Can't sleep. Can't sleep. Someone please shoot me. I'm so sick of this. There are no words left. Something is sincerely wrong with me. I am not normal. Shoot me. Now.

I feel stupid. I feel like a stupid girl with a corn flake for a brain, but I can't seem to help it. I still see the same face when I close my eyes.

I finished The Unbearable Lightness of Being on the train today. I almost cried, a few times. There were so many moments reading that book that hit way to close to home. There were so many passages, phrases and incites that shook my brain. It all made me think, and I'm still pondering. It's one of those books that I look forward to reading again, and probably again after that. I'll let it breathe, of course. It's no good to jump right back into a story like that. It was too beautiful.

Today, toward the end of the book and at the beginning of my disorderly day, I read about Kundera's four ways in which people wish to be looked at (note I purposely didn't choose the word "seen" because being seen and being looked at are not necessarily the same thing...). I'm not going to bother paraphrasing the four types but I will say that I'm torn between looks three and four: to be "constantly before the eyes of the person they love" or also those who seek the looks of an imaginary audience. Both tug at my brain. I live to be loved but I'm also a very aloof person which I think is mainly what causes me trouble in the love department.

I was able to step outside myself today, walking in my most favorite city, and I decided that I'm doomed. I believe that there are certain aspects of one's personality that will never change- not truly. You can hide and cover, not express certain parts of yourself if you're willing to make the effort but that doesn't mean they cease to exist. I, myself, will never be able to hold onto a lasting love and it kills me inside to know this. I see patterns. I have strong intuition. I'm already crying. I just wish it didn't have to start off so good all the time.

I know I'm not just being neurotic or insecure. I'm forcing myself to realize and to be honest and this information I put before you to do with what you will. One day one of two things will be sure to happen, if you stay close to me long enough: I will break your heart or hurt you in ways I will make myself sick with guilt over or you will one day loose the look of love you once showed me and I'll die a little more inside. The thing of it is I'm so sick inside thinking and thinking about what I could have done better. I wouldn't dare ask, because I don't actually think there was much that I could have done. It's just me. I'm flawed in severe ways that leave me destined to this fate, the fate of people falling out of love with me.

I dispel so much energy avoiding routines and responsibilities but deep down, when I had those things in full swing I was actually so much happier. That was another thing that made me cry on the train today. Kundera said "happiness is the longing for repetition" and I would have never considered such a thought to be true, except that today I found it so, unexpectedly. There is comfort and lightness in familiarity and familiarity comes from events and encounters repeated- considering one isn't likely to repeat something that wasn't in some way pleasant, unless of course it was a necessary action- but even necessary satisfies. I guess what I'm trying to say is that i miss old routines, old levels of comfort lost and it makes my stomach knot thinking about how I can't ever go back to that. Those things I crave are lost to other people, other towns that are forbidden to me.

And I think I was also wrong about my way of thinking about life. I'm not sure about this yet but I'm starting to dislike my continuing cycle theory. What if life wasn't really a circular existence, but really just what it appears to be- a straight line. You can't ever go back and time moves you forward, shoving you along until the one day that you can no longer see. Above all else, I really don't want to die in my parent's house.

So what does this really tell me? If time is shoving me along, pushing me farther from the things I've lost then I suppose the only thing left to do is form things anew. I'm not and have never been opposed to change- as long as it can be for the better (or at least par with good). I won't say that I won't try, but knowing what I know of myself I can't help but wonder which life theory will work out. I'm almost too certain that I'll be left time and again, which is a very unhealthy thought process and I'm sorry for that because how can someone allow things to happen that in their mind they have already deemed impossible or unable to last.

Maybe I've just been waiting for someone to be brave enough to prove me wrong. I wish someone would show me the beauty in timing, and stick around long enough to allow myself to be shown exactly how full of shit my brain probably is. Otherwise I suppose I'll have to make due with temporary pleasures which I have no doubt that I am more than capable of. There can be lightness in that too. My clashing optimistic/pesimistic perspective astounds even me sometimes. Oh and yeah, the apathy part... This sounds a bit too familiar right now...

Forgive me, and my corn flake brain.

On days when the sky bleeds orange, I sit awake late at night wondering when I will forget. When will the moment come to pass that this day will be lost to me. If life works in a cycle, ever revolving, ever changing, so many things are bound to be forgotten, lost in my mind. There's so much that I can't remember anymore. Sometimes I find myself wishing that I didn't lose memories, that I was able to retain and hold onto everything- but then I stop and actually think about that. Truth be told, there are a lot of things that have happened to me in my life that I wish I could forget completely. I don't remember much of my days as a toddler, but I still remember falling down my grandmother's stairs. I don't remember the first story that I ever wrote, but I do remember the day my kindergarten teacher came in to congratulate me (while I was trying so hard to be invisible) in the third grade- the first day I wore glasses to school. Stupid things that I've said, moments of gasping, shivering, blind retardation have stuck with me all these years- moments that appear in my brain like lightning only to make me shudder with disgust like the nightmares they should be. I barely remember what my first kiss was like. How many moments have led me to be here, now? A million? It seems such a small number...

