I have never felt comfortable around people who talk about their feelings for Jesus, or any other deity for that matter, because they are usually none too bright... Or maybe "stupid" is a better way of saying it; but I have never seen much point in getting heavy with either stupid people or Jesus freaks, just as long as they don't bother me. In a world as weird and cruel as this one we have made for ourselves, I figure anybody who can find peace and personal happiness without ripping off somebody else deserves to be left alone. They will not inherit the earth, but then neither will I... And I have learned to live, as it were, with the idea that I will never find peace and happiness, either. But as long as I know there's a pretty good chance I can get my hands on either one of them every once in a while, I do the best I can between high spots.

- Hunter S. Thompson 

 This is like every day of my whole life.

I hope that you die
and your death'll come soon
I'll follow your casket
on a pale afternoon
And I'll watch as you're lowered
down to your death bed
and I'll stand over your grave
'til I'm sure that you're dead.


B. Dylan

Never trust your friends.

Don't be surprised when you get bent over.

Sorry kids, but little facebook messages saying "hey let's hang out next week" and then ignoring my reply is not going to impress me. You boys need to understand that when you try to play the game with me, you lose. You always lose. This doesn't even fathom me. How strange it is to feel no emotion for a boy I really liked before. It's actually quite nice though. I don't even care if he doesn't like me or just wants to be friends or is just trying to fool me with some hard to get bullshit but I do not care to decipher what's going on. I'm throwing this away right now. And it feels pretty swell. The puzzles of dating and trying to figure out my feelings is tiresome so I thank you, sir, for making it clear that I don't have to figure it out. Ah, relief.

I do believe that I am quite crazy. I'm making my good friend join me on a trip to the haunted fairground this month to help me find my lost love from last Halloween. My one who got away. Ha, what nonsense. But what else do I have? I don't like the normal ways of dating, and meeting people at clubs and sleeping in strange bedrooms. No, I am more likely to find my man in makeup and hiding in a clown house. I'm even more likely to not find a man at all so after this, I won't be writing here about men or relationships for a while. I want to see how purely I can extract the thoughts of being with someone from my mind. I want to fill those parts completely with art and music and work.

I am so much better than you.

Something is happening inside of me that I don't quite have a hold on. I've recently taken on a nihilistic view of the world and so far, it's been grand. It's so nice to look at everything and anything exactly for what it is, no more and no less. Nothing outside of this reality. In growing up, I've tried to fortify my courage to do only what I want to do. To refuse things I don't want without feeling an incessant need to appease the people around me. People are mostly disgusting and I am too old to fake being nice. Funnily enough, I think I'm one of the most genuinely sweet people I know. I never intend to be mean or judgmental, but if you talk slow, or talk to me like a child, I will not and cannot fake that I enjoy talking to you. I'm starting to become aware that this is not an ideal way to be. To be mostly uncaring of what my behavior inflicts on others I don't care for. Sometimes I don't know if I really am mean or if the structure of my face is unfortunately arranged to truly make me look miserable all of the time.

A few days ago at work, one of my managers says "Kaylee, are you alright?" And I say I'm fine and I smile and he tells me I looked pissed off. But all I'm doing is standing against a wall with my arms crossed. I don't understand why I have to constantly smile like a fool for people to not expect that I'm about to murder them. Every single time someone says "Hey, what's wrong?" when I'm staring off into space, I want to say "Nothing, this is my face, this is how it looks, stop making me feel bad about it."

The next day, one of my coworkers, this old Japanese idiot woman who can't enunciate comes up to tell me to do something but she stops in the middle of her sentence. I don't entirely remember what kind of facial expression I might have had but she was talking slow and it was getting on my nerves. So she stops and actually says "... Is it alright if I say something to you?" This catches me off guard and I spit out "Of course" in a surprised tone of voice. No one has ever said something like that to me. I start contemplating if this woman just has low confidence or if I really do look like an irritable bitch all the time. Then I'm angry that this woman exists. I mean, honestly, I have never talked to someone and thought "Oh, maybe I should ask her if it's okay to speak to her before I do." Fuck that, if I want to tell you something, I fucking will. So I still don't really know if she was trying to tell me what a bitch I am without explicitly saying so or if she could see into my mind that I was picturing her head on a stick. I really don't think she is smart enough to consider the undertones of her remark and I wasn't really imagining her dead, but her question angered me before it got me questioning my outward self.

Maybe I am way too fucking mean. I really want this job and I want to get far with it. I enjoy working in banquets, I get to talk to all kinds of people. I really don't hate my serving job, even though it's not what I went to school for. I love to make conversation and do things for people. I love being asked for things by guests and taking care of them. The thing about banquets is that it's so easy, that anyone can do it. This means I work with a lot of old, fresh off the boat, uneducated people who are only good at one step at a time tasks and can only function when given very minimal and repetitive routines. I have nothing in common with these people. At work, you're supposed to get along with both your coworkers and serve your guests. I mostly want to slaughter the majority of the people I work with. I hope to move up as quick as I can, because I fear I could snap and be let go before I get there.

Perhaps 'Fuck off' might be too kind?

