I'm never speaking up again.

I suppose I don't write much here anymore. Fact is I am quite creatively drained, it's a strange thing to be forced to be inspired. I've been making sculptures and clay objects and it doesn't feel too right, like I'm in elementary school again. But I know my drawing skills have improved. And I know next semester will be much better for me. I'll finally get to do what I really want to. Photography and design, hurray! Things that are useful. This semester hasn't been an utter waste though. I've learned more about myself than anything.

Even as ineffective as some of the courses I've taken have been, I get a sense of fulfillment that I've always been missing. I've never felt fully accepted by one thing as much as art does, the way it's held me in its arms. I do indeed hate my sculpture class. I hate the people in it. I hate how everything I hand in is something I can't wait to dispose of. But I'm even better than I was before at problem solving and inspiring myself.

I'm starting to work on not going to my default and being such a cranky bitch all the time. A lot of the people at my school are rude and inconsiderate and I don't want to be seen by others in this way so I need to act less like an asocial retard if I want to bother having a good time at school on a regular basis. It is hard though, when you take classes with people who don't have any listening skills whatsoever. Or need to bring their dad in for the day. I take my education seriously. I want to get somewhere with it. I have an intent to get rich and take my creative skills in an intelligent direction. This is difficult when you're surrounded by people who just want to fuck around and make pretty things while daddy pays for their degree. So you can understand why I choose to ignore other students on the whole.

But the people don't matter to me. I'm happy to be getting a degree. I like learning and having skills. I want to feel like I'm using as much of my potential as I can. I think being human is a waste in general and all there is to do is self-improve. I believe that an education in art is as equal in value to an education in science.


A few months ago I went to see an artist take about his practice. He made sound installations and mechanical sculptures. The first one that stuck out was a sweeping machine. It was essentially a long handle that rotated around a circle, like a clock. On the handle was a bucket filled with dust and a broom. The bucket would move down the handle as it rotated and spill the dust out in a spiral. Then the machine would reverse and the broom would sweep it back unto the bucket. These are the only things it would do.

And I thought it was beautiful. This makes me feel like a tool but nevertheless, it was an insightful experience. Here was this man who studied mechanics and could manufacture any sort of robot and this is what he chose to make. An intensely useless piece of machinery. And it was beautiful because he built this knowing it was useless and knowing he could have made anything else. Because what makes any one thing more useful than another? Someone, somewhere was meanwhile performing open heart surgery to save someone's life and here was this pointless machine. But why should the surgeon's purpose be greater? Eventually he will die, and his children will die, and his patient will die and that patient's children will die and everything all of them has ever done will cease to be of any value. You could invent something that might save a million lives but all that million will also eventually die. So since anything you choose to do is ultimately a pointless endeavour, you might as well do exactly what you want. Now I guess I should note that I don't believe there's an afterlife and this is the only life there is. Should you believe there will be supernatural consequences to your human actions then by all means, do what you can to save the planet and what have you.

But anyways, this is what I've been doing in art school. Having profound philosophical experiences concerning the futility of life at the sight of a sweeping machine.

"I enjoy living, and suicide is absurdly redundant. The world, from the very beginning, hurls viruses, accidents, hungry animals, defective DNA — and uncountable more - in an attempt to kill us. It always succeeds. Suicide is simply aiding and abetting."

John McAfee is undoubtedly a psychotic old man but I found this rather insightful. 

My heart is in my mouth

I could meet a man one day
And feed him pieces of my heart
Then he would spit them out and say
He doesn't like the taste of blood

So I'll cook them a just a bit
Just enough to make them sit
But before the stove is on
I'll turn around and he'll be gone

Hey God, I think you owe me a great big apology.

I hope they cannot see
the limitless potential
living inside of me
to murder everything.