My brain is an interesting place to be. Even with interesting being my least favorite word to use for anything- somehow is the only one that seems to fit.

It still amazes me how nervous I still get, how awkward things can be after years of comfort. In a moment, everything changes. I wish it could be different. Oh how I wish...

At night, in my dreams, I usually dream of strangers but sometimes I see people that I recognize. The faces that make appearances in my private realm of subconscious are usually ones that have made some crazy impression on me. Most of them are completely surprising so when they make their presence known I spend the waking hours that follow bent on analyzing the why. Why them and why not others. Why do some faces show up and then disappear. The only one night stands I've ever had...

I'm growing weary of the temporary.

I just washed my mother's hair in the kitchen sink. It, as most things do these days, made me think about getting old. My mom has cancer. It's surreal how desensitized I am about the whole thing. Am I just being naive? Or is the fact that I'm not, or don't seem to be, bothered by the whole cancer thing actually one of the healthier feelings I've had in months? I can't seem to tell. It seems stupid to be worried about not being worried. There's always this glimmering doubt festering inside me. It comes along with the good and bad, just there to make me crazy. I would kill it, if I could.

There's a little boy living in my stomach. No, I'm not pregnant. He's little and lives there and most of the time he's angry or ornery about something. He's vocal. I would send him to kill my doubt, my guilt, but I'm almost sure that it's actually the little boy living in my stomach that is the one that needs to die. Abort, I say! I'd gladly spend a(nother) morning with my toilet to get rid of all this sickness inside me, this stupid girl sickness.

And fuck you for making me cry. I hate myself for letting you get to me that much.

On a daily basis I battle with myself for true emotion. It sounds stupid, but if you've never experienced it then you would have no idea how bothersome and tiring it is. I have a constant ping pong game going on inside my brain. So forgive me if every now and then I need to do something to make the shit stop. I'm missing my old vices. I'm missing my old drugs. Sometimes, and there are times, when alcohol just isn't enough. I'm tired of the temporary.

Men. Ha! Hahahahaha! Men and sex. Did you know that I hold feelings of regret with half the men I've slept with? It keeps me awake some nights, squirming in disgust with myself, over my own broken heart. I don't understand why a woman like me who knows better, doesn't know why it won't be better. It won't help anything to sleep with this guy... Except that for a little while you can forget about everything else. I guess I use sex as much as I do anything else. Some days it seems like my whole life revolves around escape.

I want that feeling to be permanent but even as I'm thinking that it doesn't make sense. Eventually you have to stop running. Eventually you have to take a real hard look around. But me? See, every morning I wake up and the same three thoughts occur (in this order): What time is it? Where are my pants? I'm still here. I crave the temporary but want it to be permanent? I want the passion to never dull, the newness to never fade. I want a lifetime of first kisses with familiarity. I no longer believe in love, or at least real love, and there is both beauty and despair left from that realization.

Duality has become my life. Dichotomy. I am an (im)perfect whole. I need no soul mate, I'm already my own other half. If I bought the right vibrator, I'd never need to see another man ever again, except for the fact- yes fact- that sex is fun. Though I'm still pondering the whole do nuns masturbate question... I guess chastity is something I'll never understand.

I don't think I'll ever really change. Live now. Hope for the best and analyze it later. Have a drink and smile, remembering. Cheers.

The older I get, and I feel older every minute of my life, I realize more and more that life changes every second. Take tonight for instance. There isn't anything particularly peculiar about it. As usual I found myself completely starving at an odd hour of the early morning, and post eating I felt tired. Feeling tired is such a wonderful feeling, possibly the perfect feeling- if only I could for once feel that at the exact right moment- the moment my head is resting on my pillow and all is right with my world.

I have fleeting moments of feeling tired, followed by seconds passing where I am too cold, too warm, the pillows aren't adjusted right, suddenly I'm thirsty, then I have to use the bathroom (which just disrupts all efforts toward sleep. It's something about the whole actually getting up and then walking and then turning on lights because, frankly, I find going to the bathroom in the dark to be creepy. This I will add is a conditioned superstitious freak feeling caused by fear of ghosts in the mirror that will undoubtedly kill me the first dark chance they get. I can't imagine a worse death than one with my pants around my ankles, sitting on the toilet...). It never ends! And then suddenly I notice that it's 7am and that what light I let in through my windows is peeking and laughing at me from my shut blinds and suddenly I can somehow rationalize drinking (alcohol or coffee) and saying to hell with sleep tonight. It's just not going to happen.

This whole process reminds me way to much of crying. Have I mentioned the "orgasm of tears" recently? I'm starting to feel that way about the feeling you get right before you are finally able to drift off. The orgasm of sleep. I wish I could. I am haunted by words.

In a world where women sell their phone numbers for the price of a few drinks... More on that later.

