Days go by and we all start again.

So I figured, being my birthday and all, I might relay the things I've done with myself this past year and the things I will be pursuing in the next. Just to keep my mind happy and to remind myself that I have a great life.

Did

• Fed a massive stingray
• Swam in the Caribbean
• Lived independently
• Figured out what I want to do with my life
• Visited the site of the worst school shooting before Virginia Tech happened

Will do

• Move back to Cowtown
• Start my degree
• Learn to drive
• Buy a motorcycle

Can't remember what they said.

Overwhelmed as one would be placed in my position.

Such a heavy burden now to be the One.

Born to bear and bring to all the details of our ending;

to write it down for all the world to see.

But I forgot my pen.

Shit the bed again.

Typical.


Rosetta Stoned - tool

Cut and divide it all right in two.

I left on vacation on May 31st. The customs agent held me up at the airport and I missed my 6 hour non-stop flight to Houston from Vancouver. Apparently not having a printed copy of my return flight warrants this kind of action. I eventually get passed through and get thrown on a flight to San Francisco then connected three hours later to a flight to Houston. I finally land at 12am. The drive to my Mum's house is about an hour and a half from the airport. You speed all the way there down this long stretch of highway. The roads look brand new. Its not like in Canada where the roads are in a constant state of construction. These paved trails are traversed by thousands upon thousands of cars, in a constant flow of life. You can't even tell how fast you're going on these freeways until the vehicle in front of you starts to slow and you need to stop before smashing your front end into their fender. It's 2am on Friday, and even now, there's late night drivers all around. The cars are sparse, but there's an oddly abundant amount for this time of night. Still, we're all barreling down the four lane highway, full speed without a worry of rear-ending the car in front. Suddenly, there's brake lights. The four lanes flood with slowing vehicles into a complete bottleneck. Two of the lanes are blocked by a white pickup parked at an angle. "Oh that's nice, the cops just stop traffic without warning now," my mother proclaims. But it's not the police. It's a civilian vehicle and its headlights are shining on the road ahead. We're passing the truck on the left side and I hear a shuddered gasp out of my mother as she says "don't look" and she goes as fast as she can past the block. In those blocked lanes, under the lights of the pickup, is a body. A human lying face down, arms at the sides, legs straight and relaxed. I resist the temptation to look for a moment but as we pass, I turn my eyes to take in what happened. I know it will be traumatic to see but I've always had a curiosity for these things. I've seen countless images of gore on the Internet, read and researched multitudes of serial killers and terrorists. At first I followed my Mum's suggestion to not take in any of this garish image but this is my first opportunity to see it first hand, in real life. I want to see if I can be truly frightened by something like this, if the Internet really does fail at translating the entire emotional experience of witnessing a dead or dying person. As we drive past, and I'm taking in the scene, I can feel my heart racing and my brain is trying to get me to look away. It knows there is something here that could be traumatic but my morbid curiosity is too strong. We're as close to the body as can be and I see it's a woman. The long hair and small frame give it away. There was either little or no blood, but my brain is blocking this part out and I can't remember for sure. Cars are stopping on the side of the road, like the tourists in the Rockies when there's a moose or a bear visible. They don't look like people aiming to help. There's a few things that felt exceptionally strange in this occurrence. There were no emergency vehicles. The accident must have happened just before we had arrived and it made it feel even more eerie. Then, the woman was lying in a perfectly aligned position. No limbs splayed about. Her head wasn't even turned to the side; she was nose to asphalt. Looking at her position, I can tell immediately that she is not alive. Of course, I won't know this for sure until I inevitably look up the accident in the next day's papers. In my belief, she is dead, but there is no gore anywhere and her lifeless body is in such a calm position that it's dissonant in my mind. A person dead on a highway like this could have been missing limbs, splattered, blood all over the incriminating car. But it's not like any of the pictures or videos from the Internet or Hollywood films. There's nobody even standing anywhere near the woman. Nobody performing first aid, or holding her as she passes. I can't imagine that this woman has been hit by a speeding car on this highway without splattering everywhere but that's what I found in the article I read the next day. She was trying to cross the highway, misjudged the speed of the headlights coming towards her and she was hit. The car must have slowed down before she got hit which explains why there wasn't any blood. It's a strange thing to know that I've now actually seen a dead person in real life, and the fact that it's so possible and almost normal to die utterly alone has been a little hard to swallow.

Ugly Goddess

Who am I?
Jekyll and Hyde.
You looked into my mind's eye
and saw that I was blind.

My ear to the ground,
I never heard the sound
when you told me one more time
how I seem completely fine
but in the looking glass,
I look half full of hell.

Sweet Revelation

Love is not enough.

I try to donate blood as often as I am able to. You have to wait 56 days between each donation and I mostly make an appointment within a week of being eligible again. I went yesterday and I was at the clinic for an hour and a half. This shit is supposed to take 20 minutes. The clinic I went to was pretty busy and full of old people, but the issue was more in the fact that every single test I had to take barely met the minimum to donate. To start, I had my hemoglobin checked three times. First two times it was 124 then lucky number 125 finally showed and she let me through. I've been taking iron capsules for four days so I don't know how that's possible.

I moved on to the questions, and went in the little cubicle to get my blood pressure and temperature checked. Temp shows barely minimum. Blood pressure shows incredibly low. Nurse says go eat and drink and I'll get you in 15 minutes. Fuck.

