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