I'm An Animal

What do you think the most painful part of being beaten in the face with a hammer would be? There's the part where your bottom lip gets split wide open. And then there's your teeth caving into your mouth. Your gums separating. Your jaw bone collapsing. There's the part when the peen hits your nose and your septum crunches into your throat. When the bridge cracks into pieces. By this time, your face is decimated. You feel everything but nothing really feels whatsoever. Then you feel the singe of your burning cheek as the bone gets folded into your face. Your eye follows it inwards. The only intact bit left of your mashed visage is the bone of your brow, then it gets pulverized together with the meat of your brain and the splinters of your skull. Your face is in fragments but all you can do is imagine the pain of it. The nerves are done feeling but in your mind, you know you've been butchered with a hammer and that's what makes it hurt.

These are the thoughts that keep me up at night. This is how I describe my life. Living isn't miserable itself, it's just a clump of days that are really quite miserable, each and of their own. And then when I feel like smiling or crying, I don't know if it's right or if I'm sick. The thing that makes me sad the most is nothing; nothing at all. I've taken on a strong belief that to exist is inherently absent of any kind of meaning and it's depressing. But it makes my life easier to mange and live through. Knowing that nothing really matters makes every day pretty fucking easy. It makes every problem fade away. Knowing that when I die, there will be nothing is strangely satisfying. I don't need to be remember or missed. Even now. Sometimes I feel like I have no emotion and sometimes I feel like there's a lot in me. In real life, I am a shell of what I really am. I was out with some friends last week and they said "You really have no emotions, don't you?" And I laughed as I said "I do! I cry all the time! Like, 10 times a year." I really don't know if it's a lot or barely any. Maybe I really don't have a lot of emotion, but it's alright because I think I could seriously drive myself insane with any more.

I'm so funny when I'm drunk. On the way home from an amazing night out, I had a theory so I wrote it into my phone so I could read it when I was sober. Here's how it goes. (I corrected many spelling errors.)

"Each and everyone of us pursues our own pleasure. No contest. I contend that we are born gay but convert ourselves to a heterosexual state only to forward our own species. I contend that we are nothing but a virus, consummating our purpose to survive but those with enough will shall manage to pursue pleasure in spite of what they are."

Excuse me... EXCUSE ME.

"Death is like the moment you begin to like the party, the party is cancelled and everybody must go home. But it's actually worse than that. Instead, you're tapped on the shoulder and told that you must go home but the party is still going to continue. That's the worst."

You need to know that nothing really matters.

Stress Position

"And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”

It won't end here. Your faith has got to be greater than your fear.

Alright, so with everyday that goes by, I try to understand myself a little better. I'm so young, I haven't had much time to understand the complete functionality of my mind and my heart. But I'm learning through the way I feel for you. I'm holding out. My past is kind of funny, the way I pursue and chase a man and claw him into my grasp. Then toss them far away once I've tried them out. Yes, it sounds deprave and maybe it's quite whoreish. But I will maintain that I am quite hard to get. I spent a long time hating myself and thinking I was disgusting so since I've been aware that I've got the goods to play the game, dammit, I am playing it to the death. This means I will never be anyone's girlfriend. I've liked this boy for a very long time and it's great, he likes me back. Fun's over now. All it is about for me is making guys who don't love me, love me. So when the boy comes back, we may just meet again and go a little farther. But I wish for the good of us both that he doesn't ask me that horrid question. I really just hope no one does. Now I see that no matter how long I can pursue and pine for one person, the moment that my catcalls are requited, well, that's just when I don't want to play anymore. I don't know for sure if this is a problem. For them it is, because I'm just like some guy who sleeps around and throws the girl away after a night. I guess I'm sorry I'm like this but it's the way I am and I can't fake feeling for someone. I'm too young and free and I have no time for that. I can't have you gone for months while I'm at home missing you and inevitably pouncing on someone else while you're gone. I'll never be faithful. It's like my head is built around this condo building and to have you live here, means moving into a two bedroom to fit all of your stuff and time and love but I just can't move out of my studio apartment. My loft, permanently full of labour and travel and art. I can move it around a little bit for him to stay a while but he's gonna have to leave before my things gather dust. I'm just not meant to be a girlfriend.

Sometimes your shallowness is so thorough, it's almost like depth.

-Yoko Ono

Never again will there be another one quite as desirable as you.

Everything's a mistake. I've got one thing on my mind and I want nothing more. I'm sorry but you'll probably end just the same as all the rest.

Can I be excused for the rest of my life?

I'm gonna drink my whiskey
Gonna have my man
I know you got nothing to say
I'm gonna have my men
Gonna steal their hearts
And save em for another day
Ain't gotta hang my hat
Ain't gonna take off my boots
Ain't nothin gonna stop me in my pursuit
My stage time to rehearse
Gonna see all the wonders of the universe

Home sweet home, home sweet home.

Home sweet booby trap.

I took the batteries out of my mysticism 

and put them in my thinking cap.

New York, I love you but you're bringing me down.

I have all these letters I wrote to every guy I cared about. They're all in my journals. Read by no one but me. I counted them the other day but I forgot the number. I can picture them all in my head though. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. I'm missing my green one from grade 12, I need to find it. I think my first entry was from 2005.  I've got four different blogs. I forget how many thoughts I really do have and then I look at my pile of journals and smile. Lines upon pages of tears and hurt. A cemetery of all my cold thoughts. A burial heap of suicide notes and death threats and love letters. Such a sour girl I've always been. 