So now I've been here almost half an hour and the nurse checks everything again and everything shows I'm good to go. Then she asks how much I weigh. I tell her and ask what the minimum is and she says 110. I cannot understand how someone could think I weigh less than that but given the fact I barely met everything else, I'm not surprised she asked.

I wait a bit more and I get put in the chair. Needle's in, blood's coming out at a good pace. I'm done in fewer than seven minutes. What the fuck? I always take hardly any time to fill the blood bag but my vital signs show that I'm barely alive every time I donate.

I've basically become a gym rat with a number of supplements I can just barely keep track of and I eat a healthy diet. I'm 20. I should be fit as a fucking fiddle. It's like my negative attitude, my nihilistic philosophy, my constant state of irritability, and overall spiteful consideration of people manifest themselves in my physical state. My blood is black and hardly moves. I wonder about the people who get my blood transfused into them. If it even works. If they get it injected and the doctor says "Well, looks like you might still die." I wonder if their moods swing suddenly into a dark realm of bad intentions or if all at once, they feel like they're 30 years older than they really are.

It's kind of funny how before I donate, I usually feel like I could pass out if I stand up too fast or like I can't get a good grip of the earth below my feet. But I get the needle in and the blood pumps out and I feel revitalized and feel so much more alive than before. It's like my blood is bad and toxic and getting it out makes my body better. It blows the smoke out of my brain.

Most people donate blood to be good people and perform their human duties. I do it for the entirely selfish reason that I like the needle and the euphoria from getting the blood removed. And this makes it almost evil.

Hiding backwards inside of me.

I beat my machine
It's a part of me it's inside of me
I'm stuck in this dream
It's changing me
I am becoming

The me that you know had some second thoughts 
He's covered with scabs and he is broken and sore
The me that you know doesn't come around much 
That part of me isn't here anymore 

All pain disappears
It's the nature of my circuitry
Drowns out all I hear
There's no escape from this
My new consciousness

That me that you know used to have feelings
but the blood has stopped pumping and he's left to decay
The me that you know is now made up of wires
and even when I'm right with you I'm so far away

I can try to get away but I’ve strapped myself in
I can try to scratch away the sound in my ears
I can see it killing away all my bad parts
I don't want to listen but it's all too clear

- The Becoming - Nine Inch Nails

I need a touch-up.

I often put lists of goals and things I want to do in the near future on m blog but I never really get around to doing them. So this is a list of things I'm actually either currently doing or are certain to do within the next three months. Real talk.

• Complete portfolio application for ACAD by Friday, hopefully Thursday.
• Gather images for tattoo. Find artist. Make appointment for first two weeks in May.
• Get another septum hole.
• Go to Grand Fucking Cayman on June 1st.
• Get scuba certification. Do online course before last week of May.
• Acquire beach body by May 31st. Tell sugar to go fuck itself continuously. 

Suck it in

We barely remember who or what came before this precious moment.
We are choosing to be here right now.
Hold on, stay inside
This holy reality, this holy experience.
Choosing to be here in this body.
This body holding me.
It's my reminder here that I am not alone.

Twirling round with this familiar parabole.
Spinning, weaving round each new experience.
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate
this chance to be alive and breathing.
This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality.
Embrace this moment. Remember.
We are eternal. All this pain is an illusion.

Parabola - Tool

All you know about me is what I sold you.

I am makeup and hair dye

I'm pierced metal rings

I'm eyelash and eye lined

I'm ink under skin

For whatever reason, I keep getting jobs in places that I hate within weeks of working and want to leave. Most of the time the job itself is fine but the people I work with are what make me spiteful of work days. There are few things that make me feel greater than working out my budget, and knowing I could leave my job at any time and still have enough money to live through to August when I move. I don't really want to leave my job though, because I like to work and have something to do. I could always find another, but I'll be gone for all of June so it would be futile to start another job hunt now. And that's what's keeping me going. I'm going to work these last two weeks of April at the very least. Then I have one month to go before I go away for a month. To see my family and spend some time on a Grand Cayman beach. I don't know if I'll work through May. It really depends on how I get treated at work these next two weeks. My awesome manager is leaving to work somewhere else and the owner of the restaurant I work in is seeming to be quite the prick. So we'll see. I don't need any references from this shit hole so I'm pretty excited for the day that someone fucks with me once over my limit and I can walk out at the busiest time possible.

Prying open my third eye.

A life is the single most valuable boon you will acquire 

in your time and it's given at the high cost of death.

I try to live the right way so I can be happy. But that usually means making friends, being social, fostering relationships and generally doing good things. I've tried these things, I really have, but I just hate people so much.  I worry that I judge people too quick and teach myself to dislike them before really knowing them, usually over one single stupid thing they might have done. I realized at work that the one asshole I venomously hate is actually despised by everyone, so the idea that I judge people on a different level may not be so true. I think I might hate people as much as everyone says they do, but most people keep it inside while they trod along to their little gatherings. I could just be extraordinarily hostile. I always wonder why I hear from so many people who go to bars and nightclubs that they hate the scene and the crowds. Well why the fuck are you going? I can't say I'm innocent of this behavior and my reason is usually "my friends were going so that's why I'm here." I've heard this a million times from myself and from others. But now I see how miserable it makes me and I'd rather stay home. So I do. Then one day I decide to accept an invitation out, to try and expand my social life outside of my work place. And I re-learn why I fucking hate going out and being around people.

