When I was little my favorite game was hide and seek. I was always so good at hiding in strange places where no one would find me because I was so little. Some games we would set strict ground rules whether the hiding could be done inside houses or outside only or both and where the safe point would be when you were found and you'd have to run there without getting tagged. I'd find crevices inside my garage or above the washing machine. I laid down under a car in the street once and after my brother told on me I got grounded and had to come in early for a week. (I was only, like, 5) Inside the laundry basket was the best spot ever but it only worked if there wasn't any laundry in it- I drew the line there. On the bottom shelf of the linen closet is where my mom has always kept things like sleeping bags and when I was feeling daring- being that I was terrified of the dark- I'd crawl into that little space and hug my knees and pinch my eyes shut and pretend that I had disappeared completely. Often times I just didn't get found and I would wonder in later years whether that was on purpose or if I was just damn good at hiding. I really was damn good.

It's funny how some things don't change. I still love hiding and I'm still damn good at it. But the cheap tricks don't have the same effect that they used to. I need to go farther from the safe points. I need to climb to the higher branches of the trees just to feel the same isolation. My walls aren't as big as they were when I was 5 but I'm stuck still looking at them. It's funny how much more they remind me of a cage now than they did when I was little. It's an odd mix of comforting and claustrophobia that I'm feeling right now.

It's raining outside and I want to run out there and melt into it and dissolve into the ground and be gone. I want the rain to wash me away from this place, this house, this family. If you lived here maybe you'd understand.

I woke up today and jammed the end of my toothbrush down my throat as i scrapped the tartar off my molars. I dry heaved once, twice, and then spit up whatever liquid was in my stomach from the night before. It was an oddly pleasant experience, purging, and I found myself laughing at the world and at the scary face looking back at me from the mirror who was laughing only at me.

The train today made me squirm in discontent. I was on time! It was truly amazing, I assure you considering how late I left my house. I jumped on the first step to get onto the full car and was immediately assulted by a blind man who shrieked when our bodies colliaded. The train was full of small, yelling children and an overall level of noise that made my attempts at studying completely worthless. The little boy liked to shout to his mother on the opposite bench every time he saw another train, which you can only imagine if you aren't a regualar Metra rider- it's a whole freakin' lot. I cranked my headphones after giving up on my books and hugged myself into a ball and thanked someone in my brain that I, at the very least, wasn't sitting next to someone.

Isn't today Good Friday? What was good about it? Remind me. Something about Jesus Christ dying... wouldn't that- considering you like the man- be a bad thing. They should call it Bad Friday- or Dark Friday- or Dead Friday. Or my knowledge of Christianity has totally dwindled to shit and I'm only talking out of my ass.

Last night was shitty. Imagine having a really bad conversation with someone you care a whole lot about and saying exactlty what they don't want to hear but not being able to say anything else. It's like getting punched in the stomach. I'm sorry that I hurt you, again and again and again and again and again and again.

what the fuck happened to spell check on this bitch?

Ups, downs, strikes and gutters, this weekend had them all. I suppose the easiest way to judge the overall quality of a weekend is to take a look back and then see how you really feel come Sunday night- which it is- and I gotta tell you. I'm not smiling right now.

Friday began with me almost getting hit by a car. That was awesome by the way. I was walking across the street, against the light as usual, when I realized that I was seconds away from becoming another spot on the pavement. This green pick up truck was hauling ass toward me. I lived. I thought about how I had lived and shrugged. Shouldn't I have felt something more about that? Shouldn't I have felt something?

I got a D on my technology quiz.

I scored an amazing batch of drugs and seeing it broken up and wonderful in my little jar I wished for a dick so that I could fuck it it was so pretty.

I saw a 19 year old Jimmy Buffet loving son of a bitch walking around a house not his own in boxerbriefs at 2am. There were also fireworks and lots of drugs including a hookah, multiple pipes, bongs, joints, kegs, blunts, moonshine and Sparks.

I ate red meat this weekend as predicted. My last ever. Corned beef and cabbage for St. Patty's Day. No more unfinished business. This ghost can cross over now.

I smoked this weekend into the ground and sitting here sobering up I'm trying to actually think about how much of it I actually spent sober... And I gotta tell you the numbers I'm coming up with make me want to go smoke more.