From the moment we are born,
the world tends to have a
container already built for us
to fit inside: A social security
number, a gender, a race,
a profession or an I.Q. I ponder
if we are more defined by the
container we are in, rather than
what we are inside. Would we
recognize ourselves if we could
expand beyond our bodies?
Would we still be able to exist
if we were authentically
'un-contained'?

I'm not going to talk to you.

God fucking dammit. Let me just talk about how much I legitimately hate the question "So, got any plans?"  This was exceptionally bad when people first realized I was moving from Calgary back to Vancouver. "Are you going to school?" No, I'm done school. Why is it because I choose to move that it must be for this one reason? Am I not free to move anywhere I want to for whatever reason until I have a degree? Fuck that.

"Oh, well you must have a job lined up then... *gasp* You don't?!" No, I didn't have a job lined up. Look, I've spent an innumerable number of days in my life "job-hunting," I've got this shit down pat. I am confident that I could find a job any where in the world. Unemployment rates do not mean shit to me. I put effort into finding work, I don't purposely laze about my house so I can play X Box Live all day and avoid the discomfort of changing out of clothes which are only appropriate to wear in my living room. I'm going to have a job in no time.

"What are you doing tomorrow? This weekend? Anything... at all?" hgfgddhgs. Listen. I'm not the kind of person who makes "plans." I go with the rotting ebb and flow of daily life, without making promises to anything specific.This style of living leaves me very open to literally do nothing for long periods of time, yes. I have gone up to a week without going outside before. What people fail to comprehend is this leaves me free to do whatever I like, any day that I choose. Any event that comes up, I can choose to follow through because I want to or ignore it if I don't. There is no "I can't, got other plans." Which apparently makes people feel so needlessly self-righteous when they get to say it. Not me.

This doesn't mean my life is meaningless or empty. I do like to stay inside sometimes, even when there's things to do. I don't have the social aptitude to make plans, go out everyday, go to parties, go out on dates. It's not me. So when people ask me "What are you up to this week? Nothing?" and then serve me a pure look of disgust, it makes me feel like I'm living my life wrong or something. I hate when people ask me these questions because now I have to explain that I literally have to force myself into going to just enough social situations that keep me from jumping off a tall building after too much time alone. And when I have to make plans for my life, when I have to think of what I hope to be doing in a year's time or in a decade, I want to stop thinking and smash my face into a brick wall. I'm not worthless because I don't do something worthwhile every single day so just fuck off, please.  And that's my rant for today.

Written this morning in a half-awake stupor.

You can come in if you like.
It's really quite messy. And not very quiet.
In fact, the echo in here could drive you crazy.
I've forgotten it's here.
Oh, have you tripped on something?
I've memorized the layout, I know my way around.
I should really clean up around here someday.
Are you hurting? What's wrong?
    Is it too noisy? Loud?
I think you might be overwhelmed.
I'd offer you a place to sit, but I'm afraid you'll stay too long.
Here, let me show you to the door.
Follow closely, yes, you'll be fine.
There you go, now you're outside.
You've saved yourself, and soon enough,
that headache will subside.

Perhaps, sir, we will meet again,
but then, I will not let you in.

I never needed anybody.

So many fish there in the sea
I wanted you, you wanted me
That's just a phase, it's got to pass
I was a train moving too fast


Ugh, why is this my life. Same story over and over.

Sorry, don't feel like writing more. Can't... think. I'll try tomorrow.

Ooh look, it's my life.

I think this is pretty much exactly what my first date is gonna be like. Me being the bear.

I like how ambiguous this image is. When I first read it, I interpreted it as reading makes you better the way medicine cures a cold. But then I read it again and I'm wondering if i intends to mean reading makes you superior to people who don't read. I really like it the first way though, so I promise myself now that I'm going to do some reading later and hopefully not feel so lousy.

I don't really know what my problem is. I have too many moods. A lot of the time I feel like I'm some tiny girl but my emotions grow inside me like weather balloons. And they expand until they burst and turn me into an overflowing cup of misery. I try so hard to be normal but it's unfathomable for me to achieve.

My dad phoned me yesterday. We had a decent back-and-forth and we were almost at goodbye before he said "Is everything alright? You sound kind of... lonely." And I couldn't hold on. I choked out the words "I'm alright" through my heart in my throat and tears starting in my eyes. "Oh, sweetheart..." he says and I lose it all. I'm full on crying and my dad stays on the line to talk me down and tell me all the things I should be happy for. And for half an hour, he pours out every perfect motivational thing he can say while I bawl on the other end of the line. Then he tells me "I'm sorry if I'm keeping you on the phone, but this is the longest we've ever spoken and I'm enjoying this." Now I don't know if he actually knows what he's saying or if he's really trying to make me feel better, but I'm glad he talked to me for that long. And I thought of how only a week before, I was crying myself to sleep one night because of something he said that really upset me. My dad does a lot for me and is one of the only people I can think of who might understand my emotions, but there will always be the part of my brain that tells me to despise him for leaving me as a child and finding his own happiness. For being satisfied with me only being in his life 40 percent of the time and still getting to call himself my father. For commenting on my weight and my issues with it every single time he sees me.

