It's almost amazing how much can happen in a month - but when everything noteworthy doesn't actually happen to you but to those around you, it's slightly depressing. I don't really have much to tell the world right now, nor the stomach to write anymore these days. It's been forever since I've even put pen to paper. Nothing good can come of this.

It's been almost a month since I've last had a decent thought to put into text. Not that I haven't been thinking... In fact! My brain has barely shut down through the past weeks leaving me tired, haunted even in my dreams, and yet still looking forward (somehow) to Kentucky. I never would have thought I'd ever have a good thought about Kentucky - stories for another time...

I scribbled this a while ago in my journal and I can't seem to stop thinking about it. What do you think?

If you removed all the colors and patterns you would see the world in solid lines and whole shapes. If you took away all the shadows, made conceptual objects clear, you could see through whole buildings and across cities to far off places. Would the world look bigger? Imagine actually seeing as far as the eye can see. How far is that really? When would the horizon line cut the view? To think that all one would have to do was take one step forward, and then another; each step would extend the line of sight. I'd find myself running, hopeless trying to somehow catch up with that imaginary line, like a butterfly always just out of reach.

The world would be prettier in color, with solid shapes and shadows cutting into sight- It is prettier, but it would be lovely to see the world simplified just once. It would be wonderful to be that exposed, like standing in the middle of a vast desert with miles of sand in all directions, or floating in the middle of one of the vast oceans... The sad probable truth is that I would find myself searching for the solids, the tangible, a palm tree for shade. In the end I would ruin the perfection of it with all my restless dissatisfaction.

The bigger truth is actually even more ridiculous. I can't let myself question natural inclinations. I question everything else and it makes my brain ache - but living in reality, knowing it will never satisfy my sight and endless curiosity leads me to believe that none of it will ever be enough. Taking all that exists and all the world that I have yet to see into consideration, there still exists the possibility that I judge too quickly and that alone gives me hope. A fine thread.

So many secrets. It's so hard to keep my head on straight. Will you recognise my face inside out? Everything is backwards today, like moon and dead bugs in my glasses. Too dark.

A letter.

When the wind reached its top speed, the tree branches were stretched half way to the ground. The tall grasses pressed flat and flowers closed their petals, like lashes, against its bitter sweetness. Only the clouds revelled in the weather, dancing and racing across the skies. I only had to look up once, catch a glimpse of an orange sun setting quickly, before I knew it was time to find shelter indoors.

The summer months are always like this, days blurred with hard winds, warm rains, and moments of blissful peace. I spend my nights watching the flames bounce and leap, as they lick the wood in the fireplace. Every crackle of the embers is like a soft kiss to my ears. I can still remember the times when we would sit there together, before you went away, and I daydream now about your return. It's been weeks and there has been no word from you, my love. I know in my heart we will be together again someday, and I do try to be patient. I will wait for you. I take comfort in repetition and find myself numb to the days passing but I see this as a blessing because it means time isn't being hard on me. The days aren't endless, though they have been many.

In the fall the trees will stiffen with red leaves. My hair will have grown long again and the waters in the rivers and lakes will cool, lulling the fishes to restfulness. It will be here soon, as I wait for you. By then it will be as though everything waits for you with me. Can't you hear the birds singing?

On the totem pole of life, I tend to come last on most people's lists, including my own. I eat enough to get through the day, sleep enough to have the right amount of brain power to survive my tedious job and in between I sit invisible. This is what is more commonly known as "surviving" but really just barely. I still find it amazing how little you actually need to do to get through a day and right now I'm missing the months spent in pajamas feeling like death because, at the very least, I knew it had to get better. I hate this coasting through life shitty feeling that I've come so accustomed to.

Would you really miss me if I really disappeared one day? Would it be an "Oh well..." thing or would there at least be a slight sigh attached to the thought bubble? I don't ask for much in life...

And it's not that I don't have oodles to look forward to in the coming weeks. It's not that at all. It's just... well... I'm tired.

he has
fabulous
gas, legs like Greek
columns and eyes like
perfect summer hammocks.