People who are nice will ask you what you do, where you went to school, where you're from, what kind of music you like. But it's such vapid and underwhelming conversation and it happens in every social gathering. I wish people would shut up and leave me alone but it makes people feel so fucking awkward, and it sucks. I always find it hilarious how talking about how much I hate people really stirs up some quality conversations that I actually enjoy having. I get the illusion that maybe I really do like being social. But somehow it always gets fucked up.

Some guy I've had a decent conversation with can't handle me saying "good night, see you around" without having to confess how attractive they think I am and how they would totally be into me if they were single or younger. I just don't fucking get why people do this to me. Like every secret in your weak little booze-soaked heart needs to spill out into the world for me to hear. I'm trying to figure out what it is about me that gives people the idea that I need constant reassurance that I'm not ugly/stupid/fat/undesirable. When I've been drinking, all I can really is respond with is "thank you for the kind words" when all I should say is "it's all make-up." Because I'm not really me. I didn't put any work into being born, I just was. There was no effort on my part put into the structure of my odd yet somehow appealing face. I'm not thin because I work hard at it, it's just genetics and youth. People compliment me but I can't take it seriously because if people knew how I really am, they would never say things like that. They'd realize all they're doing is informing me of my existence, which I'm already plenty aware of. I don't put any work into being a good person, I don't work on improving, I ignore relationships, and I don't make anything with purpose. I have nothing to be proud of. Anytime people mention these things to me, I just see someone trying to be a hero and feel awesome for making me realize I'm not as gross and awkward as I must think I am. Because since I'm so quiet, it must be because I have zero confidence. There's no way it could be because I don't like bullshitting with everyone.

Life handed us a paycheck and we said "We worked harder than this."

This is going to be a rant and will not be very exciting to read. Work has gotten me to the point where I'm very close to the brink of losing my mind. Yesterday was one of the worst work days I've ever had. Just a constant flow of rude pieces of shit sort of people. There's a server at work who nags me every fucking day for something. I think it's hilarious that literally everything I do pisses this guy off. They're always things that aren't even in my control, and I don't know if he realizes this and just dislikes me or he's just fucking stupid. I usually just ignore him because he's a shit-stain but I refuse to take it anymore. Today wasn't so bad, I had been at work for maybe ten minutes and sat one woman in a table when he mumbled something about me ignoring his tables. The bitch didn't want to sit in his section. Not my fault. I just imagined suffocating him with plastic and felt better and avoided him the rest of the night.

There's this busser chick who things she needs to tell me every week that I should fold napkins because there aren't any left. BITCH, I DO THIS EVERY SHIFT. I think she realized today how infuriated I was with her because she spoke pretty meekly today and is usually more forceful. I've gotten pretty good at making people know how few fucks I give when they're talking to me.

A woman came in for dinner yesterday. She had a reservation for four and I went to seat her and she outright refused the table I offered. She waltzed around the restaurant and asked if there were any other tables and I said no, they're are people in all of them. She walked back and forth and kept pointing at tables that were way too big for her group or could only seat two people before she finally demanded a specific table in the nice part of the restaurant. A table set for six. She made us remove two places from a massive table for her group of four. You cannot even fathom how much I wanted to choke this twat. Then when the rest of her group came in, the server told me she said "Look what I did!" These are the kinds of people that need to fucking die and never exist. This wasn't even a real problem, it's just the fact the people like this are allowed to live in the world and be selfish and shitty for no reason.

So much inane shit has been going on in my life and it's all colliding into a train wreck inside my head. Yesterday, I couldn't find my phone all morning and I screamed and yelled before I figured out where it was. It all came together today when I was getting ready for work and couldn't get a grip on an eyebrow hair that needed to be plucked. I went into my room and punched my dresser as hard as I fucking could. It was the only way I could get all my emotions out. It's like there is no other way to be angry for me. If there's anger I need to let out, I let it out on myself every time. It keeps other people from seeing how really mentally crooked I am. I just can't be angry with people. I thought it was something I should learn how to do but I'm scared I'll go too far and really lose everything. My job, my friends, my sanity. But I don't want to have to resort to hurting myself forever.

I want to do terrible things to you.

" If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good, and the very gentle, and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too, but there will be no special hurry. "

- Hemmingway 

She wears the leather; I wear the makeup.

I've decided to apply to ACAD. I'm satisfied I've made a decision and found a program that looks almost perfect, save for the cost.  But I'm a bit terrified about having to be an art student. I'm going to be honest, I generally do not like people. An art school like ACAD will be plentiful of the personalities I find most deplorable. There are a few big reasons I never went to study theatre, even when it was my most preferred creative outlet for two years in high school. There are egos abound and it's something I could not see myself being strong enough to suffer through for the years it would take to get a degree and then in the time it would take to find a satisfying career. I went to school for a year in another passion, made about five friends instead of thirty and ignored the egos of people I never had to see again after a few months. I haven't made a career out of what I studied but it's okay because I have a very specialized knowledge that will always make me feel somewhat accomplished.

I work in a restaurant, where at least four of the servers are "actors" and one is 40 with a degree and is an accomplished playwright. Every day is a horrible broken dreams assembly that has only served to aggravate my itching desire for more education and a career that will make me money and make me happy. The guys I know who are actors are pretty awful people and make me overjoyed that I never went to theatre school.