 I usually miss my dad the most and this is strange to me because he's probably the one who hurts me the most too.

I just really miss everyone today.

No No No.

Not working is causing me to lose my mind. I miss being outside for ten hours a day, earning my living. I have only been off work for six days and it feels like quitting smoking. When I'm not working, it means I made no money today. This is bad. This means I get time to relax and sleep in and think. I don't enjoy this. I have to think about both of my grandmothers, deteriorating into old age. Losing their dignity and sanity and I am flying miles away from them both. This kills me. I've never experienced the death of a family member. I think I would die if I lost my parents. And there's my grandpa who taught me how to enjoy life through work. My grandma who makes the homemade noodles that I'll never stop craving.

My uncle is getting married this weekend. My uncle who has lived with cystic fibrosis his entire life. The same disease that killed his sister, my aunt, when she was a teen. He waited for years for a double lung transplant that would have meant certain death without it. The man has lost most of his greatest friends to CF, after it initially brought them together. His transplant was over a decade ago and now he gets to marry his girl. In the darkest moment of my life, I've always turned to him and regarded the way he fought for his. I am so grateful he's always been there in the back of my mind to keep me from jumping the bridge. I hope to tell him how much he's done for me someday.

I love you, Van Gogh.

I'm so excited to be moving. People are constantly asking m why I would leave everything here. "Do you have a job lined up? Are you going to school?" No and no. I don't have a plan. I just need to leave.

We'll burn that bridge when we get to it.

There's a strange thing that happens when you get too comfortable with life. I've been working a lot and I'm starting to realize the overall futility of my existence. I had a pretty funny conversation with a random person at Stampede that made me reflect quite more than expected.

Stranger: So do you work for GMC all the time?
Myself: No, I'm just doing the promotion for Stampede. I usually work for event services with the City but this is the off-time for them.
Stranger: Oh, so does the City have you work Stampede?
Myself: No, I work for another company right now.
Stranger: So you have two jobs?
Myself: Yea, I guess.
Stranger: What do you do when Stampede is over?
Myself: Go back and work for the City right away.
Stranger: What?! So then when is your "me-time"?
Myself: Uh, I don't get a lot of it.

I get no me-time. I spend so many hours of my life trying to get my hands on enough cash to boost my quality of life but working this much jut serves to diminish it. I'm starting to hate my time off, I crave being somewhere and doing something for money. I get paid and I look at my pay cheques and feel like I'm barely making a dent in the debts I have. My lust for luxury is so consuming but so impossible to satisfy.

I don't want "me-time." I want money and beautiful things. This comes with working as many hours as I can at the highest wage I can get. This means my brain functions like a machine and my moods are in disarray. My life is just means to an end and I'm not really enjoying the journey. This is what I think about when I'm on the train to work. When I'm standing too close to the glass and I can see my own solemn face reflected at me. And then I start to hope the train derails or maybe the wind pushes the cars into a light post. I close my eyes and hope to vanish just to reappear anywhere but where I am. But this is how things are and I can move my life around but it's the same story whichever way you tell it. I need to go get ready so I can get to work on time.

Need a new love. I'm ready.

My mum left today. I officially live by myself for the first time in my life. I stayed inside all day, courtesy of my inevitable summer cold that I get every time the season starts. My bed is gone. I have five channels to choose from on my 19" television. I hate cooking in the summer. I have to feed my cat. Today I listened to music and am forcing myself to finish a painting I've had going for months now. I have about 65% left to do. The only movies I have to watch are Black Swan and The Breakfast Club. I have a mickey of Tanqueray in the freezer that I'm gonna crack in about five minutes. I hope it lasts. This is going to be a miserable month. But I'm going to be productive.

I'm going to play guitar.
And paint.
And work and save up to buy furniture and a vacation.
I'm going to take pictures with my new hipster camera and learn everything I can about taking good photos.
I'm going to write more and finally shape up.

I hope with these occupations can busy my mind enough to not go insane.

Give me back my broken parts.

That guy that I could never get, 'cause his girlfriend was pretty fit,
And everyone who knew her loved her so. 
And I made you leave her for me and now I'm feeling pretty mean,
But my mind has fucked me over more times than any man could ever know.

I'm becoming more aware that I don't know what I'm doing with my life. I do have a plan. But plans break me. I've lain myself out to dry in the hot sun of a routine life. I've brought nothing but two hands to a knife fight. I've concluded that my entire existence is dedicated to living in Seattle one day. To settle there for good. I don't know when and I'm not sure how old I'll be, but it's an elevated meaning to my unleavened life. I don't need to be married and I don't need to own a home. I have to satisfy my insatiable wanderlust before I can truly stay anywhere. Right now, my life is working my hands to the bone. I want money to move to Vancouver. I want money to move to Ireland and France and Australia. I want muscles and to look fit so I can at the very least appear strong. For my insides are not quite fortified.

I ride my bike everyday and I don't stop until the fibers in my thighs are burning smoke. I need to shed the visceral fat that clings to my frame. I need to do this so I can pull out all the things that cloud my brain. The toxic feelings of being lonely and worthless. Everything is a link in my body and my mind and I need to find the perfect balance.

