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.