Now the trouble in my future is that the dense population of socially inept and overly self-involved characters that you find in theatre is very alive in the visual arts. I remember art class in grade 10. The teacher was a cracked out space case and my best friend stole my concepts, so yea, I didn't continue. I'm not a good artist on paper but I can pull some very effectual concepts out of nothing. I could really make a living if I got my skills up to par, which would certainly require years of study. Many artists like to just make things that look nice without translating any sort of ides or information and these are the kinds I don't get along with.

These are people who think everything is beautiful and worth noting. I don't understand this notion. If nothing ceases to be beautiful, how can it be valuable? How can it be really worth looking at if it's the same as everything surrounding it? Why is it bad for things to be ugly? I understand being optimistic and seeing perhaps the good in everything, but no, beauty is not inherently existent in whatever you see. Then someone will say "But beauty is in the eye of the beholder! It's all subjective." Fine. I can agree with that. But I can not take anyone seriously who thinks every rusty lawn chair, or ivy-clad brick wall needs it's picture taken and story told. Some things are just ugly. I contend that most things are. I don't think there is beauty in every person. The "everyone is beautiful" bullshit needs to stop being perpetuated because it is not helpful. There needs to be more emphasis on that fact that being seen as beautiful is not a validation for happiness. Being seen as ugly should not make someone depressed. What you look like without the add-ons is how you were born and it doesn't deserve personal praise nor abuse. Being pretty is not an achievement. If you're ugly, just be an ugly fuck and be great at something else. I don't see posters that say "Everyone sings like a classic-trained soprano." It would make everyone feel great about their singing voice, but it wouldn't be true. Saying everyone and everything is beautiful is shit and devalues real beauty. This kind of thing makes it easy for art students to create acclaimed pieces from overall garbage ideas. But then again, that's just art. 


In the end, I hope none of this is really true of the art students I'll meet at ACAD. I think most of my harbored resentment comes from going to art classes in school for years with a close friend who consistently got great praise. She was amazing at execution but my concepts had a lot more depth and thought then hers did. All I learned was that most people only care about what looks nice.

You wasted life; why wouldn't you waste the afterlife?

When I'm trying to make a decision in my life, I spend a lot of nights staying up late trying to figure out what I want to do. I send long-winded emails to my mother, which are basically constructed of not much more than my inner dialogue written into a letter. I guess this is what I use my blog for too, but when I need constructive feedback, I always talk to my parents. But for this decision, I need as much advice from as many people as I can get.

I've figured out that no matter when you're trying to decide something, there really isn't any wrong decision to make when you go through a thorough thought process. Whatever choice you make, you need to stick to and learn how to make it work. Maybe you feel you made the wrong choice and you want to backtrack and take the other route. I think this is just as adequate, because there is no mystery behind the first door and you know for certain what you should be doing. In essence, any path you choose will be right if you take the time to read the map.

So anyway, I have become very interested in the idea of working in advertising. Mostly in graphic design. Basically I want a career that will let me be creative but pay my bills. Together with my sound knowledge, I could be part of both conception and execution as far as making ads go. I could be a one-stop shop.

Great, so I know what I want to do. But I need to take a path to get there. I have two options.

• The Certificate in Visual Design, specializing in Photography at the UofC. This is going to take two years. I only take courses specific to the program and it will cost around $5000. 
• Bachelors in Communication degree, specializing in Information Design at MRU. This is four years and will be closer to $24000. A lot more courses, about 30% being General Education.

Looking at these two programs, I have to find which will benefit me in a number of ways. Getting into the career I want is going to rely more on the way I present my work than the specific level of education I have. A degree versus a certificate will not make or break my resume. I need to build a stellar portfolio. I need the education to give me the ability to do so.

The UofC course will provide all the knowledge I need for creation. Photoshop, photography, and writing courses will be most effective in my ability to generate good work. 

The MRU program will give me a chance to study things outside of the box, which have the potential to give me great inspiration in the future and generally provides a well rounded education. 

However, I would like to do a lot of travelling in the near future which would mean it would take me a lot longer to complete my degree. There are no photography courses in the MRU program. The communications courses are described very thoroughly on the website so I don't know what kinds of graphic design knowledge is taught, (Photoshop, theory, printing etc.)

Also, there is a chance that the MRU program has closed for application for the fall intake for this year, which  could pose a problem because I would like to start my education right away. Going for a degree would give me the opportunity to study abroad. Although I suppose this isn't necessary if I plan to go on a working holiday regardless. I would be considered a full time student and would get to partake in all the perks the status provides. I don't know yet if this is the case with the UofC program, although it's doubtful. The UofC courses will not be valued for credit, and will thus not be transferable should I pursue a degree in the future. Going to MRU, I can apply the General Education courses to any future degrees I may wish to acquire in my middle-age.

The SAIT program that would be relevant to what I want to study requires a portfolio application, which I am not capable of yet, and the applications are closed. I suppose I could complete the UofC certificate and go to SAIT afterwards if I think I need it. But again, the benefit of the general education courses would not be included.

I may be putting too much importance on the general courses. They would be a lot more homework but they would almost certainly be beneficial to my understanding of the world and in critical thinking. I could just as well take courses like these for fun, if it were possible at MRU or UofC. 

Every day I think about all these points and before I go to bed, I end up leaning towards one more than the other. And this changes every night.

I want to fuck everyone in the world.

I don't know if this is relevant to anything but I like to record my realizations.

I've never actually kissed anyone while I was sober.

This really only serves to further reveal what a fuck-up I've been.

It's kind of funny in a sick way too, I suppose.

I am so dirty on the inside.

Fuck in the fire and we'll spread all the ashes around.