I'm so jealous of his world; living in a mixture of make-believe and reality. All of it always so real. I need to find my way out from behind a computer screen. It's just so easy to hide here. It's been a long time since anyone has inspired me to come out of hiding, to want to come out. It's nice to be noticed once and a while.

If I were to jump off a building I'd do it backwards with the heals of my feet over the edge. I wouldn't actually jump, either. I'd lean back and ease my body into the air. I'd die looking up at the moon and the stars. I'd never see the ground coming.

I'm not well today. Lately the days have merged into one long sad song of routine and habit. All things lead me to a place in my heart I wish I never saw. Sometimes it actually feels painful. Days like these remind me of how desperate I am to leave this place but at the same time, with my confidence in life shot to hell, I find myself lacking the hope and the drive to make change. It has to get better than this, but can it? Can it really? Outside the sun is shining but I can't shake this feeling that none of it makes a difference. Tomorrow I'll wake up in the same place to the same life and all I can do in the meantime is count down the hours before it's decent for me to try to fall asleep again.

I crave dreams, like water. I'd drown myself if I could just to stay there a little longer.

Why is it that every time I find myself reaching out the only things that answer back are machines. Alarm clocks, computers, cars, light bulbs, microwaves and curling irons. I want to feel something other than this. A pinch. A slap. A long hard fuck. Anything to alter this pain inside me. Anything would be better than this.

I am an extraordinary machine.

I think if I actually described the things about my family that really disturbed me- the real reasons why I've wanted to be anywhere but here since I was 15- you might understand a little bit about me better. But I'm not gonna. Some things in life are better repressed...

I torture myself. Seriously. It's like that loose tooth that, as a child, you can't help but wiggle all day with your tongue until it's hanging in your mouth by a thread of your gums. I ususally grabbed at it, eventually- afraid of swallowing it- and ripped it out of my mouth. I have never minded the taste of blood. Does that make me a little odd to you?

Today I was seriously ready to quit. Seriously. I got so fucking frustrated with myself and making shitty mistakes on my records at work I was ready to just get up and walk out. But I know it's not horrible. I really don't suck at what I do, and if I did, I hope Erin would tell me. Fuck indicators. I hate them all.

I've been working on a drawing for almost a month now. I pick it up when I feel like it and add a few lines here and there. Black ink and for the most part all I have right now is a tree. But so far it's turning out to be something I don't hate looking at- which is unilke most of the things I draw which no one ever sees because I have a secret love for tearing up paper. I miss the days when I got paid $10 an hour to mess up copies just to shread them. Eating chinese take out sitting on cement pillars watching the traffic alone... Why can't I do that now? Oh yeah...

I hid in the bathtub until my skin resembled a raisin. You should remember to feel how the water tickles your ears as the level lowers past. I half expected my skin to peel off, like a boiled potato, slimy chunks of me, when I toweled off after spending at least 10 minutes just laying in the empty tub.

Today was spectacular, despite a few minor ridiculous incidents along the way. I wish I could have taken the time to tell the guys who stood next to Erin and I at the concert how awesome they were. We could have had almost too much fun.

So I ask you... Why do I always end up being around the "drunk guys" at shows? Why is it me that always gets knocked into and stepped on, beer spilt on? Don't get me wrong those are all typical incidents at shows and usually are to be expected, but taking the situation as a whole- the big picture of how the show was set, with seats and no mosh pit, the majority of those issues shouldn't have occured. Tonight I came very close to punching a guy in the face.

The show was amazing though. Seriously. He played his guitar with his teeth (again).

AND!

Erin and I saw Gotham National Bank. Corner of Van Buren and Wacker. I took pictures that will probably look shitty with my phone- but hopefully Erin will post the ones she took with her actual camera soon. It was worth the walk.

I drink coffee black when I know it tastes perfect.

I am now more convinced than ever that work is giving me what I refer to as "chair butt" because after one day of walking in the Loop- paths and routes I have done a million times over from school- my legs are sore from my ass down.

I saw a black welsch corgi and smoked a cigarette in the cancer survival garden. I also flicked a huge bean in the park.

Fuck Follett.