I'm trying to fix my heart. I've treated it terribly for years. Energy drinks and alcohol, throwing up, mdma binges, starving, sleeping with boys I don't love, pining for boys who don't love me. I'm exercising every way I can. I want every beating cell, perfect and in sync. The arrhythmia inside is throwing off my mind. My thoughts are not in time and my steps have no real tempo.

I will never love a man 'cause love and pain go hand in hand.

Love is the coal that makes this train roll.

When I was young and moving fast, nothing slowed me down.

Today was kind of strangely enlightening. I worked 10 hours and felt fantastic for every one. I wandered through Prince's Island Park and listened to the Black Keys and felt the sun shine through the trees onto me. I can fucking be happy if I don't let stupid shit bother me. I decided on the bus to work that I wouldn't worry about some random guy who in all likelihood, I will never see again. Who gives a shit if he never wants to see me? I've dealt with this before. I survived. And I'm taking control back. There's no time in my life to be sad right now. I have a lot of shit to take care of. I have to be healthy in a physical and mental state. I'm going to make myself into a 10.

All I want right now is work, and tattoos. A nose ring, my friends, and my family.  And at the moment, Ive been living by these words:

 If you have no problems, don't worry. If you have a problem and can fix it, fix it and don't worry. If you have a problem but can't fix it, it can't be helped; don't worry.

I fuck the weather man to make it rain.

I had a dream last night about this guy I met at Sasquatch. I found him pretty cute and for some repulsive reason, he is still on my mind. So I liked him and in my dream, he liked me too and we touched and kissed and before I knew it, I was awake. My happy unreality stripped away like a worm on a line. I remember looking him only once in the face and noticed it was off, just slightly surreal. This is a common occurrence in my dreams and I wish I was smart enough to see it while I'm asleep. So I could tear myself out before my own horrible subconscious damages me further.

I got up to pour a cup of coffee and I just stood there, leaning on the counter, realizing how little control I have over my life. I waited a while before I went on with my day. I told my mother I'm not going to Houston. I went biking with my brother and asked him to be my life coach for a while. I looked at the grass and reveled in it's lushness. I sucked in as much sunlight as I could. This stuff just makes me happy when nothing else can.

Summer Playlist

King of the Beach - Wavves
Tiny Vessels - Death Cab
Dance Yourself Clean - LCD Soundsystem
Bratty B - Best Coast

Macchu Picchu - The Strokes

Black Treacle - Arctic Monkeys
Don't Stop (Colour On The Walls) - Foster The People
A/B Machines - Sleigh Bells
Post Acid - Wavves

Bad Kids - Lady Gaga

Love - Foster The People
Original Spin - Mother Mother
Boyfriend - Best Coast
Rill Rill - Sleigh Bells
Government Hooker - Lady Gaga
You Only Live Once - The Strokes
California - Hey Ocean!
Gone - Tokyo Police Club
Last Night - Said The Whale
Life Goes On - Noah & The Whale
New Romantic - Laura Marling
Dirty Town - Mother Mother
Graveyard Orbit - Crystal Stilts
Everlasting Light - Black Keys
Shake Me Down - Cage The Elephant
Hotel Yorba - The White Stripes
Bad Love - White Lies

Do you walk the walk or catch the train?

You are beautiful, but you don't mean a thing to me.

Last night, I went out with this guy.
This guy, he was nice.
He was nice and cute, but he,
he wasn't you.

Start making things and some day, one of them might turn out great.

My eyes are aching from being open all day. But I don't want to go to bed. I'll have to wake up in the morning. I have to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. So far, I'm on my way to wasting it. All I want is pure happiness but I can't fucking find it.  I do get happy. But then I remember that I'm not a supermodel like I always wanted to be. That I don't live in Australia and I can't write good songs. That no matter how confident I feel, this guy isn't talking to me. That money is getting in the way of where I want to go. That I'll feel ugly until I lose ten more pounds. I saw a stray razor blade at work today and it took everything in me not to let my instinctive hands grasp it and plunge it into my arm. Or at least save it for later. It took everything in me to leave it there and not let my neuroses take me over.

My mum went to a psychic the other day. She showed her a photograph of me when I was 15. The psychic said I was a free spirit. I need to travel. I'm angry with my father. She said my dad might be manic depressive and that my mother is moody and hard to get along with. Well, that's me.

I tried to explain my emotional self to my mother today. I think I made her feel bad for having no idea that I experience depressive episodes and separation anxiety. These interfere with the way I handle my thoughts and my decisions but I somehow keep them under wraps from even my own mother. I kind of regret telling her so much lately. But I feel like she's the only one I can trust in helping me make life choices.

I need to be strong this month. I turn 20 at the end of June and I feel too weak to deserve it.

The heart beats in its cage.

My heart really hurts today. I just got back from the greatest experience from my life and I can't comprehend how I'm supposed to go on with my boring existence. I hate thinking about the future. It kills me inside to try and make plans for the next year, the next two years, the next two months. I don't understand how people handle life so well while I fall apart over tiny matters. I sometimes wonder if I have an emotional disorder. If my brain is wired wrong or some of the chemicals are overflowing. But I mostly just think I am a big baby. I knew when I would get back home that I would have a depressive episode. I thought since I lasted the night I would be fine today. But alas, at lunchtime while cooking some eggs in a pan, I started to cry. It hit me again that I knew I would be alone forever. I have felt like throwing up since I've been home and eating feels impossible. I hope I will be okay soon.