I think I'm losing my grip

but I can still make a fist

You know I still got my one good arm

 that I can beat myself up with

Why can't you turn and face me?

You fucking disappoint me.

I am gonna come all over you.

Stupor is a motionless, apathetic state in which one is oblivious or does not react to external stimuli. A sufferer is almost entirely unresponsive and only responds to base stimuli such as pain.  Individuals in this state make little or no eye contact with others and may be mute and rigid. One might remain in one position for a long period of time, and then go directly to another position immediately after the first position. A person only appears to be conscious as the eyes are open and follow surrounding objects.

Numb is the new High.

I miss people a lot. I feel pretty isolated where I am right now, but I do it to myself so it doesn't make feel bad. Just really far. I miss my family a lot. I really start to notice when I haven't talked to them in a while. I miss my friends. I notice when I drink alone and feel nothing but horrible. I texted a friend in Vancouver to make an attempt at being social. We were supposed to hang out yesterday, but it was snowing so I bailed. I was supposed to do some things today too, but the rain is really messing with my head and I don't want to leave my apartment. Instead I've emailed my resume out about 20 times. Now I have three places to go tomorrow in efforts of finding a job that can make me enough money to live for the next while.

Thoughts about killing myself have subsided but I still can't answer the question of why I even bother existing. My father has somehow coordinated just the necessary combination of words to get me out of a lull. Now I face a new problem. I know I can do anything I want. But I don't really know what I want to do. My interests are all over the place. I love art and I love science and I'm trying to unlock the combination to please my love of money.

I'm going to write a song one of these days. Just to see what it would sound like if I could. I think I need to learn music theory a little better first but it's holding me back. I think I'll try it without learning first.

I really miss a lot of people in my life but most of all I just miss being happy.

Every day is exactly the same.

"Acedia (also accidie or accedie, from Latin acedĭa, and this from Greek ἀκηδία, negligence) describes a state of listlessness or torpor, of not caring or not being concerned with one's position or condition in the world. It can lead to a state of being unable to perform one's duties in life. Its spiritual overtones make it related to but distinct from depression. Acedia was originally noted as a problem among monks and other ascetics who maintained a solitary life."

My dad called me today for the first time in a month. Normally I wouldn't care but he usually calls once a week so it's really been bothering me. In my mental state, everything is magnified in terms of it's horror and ability to aggravate my anxiety. I think there could be something not so ordinary about the way my mind operates and can't relax without being destructive. I did some research on how I could go about pursuing a session with a psychologist who might know if I'm actually a freak or just a sad fucking loser. I got really frustrated with the entire process and gave up and convinced myself I'm fine and normal. But there's dark thoughts every day now. 

I told my father I thought I needed to see a psychiatrist and he laughed before he asked if there was actually something serious going on that I might need one for. I hesitated, and pondered if I should really disclose how I think about dying constantly. How I fantasize about my own demise even though I haven't got the desire to truly pursue killing myself. How I cross the street and hope I get plowed by a van or when I see a bridge, I see myself falling over the side. It's just there in my head and I want it out. I decided to keep it inside and neglected to tell him about my new affinity for razor blades. I said I hated being in my head. He asked me if my menstrual cycle was coordinated with my bad feelings and I realized the conversation was over. He did tell me my feelings were normal and he knows what I'm going through. I so want for this to be true. I don't like feeling this bad. I want this to be normal and I want to be happy but there's nothing for me right now. I just want to be dead and come back in a year or two. But it doesn't work like that so I'll just live for now.

If I would have killed myself in the past, I would be dead right now. So I might as well do anything I want, since I might as well be dead. This concept was helping for a while, before I figured I might as well do nothing too.

- There's something really beautiful and uplifting about the way the

 phrase, 'I'm going to kill myself someday' rolls around in my brain. 

Waste away the evening in the afternoon.

"In the 1970s, a relatively popular alternative cancer treatment was a specialized form of talk therapy, based on the idea that cancer was caused by a bad attitude. People with a "cancer personality"—depressed, repressed, self-loathing, and afraid to express their emotions—were believed to have manifested cancer through subconscious desire. Some psychotherapists said that treatment to change the patient's outlook on life would cure the cancer. Among other effects, this belief allows society to blame the victim for having caused the cancer (by "wanting" it) or having prevented its cure (by not becoming a sufficiently happy, fearless, and loving person).  It also increases patients' anxiety, as they incorrectly believe that natural emotions of sadness, anger or fear shorten their lives. The idea was excoriated by the notoriously outspoken Susan Sontag, who published Illness as Metaphor while recovering from treatment for breast cancer in 1978. Although the original idea is now generally regarded as nonsense, the idea partly persists in a reduced form with a widespread, but incorrect, belief that deliberately cultivating a habit of positive thinking will increase survival. This notion is particularly strong in breast cancer culture."

Your love's not what I need, so don't give it to me.

I finally think I've pulled myself out of a really bad mental slump. Regardless of whether I completely have or not, I'm gonna write a list of things that I have to look forward to in my life. No crappy metaphors, just genuine occurrences that will make me glad I'm alive. To you, this may seem really contrived but it needs to be here.

• I have nice skin, a decent bone structure and a pleasant colour in my eyes. I'm not ugly now and I won't be if I take care of myself. I could get to be perfect if I wanted to and it wouldn't take too long. 