I have a biology test on Tuesday. I may not show it but I'm already freaking out about it as I probably should be. I should study but I choose the healthier response to stress. Running away and hiding from my problems.

I have never felt so stuck in the suburbs in my entire life. Week after week. There's not much to look forward to anymore. Take a sledge hammer to my skull. Drag a razor across my neck. I don't want to see tomorrow.

I almost got hit by a car today, a big green pick up truck that was barreling down Wacker drive this morning. I was crossing against the light, as always. It's been all that I can think about. What if I had become road kill this morning? What if that truck had slammed into me at the 40 odd miles per hour it was going and sent me flying into the air and crushing my skull on the pavement. My first reaction was the obvious oh fuck that was close but after that passed I felt nothing and that kind of bothered me. Shouldn't I have felt something? Something to remind me that I was glad that I didn't get my body squished or the simple fact that I was still alive? I actually tried to force a thought like that on myself but it wouldn't stick.

on that happy note... I'm off to buy mass quantities of drugs tonight. Having no money this should prove interesting. How much are blow jobs good for these days? It's been a while since I've turned a trick.

It's amazing what I find in my inbox when i don't check my email for a few days. and I was going to tell you all about how I started this story about a whale named Borris and a seagul named Gertrude today but now I'm late and I need to go start drinking.

Happy Saint Patricks' Day, you fucks! (whatever that means)


(head slams desk)

I ditched class again today. I woke up this morning and declared, "Fuck it!" I spent the entire day watching Doris Day movies and I have a feeling that can't be good for me. I love how her hair never moves. So when I actually set to work on making my hair look not so bed-heady I ended up with something a little different. See I curled it (this is all so interesting is it not?) and then decided that I should have brushed it so I brushed through the curls and ended up looking like Farrah Fawcett which is working really well with the pants that I'm wearing today- a brown polyester/spandex combination with a black collared shirt. I'm totally Farrah today! Unfortunately this look is wasted due to me not going anywhere tonight so maybe if you're lucky I'll recreate it sometime for you. Just ask.

Life is funny to me, though my face is no where near laughter at the moment. In the late hours of last night I felt worse about things than I ever have. It was like getting hit in the face with a wrecking ball. It left my head hanging by threads of veins keeping the little bit of blood pumping to my head and allowing me to understand all of what was happening to me. I can't do that anymore. Save me! I'm a fucking glutton for punishment. Not many people can say that they've seen me shut down emotionally- seriously shut down. That's probably a good thing considering how bad it has to be for me to get that way. That was last night and i'm still not fully recovered. I'm not sure what I can do to pull myself out of this one. I can't even cry anymore.

What pisses me off more is that I ended up not going to class today. I really didn't want to skip my workshop but my arm got seriously twisted and I was so tired! I woke up 3 hours from when I got to rest my head on the pillow and felt my whole body groan. I turned on my tv. I turned on my lights. I was getting up. Getting ready and I would have been able to had my brother not taken 20 minutes in the bathroom reading the newspaper after I had told him that I needed to get in there. I sat on my bed shivering and waiting for him to leave and fell asleep again. I woke up to him finally opening the door, 20 minutes later as stated, and crawled to the shower cursing him for being such an asshole. (for your own reference there are 2 bathrooms in this house and one is 2 steps from his bedroom door... he doesn't use that one and I can't because all of my stuff is in the bathroom just a hop skip and a jump from my bedroom.) I got in the shower and decided that this just wasn't happening. There was no way I could sit through a 5 hour workshop without being a rude asshole and falling asleep and it's kind of hard to fall asleep in a semi-circle with no desks and have no one notice. I don't want to do that to my class. So I slept... ALL FUCKING DAY. I feel sick. I feel pain like a cloud over my head and my heart and I'm waiting for my phone to ring (please change the word "waiting" to the word "dreading" in that last statement).

If you want I can pretend that the smile stapled back onto my face and I can push up, from my dead heart, a faint beating that will make me appear whole and happy and alive. Personally I'd rather be dead on the floor today. I feel hollow and I can't seem to get warm. I have 2 sweaters on. I have goose-bumps. But I'd smile for you if you asked. It's really easy.