Acclimating to Calgary is a lot harder than I was expecting it would be. I used to be really sad that I was living so far from my family, but having my mother breathing down my neck everyday is bringing the same feelings. I think I'll stay at school for a couple extra hours tomorrow, just to get away. But I hate it there too. I hate the students, I hate the hack artist teachers. I was supposed to meet my class for a field trip at the train station at 2, but getting there at 2:03, they had already left. I wanted to stab that teacher's eyes out. I'm not meant to be in art school but I have no where else to be right now. For now, I have to spend everyday surrounded by people my age who act like they're ten years younger than they are. I try really hard to feel like an adult, but it's hard when my mother talks to me like a child, and when every other person at my school is so infantile, they seem autistic. I've been trained to hate people so much that making friends seems like a repulsive endeavour. Only problem is I've started to hate myself.

Show me the way to forgive you.

I have this friend at work, who is really awesome. He's about as old as my dad and he's a lovely gay man. He works in theatre, he's smart and he's pretty funny. I thought about how weird it is to be in your forties and not have a kid. Just on the pretense of how promiscuous and sexually active people can be. Say most people start having sex by 18, then by the time you're 45, you've probably dealt with a pregnancy at some point. Then I figured well, he's gay so it makes sense why he wouldn't have kids. But then I thought about my dad. My dad only has kids because he was a normal, young man who had a young girlfriend and they did what young couples do. My brother and I are accidents, but that doesn't really affect me. It only bothers me when I realize my brother and I are just remnants of a relationship in my father's history. If something as simple as my dad being more careful or even being gay could have been the case, I wouldn't exist today.  And I wonder how many of us in the world are just scraps from the sleaze and stupidity of humanity's youthhood.

I will tear right into you
with the hands that I have used
to hold myself upright.
I held myself alone together
for what felt just like forever
but I will fall apart tonight.

When my body stitched the holes in my skin,
you were there to dig right in.
I will fight the dark within me,
I will bleed it into you.
I'll be heavy on your shoulders
Force your strength out, make it true.
The only time that I felt fed
was with your hands over my mouth
To shield me from the poison lead
Once forged in Hell, the deepest south.

Slide a mile six inches at a time

Underneath the skin and jewelry,
hidden in her words and eyes
is a wall that's cold and ugly
and she's scared as hell.
Trembling at the thought of feeling.
Wide awake and keeping distance.
Nothing seems to penetrate her.
cause she's scared as hell.

I am frightened too.
I am scared like you.

- cold and ugly - tool

Offering my heart to God.

I know you better than I know myself.

I will choke until I swallow.

I'm starting to fear that I have no idea what or who I really am. Some guys at work joke around when they see my hair and piercings and ask if I'm a metal head or punk rocker. But I'm neither. I wouldn't fit in with either crowd. I don't really listen to metal and I'm a capitalist at heart. I get asked if I'm a lesbian probably more often than most girls do, and I don't think I am. Somehow, I portray a lot of different characteristics for a lot of different boxes but I hardly fit any single one. 

Then there's just my face and my figure that I can't quite accept. I feel like I'm made of all these big features, my nose, my chin, my neck and shoulders. I've always felt like I'm physically built too big and like I don't fit anywhere in the world, as if I take up too much space. I used to have a real problem dealing with this thought but I've grown to mostly be relaxed about the idea. The old me used to hide behind over-sized shirts and eat like a bird everyday to try to seem smaller. Now, I hardly give a fuck. I wear a bikini to the beach and tight blouses to work. I'm trying to keep less emphasis in my mind on my physique but the nagging is always there. I could always be ten pounds thinner. I believe I have a very distorted view of what I look like and I fear it will always be that way. It's hardwired into me to hate my body, as long as the numbers are too high. 

I wonder if one day I'll see a low enough number on the scale and I can actually be happy. Normally, I feel confident and attractive when I go out. I did my makeup as perfect as I could and I felt really pretty today. But later on, I started to sense the tightness of my clothes and how much my stomach is pushing out my shirt. And I start to believe this is all people see when they see me. How just plain big I am. I want to get a tattoo on my ribs but they're too wide. I want one on my thigh but the stretch marks make me want to cry. 