• I'm smart. I have a wealth of knowledge that is usable to become whatever I want. It's okay that I'm not where I want to be right now. All I really have is time. But I must not waste it. There's a lot I want to do and these things don't need to be done in any specific arrangement. I need to just get them done any way I can and any way that feels right to me.

• I can move where I like. In no time, I'll be back in Calgary. I'll save my money, learn something new, and get to travel like I always wanted. If I can live through one more year, I can do it.

• I might be a little lonely right now, but I can always work and improve my social behaviour with time. I don't feel like going out every day and meeting new friends and that's okay. It's better to have some friends who will stay forever than too many to forget. It's fewer people to leave behind anyway.

• Despicable Me 2 is coming out in 2013. I need to see it.

• In May, I get to see two of my favourite bands from the floor with one of my greatest friends.

• In April, I get to see Sleigh Bells. The last time I saw them was at Sasquatch, and I was on M that a guy I liked gave me. If I could recreate the experience anywhere close to the original, anything that could happen to me up to that point would be worth it.

• I can play guitar pretty half decent when I take the time to learn on it. 

• I can learn songs on piano pretty quickly too.

• There's always going to be great new music to listen to. All I have to do is find it.

• Summer in Vancouver is coming. It will be grand and I'll be happy everyday.

• I am most certainly capable of doing great things.

• My mum is taking me to Grand Cayman where I'll celebrate my birthday and I'll get to see Houston in the summer too.

Go on; cut a little bit deeper.

I would be so much more into camping if it looked like this.

Let's find out what it's like to be dead.

I've been preparing a new workout/diet plan. I hope to start next week, but I like to get every bit in order before I start so I don't crash head first into failure. In preparation, I've been drinking a lot more water, eating more vegetables and weaning off sweets. For whatever reason, I weighed myself this morning for the first time in three weeks, hoping for 119 but expecting 120. Instead, I saw 113 flash up at me and I checked it three more times to see if it was an error. But every time I weighed, I saw that precious number I haven't seen since high school. I put away the scale and checked my image in the mirror. I don't look or feel thinner but I turned and gazed at my spine; every vertebrae poking out like little teeth under my skin. Then the ends of my ribs, rippling down the edges of my back. I spent a long time trying to get myself to this point before but I stopped the obsessive pursuit long ago. Honestly, I am disgusted with myself by how happy seeing that number made me. The person I was back then is happy to see where I am now and that I got here in a healthy manner. But I realized that I will always have a part of me that wants to be thinner and see bones sticking out. I'm always going to see fat on myself that no one else sees. I'm going to drown that girl inside of me by being healthy and getting fit.

Slide.

It's kind of starting to seem like all I do is wait for things to happen.
Waiting for the delivery of a new pretty ring to put in my septum.
Waiting for a care package in the mail from my mother.
Waiting for September when I get to be close to everything again.
Waiting for a call-back for a single job I've applied to this week.
I'm so impatient and unfocused.
My mind concentrates on things far ahead of it's time.
And my body moves much too slow.
At least I got that haircut I needed today.
Now I can wait for my hair to grow.

I know you try so hard but you can't even win,

you gotta try a little harder; you're the comeback kid.

Penny for my thoughts? No, I'll sell 'em for a dollar.

I don't know how my mind gets to these places. It's already 3am and I don't know why I'm still up. I can't listen to music, it's swaying my emotions in a dangerous way. All I can do is listen to myself suck on this apple core. I wonder how far I would go to become a vegetable. My own mind pulls me inwardly so infinitely that I don't even feel human. My body is like some marionette and my brain pulls the strings in all the wrong ways. I think my time on Earth is so meaningless but people make it unfair to think that way. But I don't think I'm a person. Like I was wired wrong. Like I might not be human and like I came from a faraway planet. I don't think my family is real. I don't think what my grandfather is doing is generally acceptable but for some reason, it will all be fine. (Ask me about this if you're curious, I won't be writing it here.) I don't think I like as many of my friends as I thought I did.   Maybe I should start smoking cigarettes or spending all hours of the night in a club. Maybe I need to get a boyfriend like the one my father wants for me. I'm feeling really weak but I think it's wrong because I'm not as soft and squishy as my genetic makeup makes me to be. I've never cared what anyone thought of me and I'll hold onto that forever. I will write and cuss and whine until I'm dead. Until I'm buried in a grave, but not a coffin because I won't be afraid of the earth.  

Come on, you know you like little girls.

This year, I have a lot of things to do. 2011 was kind of a write-off and that depresses me. I did hardly anything with my diploma that I paid a lot of money and time to achieve. I need to get things going. 2012 cannot be another waste of time for me. I cannot live a life of quiet desperation. It's killing me. I feel like I'm always just on the verge of ending it but I can't because I would hurt my family too much. But one day in time, I'm going to be so drunk or so high that I won't care and it'll be done. But that day, I hope, is years away. And every day I live through puts me closer. So I need to get as much as I can done before then. This is my to do list for 2012.

• Start working/interning as a sound editor in film.
• Get a job that makes me enough money to go on a vacation soon.
• Swim in the ocean when it's warm enough. Waste time on the beach.
• Move out of Vancouver.
• Decide if I want to go to school again.
• Try sex again to see if I still hate it. 
• Try sex with a female to see if I'll hate that too.
• Get at least one tattoo.
• Paint.
• Play guitar.
• Get my body to a point that makes me happy.
• Start rock climbing. Scuba diving. Snowboarding. Martial arts.
• Achieve fluency in Swedish.