 I'm trying to live my life to the fullest. I'm realizing that money doesn't matter as much as I think it does. I've been contemplating not moving to Texas and going back to Van.  I wonder if I need more friends in general. I started thinking I might want a boyfriend. I've avoided relationships as much as possible throughout my life. I've come to find that I love the chase and pursuing in itself is so satisfying. My love life is all about trying to make men who don't want to love me, love me.  And then if they reciprocate, I have this kneejerk reaction to push them out of my realm of existence as far away as I can. And I'm starting to hate it and starting to resent myself because even if I want a boyfriend, I don't know how to get one and I don't know how to keep one. But in the end, it's all okay. Because I move too fast for this and I really am just too weird for a relationship. I want the most I can claw out of life and these things are getting in the way of my hands.

I realized how lucky I am to have friends. How amazing it is to get messages when I get back from a trip of all my friends wanting to hang out. I love feeling missed. My friends literally miss me more than my own father does. I'm lucky to have friends that deal with my bullshit and my moods. I don't feel like I need a lover, but I do need love. I crave attention and affection and appreciation and I get sufficient amounts from my lovely ladies. I can only hope I make my friends feel even half as happy as they make me. Dee, Lyns, Mel, Kelc, Cal, Cass and Chantal, you're all my world.

Now We Just Translate

So I haven't updated in a while. My blog is mostly sad and I've been mostly happy lately, so yea, not much to write about. On the other hand, I hate admitting my emotions to myself so I've avoided updating here when I am upset. I've decided to write about happy things so I can keep track of my improvements and passions instead of my spiral into insanity. Ever onwards!

My most recent obsession is the Royals. In the time leading up to the wedding, I was pissed that every news network talked strictly about the upcoming event instead of anything else. Um, pretty sure the world was still going on in that time frame, but sure, I'd love to hear more about the guy who will be washing dishes at the reception. Anyways, I didn't give a royal fuck until the day after, and I came across all the decadent photos of the wedding. Many people don't know this, but I have a little addiction to haute couture. I could match names to faces of almost any model who has been in a magazine and I worship designers like they're gods among men.

The dress killed me. I was so glad it wasn't over-embellished, but tactful and divine. And from the house of Alexander McQueen, one of my absolute favorite designers. Then I see the tiara, and I die again. Kate Middleton probably grew up wanting to be a princess someday, just like every other little girl, and now she actually gets to be one in real life. I can't comprehend how that must feel. I also loved all the little hats they call "fascinators," and I've sworn to myself that one day I will have a plentiful collection of them.

I wish I could have gone to experience and indulge in the euphoria that took place there. England looks like home to me and I hope to move there soon. It's so weird to think about life and plans and where I want to be in a year, in five, in ten. I want to be married like a princess one day. Now, here's my favourite picture of the wedding.

Funerals are a huge scam.

Goals: This Year

• Pay off student loan.
• Save enough money to move.
• Do shitloads of yoga.
• Thoroughly understand Buddhism.
• Get better at painting.
• Get a working holiday visa for Ireland.
• Get a driver's license.
• Tone up.

Goals: Lifetime

• Bike around Ireland.
• Train across Europe.
• Learn the following languages: German, Italian, Greek, Spanish, Danish, Dutch, Finnish and Swedish.
• Buy some real estate and build my house. Most likely Seattle. 
• Buy Mother a house in Aruba.
• Take paternal grandparents to Norway. 
• Adopt African boy and Iranian girl. Raise them to be both athletic and genius.
• Live in Australia.
• Live in Dubai.
• Get a degree in something. Likely medical.
• Volunteer in Africa.
• Visit as many countries as possible. 
• Act in the Canadian Forces as a reservist. I'd quite like to be in the infantry.

Prayers don't do jack shit.

Goals: Three Months

• Don't fuck up good healthy eating.
• Get full time, good paying work.
• Exercise every day.
• Get a credit card.
• Get some work experience in sound.
• Glory events.
• Write a couple songs.
• Lose ~15 more pounds.
• Get better at piano.
• Learn more music theory. (memorize circle of fifths/keys/chord progressions)
• Finish two paintings.
• Design new bedroom.
• Look into driving lessons.

Breaking up is hard to do. Just as hard as loving you.