But I know by the numbers that I'm not fat at all. I try to compare myself to people I see to try to get a real impression of how I must look when others see me. I compare my body to girls who I believe are the same size as me. But it doesn't help. The part of me that thinks I'm big propels forward and makes comparisons with girls who are what I truly believe to be bigger than me. I know I'm not big but my soul doesn't believe it. I stopped starving myself to be small but the insatiable desire is still there and it's permanent. I will never, ever understand what I truly look like to people and it's one of the worst things I've come to know.

You are the voice that's been calling me back home.

Lately I've been reading a lot about investing and making a budget for the next five years of my life. It's really made me feel like an adult for the first time ever and I feel like I really do have some control over the path my life will lead. I'm finding that a lot of other things in life are analogous to the methods of investing.

Like relationships. Having a significant other would be a volatile investment. There's high risk (they could cheat, could leave you at anytime, could steal everything you have, has real potential to be harmful) and more often then not, offers a low rate of return (potential for feeling loved  vs. losing time/money/energy.) This i basically how I've always felt but never had a way of describing it. These are the things I think about when someone asks "Why don't you have a boyfriend?" often accompanied by it's follow-up, "You'll find someone someday." To me, being in a relationship right now would be like putting all of my money in RIM stock.


In other thoughts, I've wondered how I exist as a person who mostly despises the company of other people but somehow ends up in jobs that involve being face-to-face with large groups of new people on a constant basis. I think it's on the way my personality seems to split itself. For a long time, I've believed that I had two sides to me but I'm finding that there's several. I function in multiple personalities and I'm discovering the characteristics of each one as I encounter them. There's the part of me that goes to work, and is bright and chatty. Generally a happy girl. I think this is most of what I am because I can't really describe it as a separate entity, the way I can with the others. There's my alter ego, her name's a secret. That's the part of me that scowls, with fierce eyes looking downwards, hood up and infuriated by crowds. People recoil at the sight of her. All those piercings... why would she do that to her face? The natural beauty ruined. She mostly comes out at night.

I'm also an android. Completely without feelings though understands the reality and concept of human emotions. Perfect sense of time and an unwavering gait. Little regard for outside influences but acknowledges  entirety of surroundings. Mainly concerned with current environment, as opposed to past and future events.

There's a good part of me that I would consider male. The way I interact with my brother seems close to what is mostly regarded as male bonding. My independence and not typically being annoyed by things that most women constantly moan about. The moments when there are no fucks given about my appearance. Drinking with my dad, watching football, cursing beyond what is necessary, protective of female friends.

I'm planning on cutting my hair short enough to see if I really can be passable as a male. To live as both genders, in two-spirits, on alternate days. When I'm in the mood to be a guy that day, that's what I'll be. Clothes, gait, all the typical behaviours reserved for men. I've thought about getting a cosmetic mastectomy, since my chest is so small anyway it might as well not even be there. But my risk assessment has come through and I'm not really into wasting the money, the scars and risking infection when I could probably diet it mostly away.

This probably all sounds really insane, but it's my explanation for how I function on this earth as an adult human, which I'm not even sure that I am. In functioning through several personalities, I let all parts of my true self live in the open without being regarded as hypocritical or characteristically incongruent.

Suicide Tuesday

Eye on what I'm after
I don't need another friend
Nod and watch your lips move
If you need me to pretend

Because clever got me this far
Then tricky got me in
I'll take just what I came for
Then I'm out the door again

Lie to get what I came for
Lie to get what I need now
Lie to get what I'm craving
Lie and smile to get what's mine

Give this to me
Take what's mine


- The Package - A Perfect Circle

Forty six and two is just ahead of me.

