a confession

When I was a freshman in high school, one of those silly questionnaires went around the internet for people's blogs, and I filled one out. One of the questions asked "Do you sing on the toilet?" (I repeat: it was a really silly questionnaire.) I answered no because the girl before me had responded "omg no, who does that?!" and I thought it was clearly weird.

I lied. I sing on the toilet like I sing in the shower. I'm my own bathroom musical.


her name was mcgill

 One's music taste grows largely in their teenage years. Ages fourteen through twenty, I was influenced primarily by one person, and most of my music taste has grown from that relationship. I have the Beatles all to myself, and a few other gems, but most of it is not entirely my own, or has been tainted by experience.

Now I'm taking notes from another who is brokenhearted and seems to be taking all the right steps. My own music. What a perfectly logical, clear solution.

And how very fortunate and timely that I should have gotten $30 in iTunes gift cards for Christmas.

Time to go exploring.


i am a carpenter, fixing everything

It's just about Christmastime. Nothing could ruin this. My mom is running around like a chicken with its head cut off cleaning everything in sight, the tree has strange, overly bright LED lights on it, I'm sick as a dog and god dammit we forgot a couple presents. No big deal. It's Christmas. There's a surprise tomorrow with my amazing Big that's got my name all over it, I'm cuddled up under the softest Yellow Submarine blanket given to me by my amazing best friend, and my mom is being an absolute saint and taking care of me in this, my most pathetic state. Yesterday I tried to play Tomb Raider for the first time since I was little, and I still stayed in the mansion because I was too scared to encounter bears, and the whole while my parents sat back and laughed at my incapability with videogames. My hair is purple.

No thing and no one is going to ruin this, god dammit. You can try as hard as you want, and yeah, I may cry for a while, but in the end, I'm still working 24/7 to be happy and I'm slowly starting to succeed.

Merry Christmas. I needed this.



I'm going to talk myself through this and fix it before it becomes a mental snap, because I am the only person in the world who can completely make myself feel better. This is going to sound like a lot of convincing but if I read it enough times it'll be true.

Okay. First of all, it just doesn't matter. I am a single woman and my ex-boyfriend is in a new relationship and that is fine. What happens in that relationship has nothing to do with me and it does not affect me.

Second of all, any lust left between us is a force of habit, nothing more. It shouldn't be anything more and it isn't anything more.

Third of all, I am wonderful. Someday someone is going to see that completely, not in fragments. And that's why this doesn't matter. Because it's only fragments. Pieces parts that never got glued together all the way anyway.

None of this matters.

There. No more tears. And I did it myself.


you could be my punk rock princess

I wish I was a princess. Princesses are a hot, rare commodity.

I'm conflicted. Always conflicted. Forgiving shouldn't be easy, especially not for some of the things I regularly forgive, but I do it all the time anyway, like it's a piece of cake. Maybe I'm not forgiving all the way? Or maybe I'm especially good at it.

I'm exploring the waters of being destructive. Okay, not really destructive, I haven't broken anything and I don't intend to. But I mean I'm hellbent on doing whatever I feel like doing. And it's silly, but I feel like I'm releasing myself when I so much as paint my nails almost black. Friday I'm putting bright purple streaks in my hair. Emo much? Not really. Just bored and destructive. If I get a job this summer, I might get that other tattoo I've been thinking about. The rose. Romance and friends. Two of the most important things I have. Not the only two, because of course family is important, but romance and friends are signified in that rose.

Tonight I want to kiss someone. Nothing more, just kiss. It doesn't even have to be perfect. Just to prove... I don't know, it doesn't really prove anything. I just want to.

Beautiful destruction. I don't know what that means, but I love the backwardness of it.


finding out

I had a truly wonderful, perfectly collegiate night with some of the most beautiful people in my world. Nights like that keep me grounded, remind me that not everything is as big as it seems. And that sometimes, the little things are the best things. I'm smiling just thinking about it. My phone died and I just didn't care because I was already with the most amazing people, I didn't need to be worrying about others trying to contact me that weren't even there.

Today is a me-day. I've had a lot of those recently and they were kind of inescapable because I didn't have class but all my friends did. Today I can do whatever I want with whoever I want, but I choose me. Until tonight, that is ;)

Sometimes I feel recovered. Right now is one of those times.



fastest litany

I am not grateful for the things I have, this is true.