I can't stand feeling like I'm struggling with something- at the moment this thing has a name and the name is biology. The main problem is that the homework doesn't reflect the information that's in the book which means that I either have to be a lot smarter than I already am or I have to figure out a way to go beyond the book (I'd like to mention that I spent $100 on the wonderful used copy that's sitting on the floor next to me) and the notes that I diligently take every class period to figure out what's going on. I can't drop this class. I need this stupid lab. I will find a way to get my head straight on this material and I will fucking OWN biology when this is over. I'll write crazy stories about stealing DNA and alien plants taking over small cities. It will be amazing. You just wait. You'll see.

It's getting harder for me to want to do the right thing. I always start off every semester so well but as the weeks go by and the work piles up I watch the mountain and watch it grow and shrug at it when I think about actually doing something about it. All I want to do is read books and write stories. I don't want to tutor people about how to change fractions to decimals to percents. I don't want to memorize the 12 characteristics of life. I don't want to wake up at 6am everyday to be bored out of my skull. I'm paying for what? I should feel like I'm getting smarter, right? Well I don't. I feel retarded most days.

Fucking Bio. I can't get past it. I can't stop thinking about how mad it's making me. Everything makes me think about it- constantly. DNA. Cell reproduction. Viruses. Glucose. Lipids. Food. Energy. Bahh! I'll stop...

I'm going to be a fucking zombie tomorrow. You just wait. You'll see.

See, the thing about last night was that I had this dream and in this dream I saw my old boss (sort of) and we were in this really enormous house that was like a maze of rooms and halls and stairs and I kept getting lost in it. I ran into it from the street because I was being chased down by my boss. My boss who desperately wanted to fuck me. I remember not being scared of him at first- he was after all a friend to me for a long while and when we met up it was at a bar and he was supposed to read poetry and I was there to listen but the walls were falling down so he grabbed me and tried to kiss me and I let him but then it was weird so I pulled away and he was all like, you know you want to, and so I ran. I ran into this big house and he followed me and that's when it got scary. I got lost in the stairs of the house and all the while I could hear him just behind me, trying to find me, trying to fuck me. The feeling that i had when i opened my eyes today can't be put into words because i'm the sick fuck that i am. not saying that i enjoy my nightmares but i do get something out of them sometimes.

Now I really need to get stoned, as I haven't quite yet but give me five minutes and I'll probably need to take a "crying game" shower and be haunted by these images and feelings I've just resurrected in my mind.

I'm not sure what's wrong with my sense of time anymore but it's pretty much gone. I woke up today fully intending to go to class. I showered and did all that. I look at the clock... It was 10:40am. Good grief! I was supposed to be at the train station for the 10:50 train. So you know what I did? I said fuck it! I'm off to my garage to get stoned and then maybe I'll make myself a little lunch, work on some video games and do nothing for the majority of the day. This is going to be an awesome Friday! I'll probably post something more interesting later on. Right now I'm just amused with my own worthlessness. I really am a waste of human space!

This is an unfinished experiment...

They should have called her a man eater, not that she actually ate them- but she went through them like water. She was a perfectionist and somehow she could always find a date. She devoured them, pulled them close to her, but eventually they all left for one reason or another. She was so hard to please. When she was threw with them she took part of them away and kept it locked up. With every relationship she gathering more, building the perfect man made up of all the best parts of all her best lovers.

Toby was a poet. She met him at a coffee shop and after talking to him decided to sleep with him. It went on like that for a month. Coffee. Talking. Sex. It was intimate but also very detached. He had beautiful hands, large and soft skinned, gentle but firm in his touch. She kissed him goodbye one morning but took his hands for herself before she closed the door. She kept them locked away and though she never looked at them she thought of them often.

Myles thought that he loved her but she knew better. Myles didn't love her. He loved love. She needed it. She wanted, craved it. He had a perfect neck and when they lay in bed she would rest her head on his shoulder and feel the warm smoothness of it against her forehead. Before falling asleep one night she stole it from him and locked it away. When she woke up he was gone.

She met Christopher on a train. In a delay they had smiled at one another and when she got off so did he. They talked the entire way to her apartment. She asked him up. They sat on the couch talking and talking led to kissing and kissing led to the bedroom. She unbuttoned his shirt from behind him and when she slipped the fabric down over his shoulders she fell in love with them, not Christopher but his wonderful shoulders. They were perfect. Afterward he fell asleep. She took the left side of the bed and lay there staring at his perfect shoulders- his back was toward her. Before she drifted off she ripped them off his body and locked them away. When she woke up he had vanished, leaving only a warm indent on a pillow.