So I'm in the home stretch of supporting myself in the most expensive city ever, and I'm elated to be coming back home. I'm much too young to be this worried about money, but that's me. It sounds kind of wrong in my head when I think "I'm coming home" because Calgary just doesn't feel that way to me. Most of my family is not really there anymore so the only thing home-y about it will be living with my mum and brother again. And I think we could live anywhere together, and that place would feel like home to me. It sounds pretty gay, but living on my own and being independent, never really made me feel like an adult. I can support myself just fine, it's not difficult and I think I expected it to be a lot harder. Like being an adult means your smothered on a daily basis with responsibilities and worries but I've never personally felt that. So I still feel like a baby. It's not even a money thing (outside of the fact I need money for school and fuck loans), I just know I'll be happier living with my mum again.

I applied late to ACAD so I probably won't be starting my first year until January. Which is hugely irritating because the program I want to get into for my second year only starts in the Fall. This basically tacks on an entire year onto when I was hoping to finish the degree. I figured I could take credit courses starting this September and try to finish the requirements for my first year by June. I can't register as a non degree student because I won't be in the city when that registration becomes available. So I emailed the Extended Studies department in hopes of learning what courses they might have, and see if there was a possibility that I might not need to take an extra year for my degree. For some reason, the thought just terrified the shit out of me. I didn't want to be 26 and still in school, I want to be working! I've been panicking about this all last week. Fuck, why didn't I just apply sooner, why didn't I just figure out what I wanted to do, why didn't I just go to school here in BC. I made a schedule for what classes I needed and could possibly take in the Fall, Winter and Spring semesters. I would go to school six days a week, just please let me finish in four years.

I'm freaking out over this, and not hearing back from Extended Studies. Then a few nights ago, I'm on Facebook and a whole album of sonogram photos is posted by a friend of mine. A guy who turned 21 two weeks before I did. And I'm clicking around and see another 3 or 4 people I went to this same junior high with, same age and everything and they have kids too.

I suddenly felt more relaxed about everything in my life and didn't care if it was going to take me four, five or six years to finish my degree. As long as I don't have a baby before I'm 26, I think I can be pretty pleased with whatever it is I do with my life. I called ACAD today after not getting a reply to my email and they said the credit courses would no longer be offered in Extended Studies. I had an entire plan for next year that depended on the possibility of taking these courses and it was just smashed to pieces right then. But it didn't even matter. Now I can take the months between September and January to work, save more money for school. For a motorcycle and to get lessons for both driving and riding. To maybe travel some, see India. See more of the States. To do fucking anything I want to because I don't have a kid on the way, or a mortgage or a husband. I think I'll apply to work on a cruise again, now that I'm old enough to do so.

I know it's terrible to compare the transitions of my life to those in others', and to evaluate my success based on what I see other people doing, but it has really opened my eyes to what my life could be if I make good or bad decisions. I'm learning to relax and not to stress about how short or long my life might end up being I learn from my own mistakes plenty, and I will learn through others' as well.

Evolve.

I've been crawling on my belly
Clearing out what could've been.
I've been wallowing in my own chaotic
and insecure delusions.

I wanna feel the change consume me,
Feel the outside turning in.
I wanna feel the metamorphosis and
cleansing I've endured within

My shadow
Change is coming.
Now is my time.
Listen to my muscle memory.
Contemplate what I've been clinging to.
Forty-six and two ahead of me.



I choose to live and to
lie, kill and give and to
die, learn and love and to
do what it takes to step through.



- forty six and two - tool

You're the one I had to meet.

Where I've been
I was bound to leave behind.


I never wanted to go home
There was nothing there for me


I don't know where to go
now I got nowhere to hide.


Wanderlust will carry us on. 
Will there ever be a place for you and me?


- The Wanderlust - Metric

"I have been made to learn that the doom and burden of our life is bound forever on man's shoulders, and when the attempt is made to cast it off, it but returns upon us with more unfamiliar and more awful pressure."

-Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde 

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