 This blog officially only serves to display my constant descent and reemergence from utter madness.

Please take your hand away.

People are fucking awful.
Living is awful.
Working is awful.
Talking to people is awful.
New jobs are awful.
Dying, getting old and dementia are god-fucking awful.

But pain is good.
Tattoos are good.
Drinking is good.
Family is mostly good.
Moving around is good.

Staying in one spot for too long is horrible.
Meeting new people is bad.
Bills are the worst.
Money's evil.
But money is good.

Being happy is good.
Being happy for a long time is great but doesn't happen.
Death is perfect but I'm alive.

I just got back from visiting my Uncle. We all went for dinner at the house he bought in Courtenay. Now if you've ever gone to someone's home for the first time after they've bought it, you have to take "the tour". They could have bought it five years ago but if you've never been there before, the minute you step foot in that house, you have to see every fucking room and corner of it. What a crock of shit. "Look at our basement, look at our garage, this door goes outside, now look at all our fucking property." All I hear is "Look what I can afford. Look at my spouse. You must assume I have a great job. Look at what my money can buy, look at what an adult I am." Whatever.

The last time I saw my Uncle was at my cousin's house three months before. He drank my vodka without asking. So when I visited him last night, I drank his entire bottle of Malibu rum. Fuck him.

 I couldn't go to sleep because I was getting the spins when I closed my eyes. I flipped on the tv and it was on a cable news channel from the States. On the screen were bright red letters spelling BREAKING NEWS and in the top right corner was the word LIVE. A proper woman in a taupe-coloured pants suit was interviewing an odd-looking girl and behind the two women, you could see the charred black remnants of what was probably a house. The girl wouldn't have been so strange looking had you seen her in the mall or walking down Granville, but next to the professionally primped, blonde bobbed interviewer, she looked like an escaped asylum inmate. Her choppy, raven-black haircut was probably done by a friend in some basement salon but it wouldn't have surprised me if it was done by a child with safety scissors.  She had more metal rings in her face than I was capable of counting in my state of inebriation. Her dark eye makeup was running down her face on beads of sweat, which was understandably odd since she was being interviewed on a major network. Why didn't someone fix this chick's makeup before putting her on television? I turned up the volume and listened to the woman introduce and question the creature standing next to her.

  "I'm here in Buffalo, New York with a story about a young woman who is being acclaimed as a hero for saving her neighbour Gloria Steban from a devastating house fire just one hour ago. That young woman is Camilla..." The interviewer leaned towards the left ear of the girl and whispered, "What's your last name, dear? It isn't showing up on the teleprompter..."
  "It's just Camilla. I don't want my last name on tv." The girl's lips burst the words out with force. She obviously did not want to be on television whatsoever. The interviewer shifted uncomfortably following the girl's remark, then turned to the camera and continued with her story..
  "Right... Camilla here lived in the basement suite of the property that once stood directly behind me. As you can see, the home is burnt to a rubble, and the cause of the fire is yet to be known. Police are on the scene and have implicated that this fire may be the product of an arsonist who has been ravaging this area, this being the fourth fire in three months. Gloria Steban lived on the ground floor of the home and was trapped in her bedroom as the fire consumed the house. As Camilla rushed out of the house, she fought through flames and debris to save her terrified neighbour from certain death. Now Camilla, America wants to know how you mustered up the courage to march your way through a nightmarish inferno to save a woman's life? I assume you're very good friends with Ms Steban."
  The interviewer faced Camilla in anticipation of her response. She had lit a cigarette and was casually smoking throughout the interviewer's introduction. The woman was visibly unnerved by Camilla's cavalier air.
  "No, I'm not. I'm not courageous either, it was really more out of sheer annoyance that I beat my way onto her floor to get her out and to quit her incessant screaming."
  The interviewer gawked at the girl, with her mouth wide open. She half-expected the girl to giggle and explain it was a joke, but her face didn't crack. Then she wondered if maybe this girl was just as insane as she looked.
  "Interesting. I contend you must indeed have a great deal of bravery for risking your life to save a woman you don't know so well. We need more heros like you in this world."
  Camilla exhaled her drag of smoke into the interviewer's face and answered again.
  "Lady, I ain't a hero. Her shrieking was aggravating me. I got her out of there so she'd shut her goddamn mouth." Camilla pulled in another breath of her cigarette and puffed it out towards the sky. "I really would have let the bitch burn."
  By this point, the interviewer was overflowing with agitation and could barely formulate a proper response to the girl's curt revelation. Who does this little cunt think she is? Is she goddamn retarded? The woman wanted to grab Camilla by the throat and scream "Listen, you ungrateful bitch, I'm here at 1am to do this bloody story so the least you could do is not swear on my live newscast."
  But the camera was still rolling and as I watched the wheels turn in the woman's head she said "I'm sorry Camilla, that's all the time we had for this story. Thank you for fulfilling your duty as a member of the humankind. Good night America." Camilla had turned on her heel and started walking away before the interviewer had even finished closing her bewildering segment. A sullen exclamation of "Fuck off" was the last thing heard from Camilla before the view went dark and a coloured test pattern appeared on the screen.

  I didn't even bother checking what else might have been on tv. I shut it off and closed my eyes to see that the spins had gone away. I kept them closed and before I drifted off to sleep I decided that if I were ever caught in a house fire, I would not save anyone but myself.

People Lie All The Time.