For example, I am not grateful for the "friends" who make me cry.

Actually, that's the only example I have. I'm grateful for everything else.


walls like paper

There is a couple that lives above me. Often I hear parties up there. Sometimes I hear them screwing right above me. Tonight I heard him screaming at her. Telling her to shut the fuck up, her voice is aggravating. Telling her to work out with him because he knows she doesn't like her figure and she's too much of a lazy ass to do anything about it. I never hear them laugh.

Tonight I went up there and I told him that I was working on a paper and it was hard to do over his constant screaming "Shut the fuck up!"

I haven't heard anything since.

Is this how men are?

hark, hear the bells

 Favorite Christmas songs:

1. Ukranian Carol (Carol of the Bells)
2. Happy Xmas (War Is Over)
3. The Most Wonderful Day of the Year
4. Baby, It's Cold Outside

Something inside me feels excited despite everything when I hear these songs.

God, I'm really afraid of what comes next...


living in an altered reality

I had a dream yesterday that I was sitting at a long table in a room where many people were getting up, moving around, chatting... general din. I was sitting next to a handsome young man, and we were both reading rather large hardcover books. I realized that our book covers were overlapping and I looked at him and said, "You know what, I'm really sorry, I'm cramping your style!" I scooted over so that my chair wasn't so close and I moved the book over so that they weren't touching anymore. He looked at me, called me cute and said something about my lovely brunette hair, then made the book covers overlap again.

A dream. A fantasy. That someone in this world called me cute. That's really all I want, is just to be noticed, I suppose.

Yesterday and today so far all I can think about is everything I would have done differently, how maybe I could have fixed things if only I'd done this, not done that. I know it's ridiculous because you can't change the past, and we were completely dysfunctional. But sometimes... no, I really can't continue with that line of thoughts. It'll get me in the end.


channeling katie

A current thought:

Very little in this world could possibly be better than my red-with-snowmen flannel sheets, Pepsi, a knotted fleece blanket made with love by one of my very best friends, and the ambient lighting of lamps. I am satisfied.


limericks and a teenage dream

When I met him, my life and myself were still forming. I would love to say that once I knew who I was, that I was strong and powerful in my own right. Incorrect. I was fourteen and I was young. I knew very little of myself. I learned differently through the years... differently than perhaps others had. I'm not sure if I learned slowly or very, very fast, but it seems different than how other people did it (which frankly isn't out of the ordinary for me).

Three months ago, approximately, I lost everything. And I hate to say that because I would love to think that I was strong and powerful in my own right. Incorrect. I was twenty and I was young. I spent three months crying. A hand-carved top brought with love from India; a half-empty, half-cold bed; notes ripped from the corner of a school notebook and passed covertly, then hidden for years in plain sight under my earring tree: these slowly killed me. They have powered remedial poetry like a locomotive, but no fiction comes from this kind of pain. Poetry can hide in the darkness of itself. Fiction requires you to say so much more than you ever wanted to.

Today, I realize I have not quite lost him. Not quite. I did lose so much, so very very much, but not him in his entirety. I'm still twenty, but so much changes in the course of a day when you're this young, and perhaps I am strong and powerful in my own right. This is work. This is a job, and I'm getting paid in gently receding heartache. Deleting the old love letters hurt, but I did not cry. I cried when I found them months ago, and I cried when I tortured myself and read them, wishing desperately for what had been. I could wish to have naturally green hair and a leprechaun to myself, but that's not going to happen and neither will wishing for what had been. And that's why I didn't cry when I deleted them. I was just throwing away the shells, the skeletons of something long past.

I'm still working very very hard to make myself alright. If my friendship suffers in the meantime, that's fine by me because this friendship wouldn't work anyway if I, a pivotal part of the thing, were not alright. I'd like to get it back to good working order, but I have to get myself there first. It is the worst emotional pain I can imagine to think of the two of them together, where I had been. Quietly under sheets. In the passenger seat going no where. A replacement. But that accomplishes nothing for me and I know that.

I am going to Spain in May. I'm going to work towards my career and I am going to continue to travel. At some point, I will move to Chicago or Denver or both. Marriage is not on the table for me any time soon. I have things I have to accomplish for myself, and if I go and get myself married, that's just one more thing I know I'll throw myself at wholeheartedly and there are other things I need to throw myself at first.

I will be okay. I will be strong and powerful in my own right. It just takes so much work.