This is the second time I've cried today and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. Sometimes I wish I could just fast forward my life a few years ahead, just to get to all the bad things I feel like I'm waiting to happen. But alas, I can't tell you that story. It was already made into a depressingly bad movie... Which leads me to reestablish the thought that I've spent more than enough time dwelling on: It's all already been done. Why do I even have any glimmer of hope toward being a unique individual artist- today that concept is as much a fairy tale as the ones I used to read when I was a little girl. There's nothing special about me, nor will my prince ever come riding up on his horse to save me from my humble and desolate existence. I will never leave this place.

Fast forward a few years and I'll still be sick. Fast forward a few years, I won't be any happier. Fast forward a few years. Will you still know me? On days like today, when my mother approaches me weeping and calls to me to quit smoking- smoking is all I want to do but then I don't at the same time. It feels like I'm being beaten on all sides. It's like propaganda and it's making me even more crazy. It's a very strange feeling to go against your natural instincts and lately there has been a bit too much of that in my life. I'm tired of trying so hard to change when I know that 90% of what I do, I do for someone else. Come to think of it, there isn't much that I do for myself. I guess my mentality tells me that if I try hard enough and I make other people happy somehow that will reflect on me and I'll be a better person, but the truth is that I'm only kidding myself. How can I make any one else happy when I can't seem to give myself good reason to get out of bed and take a shower without outside motivation. Shouldn't I want to get out of bed? Shouldn't I want... I hate not caring, so I make an effort to care, an effort to try, but at the end of the day I feel like a big fake. Can you see it now? Can you see how beaten and broken, how ugly I really am? I'm a monster.

This world is killing me and I'm not doing anything to stop it. I just wish I had the courage to help speed up the process.

Do you know what it takes to make me angry? A lot. A whole god damned lot. Sure, I admit. I am easily dramatic, easily depressed and easily amused but to piss me off... You have to really work at it.

I'm pissed. I'm so angry right now that I feel like breaking windows. Yours. You who will never know because I won't tell you. I won't tell you because it's not worth the effort of air traveling through my lungs and vocal cords to tell you how big of an asshole you really are. This is some bullshit.

I'm glad you're leaving and that I know I'll never see you again. I'm so glad it hurts. You were a lousy lover and the most selfish person I have ever met.

The sky, void of clouds, was littered with flight patterns. Airplanes crossed, leaving behind trails of white lines, carrying passengers to destinations unknown while birds flew in flocks, hovering on the air currents. It was all so blue.

I sat on the cement with my eyes closed, pulling at the frayed edges of my jeans and felt small. I don’t know what I look like with my eyes closed. I’ve always wondered… When the world fades to black and my mind drifts to the world of dreams, cold doesn’t bite at my skin, sharpness doesn’t prick and all around me, nothing really exists. When my eyes are closed, the nothingness takes hold and I am free. But even within the freedom of dreams lies a curious lack of satisfaction. The real question is where does the median lie?

I want to make myself dizzy. I want to drink until my stomach explodes. Everything in excess, always overdone, will you still recognize my face? Scars worn deep with shadowed eyes, I still look alive. Swimming toes through damp grass, you might see me smiling, on the outside. Gusts of wind blow through my hair, bending me over backwards like the flexing weeping willow branches. I empty my lungs with every yawn exhaled and feel as though my body could crumble like bed sheets. Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like to be folded and then set on a shelf in the dark but I always remind myself that I'm not that limber.

I dream of searching, shrinking and screaming, always about you. Always for you. So there is really no wonder why I am always finding myself so unsatisfied upon awaking. If dreams are a reflection of my subconscious and my subconscious is based on the reality of my life then it is there that the paths cross and there the median lies. You see the problem, eternally, has always been within me.

I woke up hollow again today, feeling like a shell emptied by troubling dreams. The world looks different on days like today, as though I see clearer than I ever have before. The world, though still in color, is simplified and I feel smaller somehow. I move slower, my brain more attuned to every aspect of my surroundings. My life can be summed up in a sentence. I feel like crying.

It's so hard to cry. I have to subject myself to outside sources, a movie or music, and focus on the pain. I focus, staring off into nothing and concentrate on my tear ducts, willing the salt water to push past, the orgasm of tears. That was my life so far today except no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get anything out. I'm still waiting for that feeling of release, that feeling of relief that I crave so desperately.

Really, there's no point. What is the point of any of this?

I feel empty these days, lost in my own head. I never know exactly what I can look forward to anymore. I often wonder what the point is. For a while I was still diluted, with the idea of falling in love, but even that has left me again. I am hollow inside and it's eating away at me. Soon there won't be anything left.

I want to go back to the time where I felt like I had everything in the world to look forward to. I want to go back to the place where I felt content, or better. It all seems so hard, hard to swallow, and there's no trace of a silver lining left anywhere for me to follow. I wish I knew which way I was supposed to go but the truth is I know that I need to lead my own path in this life and I must go it alone. It would be fine, except for the fact that I don't have any desire to go on anymore. Abandoned by everyone, even my self, I fear of going into another dark place and maybe this time I won't make it out alive.

I used to love surprises, now I fear them. All roads point to shit.