There were times when she dreamt it all together, the whole body, but the face was always missing. He had arms and legs and a chest. He was so close to being complete. And the body was always still warm but there was no heart beat for her ear to listen to as she would rest her head on his chest and no eyes or mouth to tell her that she was beautiful. He lay there in bed with her unmoving. She pinched his thigh, hoping for something to happen, for him to wake up but he never did. She sat on his stomach and grabbed his shoulders and shook him, staring down at his headlessness, and began to cry. Do you love me? She asked him. Do you think I'm beautiful? But he did not, could not, reply. She thought of how he fit together and then she thought of them all. She grabbed one of his hands and looked and saw Toby's face. She kissed his neck and thought of Myles. She ran her finger down the curve of his neck and continued down his shoulders and thought of Christopher. They were all there in him but he remained hollow and grew cold to her. He was supposed to be perfect, and he was. He was perfect to look at, perfect to touch. He was a body for her to lay with, cast out her loneliness and help her sleep at night. It is so hard to sleep alone.

Where ever she went she saw the faces of men. Walking. On trains and busses. She picked each one apart, searched for their perfections and always found something. Once she was crossing a street and found herself locking eyes with a stranger. As they passed one another they brushed shoulders, never loosing the grip of the stare. He had a perfect nose. She followed him over her shoulder and saw that when he reached his corner he had stopped and turned around and was still looking at her. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked back. She stood there wondering if he would come to her or if he would turn around and go back to being another stranger lost in the crowd. A bus drove past and when she could see again he was gone.

if you want the full context of what this is about you'll have to ask me. tell me what you think of this!

The wise man was sitting before a small fire on which rested a small kettle that had yet to boil. There were chickens everywhere, the smallest of which was seated comfortably on the old man’s head. He wore a grey tattered robe that, due to how he was sitting- crosslegged- exposed his feeble, boney looking knees. When Sabine appoached the doorway she heard the faint sounds he was making, a chant of sorts, and when she entered the space he stopped abruptly to reveal a very wide set of cold blue eyes. Then he smiled. Sabine wondered how he could live in such a place, alone and so exposed to the elements for this house had no roof and the walls were like short fences. It was almost like a decayed temple.
When Sabine saw him smile she took another step forward but as soon as she did this the chickens, which were clucking about on the floor, spooked and began running about and kicking up an awful cloud of bird feathers and dirt. The old man stood quickly and grabbed a broom from the corner, in all the commotion, and began beating the chickens down and back into silence. When they were all calmed he sat back down and the same small chicken sat back on his head. He looked up at Sabine and did not smile when he said, “My birds don’t like you.”
“I’m so sorry!” she said. “I was told to find you and that you could help me.”
“And what have you to offer me in return for helping someone such as yourself, stranger?”
Sabine hadn’t thought of that. She still had her bag. She began riffling through it, nervously. She had little to offer. Her wallet had money in it but she doubted a man like this, in a place like this, would have any use for that. There was a small notebook and a pen. There was a silver bracelet that she had been wearing at the art gallery. She took the bracelet out of her purse and held it out to the old man.
“I don’t care for trinkets, my dear. Have you anything sweet?” His eyes widened as he asked this. Sabine went back into her purse and found a small metal tin that had some mints in it.
“I have these.” She offered the tin to the man and he became so excited. He stood with such a jerky quickness that the chickens once again began romping about all over. The old man shrieked and grabbed the broom a second time. Sabine backed up and watched as the old man beat them down once again. With the broom in hand he walked to Sabine and took the tin out of her hands. He opened it and placed one of the small mints in on his tongue.
“Fantastic!” he cried in joy. “What do you call them?”
“Peppermints.” She replied meekly.
“I love them. I will help you.” He went back to his seat before the fire. “You wish to go home, do you not?”
Sabine nodded.
“Right. Then you must go from here to the City of Kings. There you must find a man called Jacob. He will help you from there.” The old man held the tin like the most precious of treasures and opened it again and placed a second on his tongue. “Truly wonderful!” he exclaimed.