My mum usually spends the weekends at her boyfriend's house. She used to bring him over once in a while but my brother outwardly dislikes him and I don't laugh at his jokes so she just goes there now. He's 38 and has never driven a car in his goddamn life. He has no intentions of getting a license. He lives cheque-to-cheque and couldn't save a penny to save his life. Recently, his ex girlfriend decided to move in with him and his roommate, claiming that she is now a lesbian. And this is supposed to be okay with my mother. Whatever.
I'm expecting my mum to come home sometime on Sunday, but she walks in the front door on Friday night. I guess they fought and she got pissed and left. Kay. Now it's Sunday, and my mum's been in her room all day, and she comes out at about 5pm to say "My boyfriend broke up with me on the phone." She looks at me for comforting words but I'm silent for a good thirty seconds before I come up with "He's a manbaby anyway, who needs him?" I'll never be good at this kind of thing. She calls my grandmother to tell her she's coming to pick up my brother and I can hear her giving my mum a hard time on the phone as she is audibly choking up now. I offer to go with my mum, and this perks her up a bit. Dealing with my grandmother is a often a traumatic and stressful event, on a good day. We get my brother and come home. My mum goes to her room and I cook dinner for myself and my brother. She cries to someone on the phone.
I will never fucking understand breakups. Because I think a breakup with this specific man, or manbaby, would be an ultimately liberating gift from the Universe. Though, I've never known love like anyone whose had their heart broken. And there lies the rub. I can't fathom why people cry over things they can't change.
It's like in junior high, and someone would call you a bitch online and it would be reeling in your head for days. It's like a thorn that tears a hole in your thumb. It bleeds for a bit, but you wouldn't cry. And it takes a few days to fully heal, but until then, you will feel that little sting when you touch something and when you feel it, you remember that thorn. Then soon it's gone for ever. From your thumb and from your mind. Now why can't a breakup be like that? Why does is linger for longer than a couple days? Why cry about it?
My favourite concept I've come across in my studies of Buddhist philosophy is that you effectually responsible for all of your own suffering. Which can be disheartening, but upon further reflection, you realize that since you alone cause yourself to suffer, you can go on to void yourself completely of such strife. I wish I could explain these ideals to people in person, but I find myself sounding like a babbling infant when I try to speak. I want my mother to understand this. Though I do wish the foolish manbaby would disappear, and my mother to be happy, I know he'll be back soon. It's just the way it happens with these sorts of things. I always thought you would need to break up once to know for sure that it's over, but this is not so. Everyone breaks up. All the fucking time.
The only redeeming thing I've seen him do is buy my mum a ring from Tiffany's that she said she loved for Christmas. It was the wrong size though. They have a Tiffany's in Vancouver so when she picked me up in January, she went to their store to see if she could trade it in for one that fit. But they didn't have it. The man at the counter said he would take it and order the right size and get it mailed to our home.
Fed Ex is coming tomorrow. I have to be up before noon to sign for the package.

The Monkeysphere

• So I really like this website called Reddit. People just post things they find interesting and everyone else looks and makes comments. Some people will tell the story of their fascinating profession, or talk about some insane event that happened in their lives and then they answer people's questions. Yesterday, I read one put up by some guy somewhere who said he's made the decision to kill himself on Monday. I read another one by some other guy who has had lymphoma for years and has decided to legally end his suffering with the assistance of a doctor, also on Monday. Both cases could be completely faked for attention, of course. Reading through their stories and responses to people though, they seemed pretty legit. Anyway, I've been fascinated but a lot of the replies these guys have gotten from random people. Everyone wants to save the suicidal man, and some of the suggestions are remarkable. Such as "Why don't you sell all your things, take the money, fly somewhere random, live off the land, travel, or join the French Foreign Legion and get a new identity?" Unfortunately for this, suicidal people do not think rationally. However, this fascinates me as a person who doesn't quite mind being alive. I don't think I could ever do this though. I couldn't leave everyone I love that quick. I suppose if I had no one to love/no one loved me, this would be easy. Back to the post, everyone says all these things this guy should go do to fall in love with life. And while I quite believe it's been wasted in this poor man, it has made me more appreciative of the life I have. The other guy with cancer talks about his regrets and makes several enlightening comments. I find myself marveling at the things that the human mind can create when one's aware of their existence coming to an end. I am greatly motivated to get a lot done this week.
My favourite comment out of those posts was someone saying something along the lines of "Do you remember anything from the time before you were born?" This implying that there is nothing when you die. Now I can't even begin to believe there is any kind of afterlife. Heaven and hell is pure bullshit. I identify mostly with Buddhist beliefs and essentially, lives are reused over and over until Nirvana is attained. You could live a multitude of times, all in different forms. Your main purpose as an entity is to fill up your tank on good karma. That's cute and all, but I don't want to live more than once. Unless I happen to win the birth lottery next time around, but I'm way too much of an asshole for that so my hopes are low. All I can hope for is that my life ends where it does here on Earth. One of the best motivational things I've read talks about how billions of years passed before most people were born and billions will likely pass after they die. You spend more time not existing than you do being on Earth. It's one of the only statements that has driven me to try and maintain my own happiness as much as possible.

I laughed at this for far too long. I should probably go to bed.

Side note: It's only funny if you read it in a gangster black man voice.

The Bystander Effect

So here's some thoughts that have been circulating my brain as of late:

• "I'm so lonely and detached from humanity. I think I want a baby" -has mortifying dream about giving birth- "Hahaha, nope."
• "I live in a dump. Literally, my basement could be on Hoarders. I could actually cry right now."
• "Kaylee, get a job. You lazy fucking fuck."
• "I like having goals. I like achieving them. Let's make some goals."

Now I'm going to talk about my dreams from the past two nights:

• I was getting ready to give birth to my second child. I was panicking and thinking I would not live through the process, even though I had done it once before. Wtf. Anyway, I'm in a bare concrete basement, sitting on one of the ugliest dorm room, egg chair-type things and facing a small tv. And I'm having a dilemma wondering what I should be watching as my child is born and what the first thing on television they will ever see might be. But I wake up before I even find anything and I never give birth. Yay. 