I really hope the world ends this year because I cannot handle life.
I hope you like your new friends and they're as nice as your old ones were.
I do not think I'm the same person after a bottle of white wine.
God, I used to be such a pretty girl.
But then I ruined everything.
I don't know how I kicked the habit, but damn it, I want it back.
I feel simply weak when what made me weakest is gone.
After all this time, I still never got strong.
Now every time my armor breaks,
I put new metal in my face.

A Thousand Details

Christmas Wish List

• These art prints from society6

• Spirit hood
• Aerial silk lessons
• Set of juggling balls

I'm going to write a lot tonight because there's a lot on my mind and I've been keeping it pent up for a week. On the train home from a shit day at my crap job, I felt suddenly very upset at the fact that I threw out the broken pieces of a porcelain dish I broke on Sunday, when I should have kept them so I could cut myself on nights like tonight. Fuck. I want two weeks vacation to visit my family in Texas for Christmas. I've gotten one week and my manager says "We'll talk about your vacation" for the second. Fuck that. I am not working a banquet on New Year's Eve. I need to leave this job. I'm going to kill someone. I'm going to kill myself.

Sometimes I can't tell when I'm being too whiny or needy or if my actual daily life warrants such complaint. I work hard to get what I want and I when I don't get it, I feel like I've failed. I work at a job where I am treated like a slave by people who think they're better than me. I work two 12 hour shifts in a row this week. This means I'll be serving lunch to some rich fuckers, they'll shit it out, and then I'll serve them dinner. What a completely useless job. My completely useless living. I have two of the coolest managers, one high-strung but gets the job done one, and one who is one of the worst douchebags I have ever met and is also the head of banquets in my hotel. I'm going to work my ass off 'til December 18th, take as much of their money as I can and then I'm fucking resigning and never going back. I don't need vacation approval from anyone, it's coming from me now.

I'm going to go to school next year. Work on getting a real job. Work by myself.

Flesh & Bone

I'm going to be gone for a really long time.

I need everyone who ever reads this blog on any sort of basis to know something: I really don't want to personally hear your opinions on my writing or where you think my mental state lies. I often think of one of the greatest concepts I learned from my high school theatre teacher. After our class wrote and performed a play for an audience, we had to listen to all the criticisms and praises from everyone who watched. And that teacher reminded us that it never mattered what they thought because it wasn't for them. When the Greeks created theatre, they made it for the gods. Certainly they had audiences who came in human form, but the performances were never for them. It didn't matter what the people thought of their acting, or their sets, or their writing. None of it was theirs to have an opinion on. And that's just what my blog is. It's only my freedom to write here and only your freedom to read.

I hate sleeping alone.

I can't really bring myself to write a wall of text right now so here's some random thoughts that I need to get out.

- It must be true when your own father is the sixth or seventh person to tell you that you probably intimidate men.

- I'm already bored of Vancouver again.

- A friend of mine asked what made me want to get tattoos on my neck, since it must have been so painful. I just said pain never really bothered me. I thought about it more and realized I've never not done anything because I was scared that it would hurt. I love that and I want to always be that way.

- I just got back from a week up in Williams Lake where I visited my dad. It's so weird how unhappy I realize I am when I leave my life for a bit. I don't really like my job. I should be doing something else. I should be somewhere else entirely.

I'm getting really annoyed with the sense of entitlement that the males of the world have. You being nice to me is no reason for me to permit sexual relations with you. For something like that, you need to be in the territory of being a millionaire or maybe saving my life. Getting me a ginger ale when I ask for it on my lunch break is not so impressive. I need to start letting men now that their efforts are futile to start but it's just so fucking fun to get back at them for being so stupid. I know I'm being a cunt but I'm trying to teach you a lesson, men of the world. I just want to be friends. Why can I not have this in my life? I do like to talk to guys a lot more than women but I don't want to fuck them all. In fact, I'd prefer to fuck no one ever. Women just bore me. I like people who make me laugh and by the large, girls are just not funny. I don't want to talk about nails, and facials, and feelings, and boyfriends. Just...no.

I like nice guys. I can get what I want from nice guys. But when I play that game, I get unwanted advances, and perhaps I deserve it but I would never feel so entitled that someone would sleep with me just for the sake of being nice to them. Maybe I'm wrong though. Maybe I need to stop playing with these poor boys' heads and do every little thing for myself. But if a guy says I can sleep on his couch and save $40 on a cab home at 3am after work, why shouldn't I take it? Maybe because the second time I've done this, he says "If you want to be more comfortable you can just sleep in my bed." Then I sigh at the sad realization that I need to stop being so friendly and maybe start taking a cab home. Because no, I don't want to sleep in your bed, because I know you think I'll sleep with you for letting me stay here. I need to stop making myself seem available. I need to go back to being anti-social and alone. I need to start telling people I'm a lesbian because no one takes you seriously when you say you're asexual. I can only imagine a life where all the men are satisfied in the friend zone and keep their awkward advances to themselves. Where they don't think every fucking time I'm nice it means I'm "sending a signal."

No one loves you as much as you think.

We are going to die, and that makes us the lucky ones. Most people are never going to die because they are never going to be born. The potential people who could have been here in my place but who will in fact never see the light of day outnumber the sand grains of Arabia. Certainly those unborn ghosts include greater poets than Keats, scientists greater than Newton. We know this because the set of possible people allowed by our DNA so massively exceeds the set of actual people. In the teeth of these stupefying odds it is you and I, in our ordinariness, that are here.

- Richard Dawkins 

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.