so raise your glass

That's Aspen, Colorado. My parents are talking about moving to Colorado in the fall. Correction: my parents and I are talking about it. I'm pumped. I wanna go. I love St. Louis, but it's toxic: same people, same places, same thoughts and thoughts and thoughts. Maybe I'd come back. Probably. But it doesn't have to be right now. Right now is the time to explore everything. It's my time.

losing the war, and now the battles, too

I went to sleep angry, and I shouldn't have done that. They usually say that with reference to going to sleep angry with a lover, but that's not how it happened for me last night. I went to sleep angry at myself, mostly, I think. Angry at my one and only ex-boyfriend and the terrible parts of our relationship that I'm now not so deluded to look past, of course, but I think more angry at myself. I stayed. I let it happen. And now I'm still angry, still falling for the same old tricks day after day, letting my guard down for even a moment -- but a fatal moment, indeed. Worse, still: glancing at my phone to see if perhaps I missed something, a certain specific something. (I didn't. And I'm not going to.)

tough days

This semester is going to completely eat my lunch. More so than I had originally thought. For Spanish I have journals twice weekly and 2 hour homework assignments every night. For Brit Lit I have journals, and for nonfiction and for senior seminar. I'm sorry guys, I just don't have that much to say. It may seem like it, but that's because I talk in circles and I've heard tell professors don't like that very much.

I'm also very lonely. I don't understand why people won't talk to me. Is there something perpetually in my teeth? Do I smell funny?

On top of all that, my key broke in my apartment door last night and I had to stand outside in the nine degree weather wearing Chucks. Cold goes right through that little bit of rubber. I went to some friends' house until the fix-it guy came to open our door and felt like I probably shouldn't have been there.

Everything is kind of miserable right about now. I just want to graduate. I don't care if I'm wishing my life away. I've done this since I was little and it's served me just fine.

step on a crack, break your mother's back

I am issuing a formal apology to my mother.

When I was really really little and really really mad at my mother, I intentionally stepped on every crack in the sidewalk, not knowing, of course, the reality of these such things.

Sometimes, nowadays, when I'm walking down the sidewalk, I go out of my way to step over every crack, in hopes that maybe I can kind of take it back.

a brand new profession

I'm still learning how to do this, every single day, every step of the way. For example: not talking to my ex worked really well for over two weeks. Then he contacted me. And I answered, because it always makes me mad when people don't answer me, so why would I do that to them, even if they are my ex? We hashed some things out, and I had a glimmer of hope for our future. Then I saw a picture my friend had tagged of himself on facebook, and in the background my ex and his new girlfriend were making out. There were a ton of pictures of them together. Let me just throw myself a very brief pity party and say this: there are no pictures in existence of us together like that. That being said, I burst into tears at the sight of it. That would not have upset me, at least not like that, a few days ago -- before he contacted me. This all made me realize that I am not even remotely ready to take on that friendship. I need new things in my life first, I need an emotional independence. I cannot live this angry anymore. And I really wasn't all that angry when we weren't talking. So that clears that up: we're still not friends, and we're still not talking. Plain and simple.

The downside of all this learning how to cope? It takes for fucking ever and it hurts like a bitch.

The upside? I'm going to be a professional at fixing myself and coping when I'm done.

Edit: By the by, one other little note about those pictures that's a guilty thought and I have to get off my chest: my ex looks terrible. Not in the "I hate my ex" kind of way but in the "Oh my god, what the hell have you been doing to yourself?!" kind of way. It shouldn't matter to me, but I am worried about him. The bones in his face stick out. His face! I can't even imagine what his ribs or hips must look like. And he was wearing a shirt that my best friend gave to him a very long time ago when she went to New York, and he hasn't been able to wear it because it was always unbelievably small on him -- like, child-sized small. It is now baggy on him. I'm concerned. But again, it doesn't matter to me. Just had to get it off my chest.

accumulating thoughts

Am I happy?

Well, that's a doozy of a question. As a matter of speaking, yeah, I'm pretty happy. I have good friends, I'm about to graduate college (a year early, no less!), my family is awesome, I'm going to Spain in short of five months, my 21st birthday is in two months as of yesterday, and college graduation is exactly four months away as of today. I'm going to work this summer, living at home, saving to spend either the New Year or St. Paddy's Day in Ireland and a couple weeks the following summer in Germany. I'm going to re-vamp my bedroom to look all growed up. I am on the dating scene and it's exciting and I'm completely ready for it.

There's something I'm not happy about, though. I'm not happy about having to sever my closest friendship. But he was hurtful, he was difficult, and I was always in serious emotional distress. The more I tried, the worse everything felt. And so I had to end this friendship. I don't like it. I miss him so, so much... but I miss who he was when he was younger. He changed, and I don't like the person he became, unfortunately. So I was in mass amounts of emotional and mental pain. Now I am numb. It's like a sliding scale: I was very low on the scale, and ceasing transmission took me up just a bit on that scale to where I can't really feel anything. No where near the middle, and certainly not up into the happiness end of things... not in that corner of my life, anyway. I'd rather be numb than hurting. I'd rather have my old friend back than not have him in my life at all. But some decisions had to be made, and I'm coping.

So yes, relatively speaking, I'm happy.

the male species

 I'm waiting for a man to prove to me that not all men suck. Because so far, my experiences, while limited, have not been positive. And now I'm trying out this online dating thing, just because... well, hell, I'm always up for new experiences, and what can it possibly hurt? So I'm trying this out, and -- neat! People are contacting me. And then I look at the brand of people contacting me.

One guy starts spewing misogynistic bullshit. I mentioned in jest that I'm kind of a bum and he replied, "Can't count on you to clean, then! haha! I'd just have to Nazi train you!" Funny guy. Went on to say that Truman, my school, the Harvard of the Midwest, the Princeton of the Prairie, would be "easy as fuck." Now I have to hit you.

Another guy sends me a message saying "Hey beautiful, what's your number?" A little forward, methinks, but no matter. I deny the number exchange but say fine, let's chat. He replies, "How was your New Years'? Do you wear boy shorts or thongs?" Block. Blockblockblock.

I'm waiting, gentlemen of the world. I am sitting back (kind of), waiting for an attractive guy with a little respect up his sleeve who doesn't find humor in hurt. All you have to do is show up, and trust me, I can do the rest.

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.