. Someone is coming.

"Oh, wow! What are you doing here?" a female voice broke my silence.

I should really leave right now.

I look up to see Sarah. I see her smiling at me and she looks to the man sitting across from me at the table.

"This is Josh. Josh, this is Sarah. She's... I work with her." I watch Sarah smile and I can see that her lips are moving but I can't hear her words. All the sounds around me are fading away and all of a sudden I can feel myself beginning to grow smaller and smaller. My body is shrinking.

****
And then there was this...
****
Harold was standing in front of the dairy section at the grocery store. Just standing. His eyes studied all the different packages before him: the cheeses, yogurt, sour cream. He began to walk down the aisle toward the milk. He stopped in front of one of the glass doors and opened it and retrieved a gallon of milk that had a blue plastic cap. Harold turned and walked down aisle 9, home to pasta and instant rice and such things, to Sam who was pushing a half full shopping cart.

"They have thirteen different kinds of cheese here. Thirteen!"
"You actually counted them?"
"Why not?"
"Do you think that's a lot?"
"I don't know. How many kinds of cheese are there?"
"I don't know. There has to be something like hundreds, right?"

Harold put the plastic carton of milk with the plastic blue cap onto the plastic seat designed for small children. "Should we get some?"

Sam thought for a minute. "Do you even eat cheese? I thought you were trying to be a vegan."

Harold picked up the gallon again and brandished it up to the fluorescent lights above. "I guess not!"
"You always do shit like this."
"Like what?"
"First it was yoga. Then it was guitar. Then it was bonsai trees. Pottery. Rock climbing. Have you forgotten about that comic book that you were working on six months ago?"
"No." Harold smiled. "I'm still going to work on it. I just needed a creative break."
"You're hopeless!" Sam shook his head and started pushing the cart down toward the canned food aisle ahead, leaving Harold standing alone.

"What about the cheese?" Harold called after him. Sam stopped and turned around.
"Forget about the cheese, will you."

****
I don't know if anything above has any potential but they were some of the more solid blurbs that I had written down. Feel free to criticize but I will remind you that they are undeveloped ideas and nothing that I've spent any real time working on.

that first part about the girl shrinking. That was me. That was real. I remember that day in fragments. I remember sitting there thinking about how if I could just shrink or disappear right then and there that it would somehow save my life. I remember that I used to fantasize about that a lot but since then I guess I had forgotten about it- until I re-read the above last night.

my feet are cold again. It's becoming a pattern- a normacy. I think it's becoming a metaphor too. My cold feet. Cold feet in life. Cold feet in love. Cold feet in school. Running away with my cold feet. I quit.

I've just spent my entire day cleaning. Really really cleaning. Not just throwing the clothes in the closet and straightening the bed. I dusted. I organized. I vacuumed. I threw things away. I cleaned for almost 6 hours today and tried to clear my head but it only got even more complex because the phone rang and it wasn't who I wondered if it would be. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have pretended there was nothing.

I feel naked. I feel strange and very much naked. It's an odd feeling. it's a feeling that i haven't had in a very long time and i like it. it's just so hard to be alone...

i haven't been changed in any way. i actually don't really feel that different. but something is different. something... if it's gone already i'll live. i don't know what tomorrow will bring or the next day or the next day or the one after that but in truth- after last night- i don't give a shit. you can take that however you think you should take it. i don't kiss and tell.