• Now, I'm in a passenger in a car getting chased by police. So my car pulls over and apparently the cops are really after this madman who is just running on the side of the highway. The madman plants himself at the front bumper of my car and leaning over the hood, he points a gun straight at me and tells the police if they don't back off, he's going to shoot someone. The cops have surrounded him and aren't budging. I realize that I'm the only person in the scenario who can hear this guy. The madman is still aiming the gun at me but he's looking away so I jump in the backseat. There's some other boy, my age, in the backseat already and he jumps in front to where I was sitting. I supposed he didn't see the gun. The madman returns his gaze to the front seat and shoots the boy in the chest. Then it goes to a part where the boy is fine, but he has bandages over his heart. And I'm having a moral dilemma because I'm ultimately responsible for him getting hurt. I like to think I'm the kind of person who would have taken the bullet so no one else would have needed to. Beyond that though, I never told him that the madman had a gun and was going to shoot before he switched into the front seat. I might have even told him to take my place, knowing he would be shot instead of me. So that's me being an asshole in my dreams and I really hope I wouldn't be that awful in real life.

Dunbar's Number

  

This is what real problems look like, in case anyone was wondering.

Sorry, no hip photos. No wise quotes. Just reality.

These are photos from Abu Ghraib, a prison in Iraq.

American military personnel ran the prison.

Years ago, a bunch of pictures surfaced of American military police torturing prisoners. Prisoners who weren't yet convicted of any crimes.

This week, I've seen photos of Libyan people virtually cut in half, likely by bombs delivered care of their own leader.

I saw a video of a police officer get hit in the head by a petrol bomb at a riot in Greece. 

If I had the means to do so, I would assassinate Gaddafi myself.

And that's what it comes down to; my means of capability to help defenseless and innocent people.

Now what does it mean to have these means?

It means money.

Every fucking thing come down to money.

I don't have the money for plane tickets to Africa.

I don't have the money for a master's degree.

I probably could. But I am ferociously capitalistic.

I'd always choose money over love, over fame, over happiness.

Every one of my dreams; I need money to achieve. To help people. To buy my mom a house. To own a condo on every continent. My entire life's purpose is to get rich. It's not a true, heartfelt purpose but it's something to live for. I'm okay with that conclusion because I think existing is an absurd notion and has no purpose whatsoever. There is no heaven. There is no god. I can't fathom the mental gymnastics of people who try to keep their faith when all logical signs point to "God is a fairy tale." Many people are fascinated by the powers of the mind. Things like epinephrine, our healing functions, learning, and dreams. I don't think it's powerful. It's strange, yes. Fascinating, sure. But you can put a man in a room with no sunlight for a few days and watch how weak the mind really is. Name-calling is driving people to kill themselves in our strange times. We learn about history in high school so our society might have the chance of avoiding repetition. But we still have dictators. Countries are destroying themselves. There are as many earthquakes as there has always been, but now there's just too many fucking people. Humans are not built to live in the societies we currently exist in. And we haven't had enough time to evolve.

We have wars, religion, social programs that don't work and plain, fucking idiots all over the world. 

This is your rapture. These are the revelations. 

I wants. Why am I such a consumer.

Semantic Satiation

Life is rough, so you gotta be tough.

Freedom, Zenos Frudakis

Why do I get so angry? How do I get far enough to make my body shake?
My hands quiver and I can't hold anything. I just want to make fists and swing.
I've never screamed so loud at my mother.
What mad person have I become to wonder why it is illegal to set someone on fire?
I suddenly hate everything I love.
Today, I almost lost what I've spent weeks dreaming about.
My prized project that I spent all day creating, only a day away from completion, and I nearly destroyed it.
You really ruin everything.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
When I was young, I used to pray to God to take away my mother in place of someone else's.
Someone who really loved their mom. One of those people who say "my mom is my best friend."
I've never felt like that about mine. And my heart bled for those kids on the news who would cry and cry for their momma and their dad would talk about how great she was before the accident.
I used to be certain that I was adopted. That there was no way I was birthed from my own mother.
I would get angry and I would scream, "there's no way you're my real mom."
When I was a little older, I tried to plan a murder. I wondered how likely it was that I could get away with killing her myself. Another ridiculous over-reaction.

But I stopped believing in a god. I started liking my mother more.
I still have my bleeding heart. I'm trying to maintain my integrity.
I want to live by myself. I don't want to live at all.
I want to live in a cave, in a dorm, in a room with no beds.
I think I was born wrong.
My mother once told me that I was born in a peaceful environment.
But it's incongruent. My life feels something like free falling down a finite hole while in my arms, I'm holding the screaming, starving infant that is my existence. I can't pull myself up because I'm stuck in the middle of nothing.

In theory, I'd probably be a sociopath but in reality I'm rather empathetic.
I don't understand why people feel so differently from me.
I hate the sensitivity that comes with being a woman.
I hate this in other women.
I hate this in my mother.
I don't understand why people don't like books, or go to church, or fist fight.
I hate these weaknesses in people. Still I somehow do not hate people. I just don't relate to really anyone.
I fell down here from space and cannot find a purpose. I flip like a switch and every little part of me is a polar opposite of another. My entire self is a formation of extremes and reactions.