| |
[Jun. 6th, 2008|07:01 am] |
Things just got complicated. Great.
Oh, and int's 7AM and I'm awake? wtf?
WHY CAN'T I SLEEP?!?!?! |
|
|
| Oh man. Oh. Man. |
[May. 29th, 2008|01:38 pm] |
| [ | I'm feeling pretty |
| |  calm | ] |
Man, I can go from angry to calm in like... a minute flat.
My mom just called and she wanted to talk to me about how manipulative my grandma is and how I should keep her business private etc. etc. etc. Well, I lost my shit. Numero Uno, she's been practicing Buddhism every Saturday and going to church whenever she wants, and she just walks up there like she's the holiest fucking person on the planet and gets communion, and I'm not even Catholic and it pisses me off. I'm not surprised it's enraging to my grandma, who is pretty much a saint. Numero Dos, she has weird, loud, obnoxious butt sex with her dude and expects it to be perfectly cool when you show up at 2pm like you said you would and walk in the house and find them. Well, it's not. Then, when I start chewing your naked ass out and ripping your worthless fuckstick guy apart, you call my aunt to come get me, because I just broke in your house and started screaming at you like a maniac and expect me not to tell her what happened? Then you expect her not to tell my grandma? Really? For serious? Finally, the true digression, the most manipulative bitch I've ever met is trying to tell me that I shouldn't allow myself to be manipulated? What the fuck do you think I've been trying to do all these years by separating myself from you? WTF? WTF? WTF? WTF? !!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Crazy bitch!
I just lost my fucking shit. Then, someone calls, and I hang up on her and try to be cordial with him as he explains that he can't come in town this weekend for reasons that are perfectly acceptable, but I'm still in enraged mode and I'm about to freak out. I'm biting my fists and stomping and tears are welling up and I'm so fucking angry...
then the calm hits.
Done.
There have got to be repercussions to that kind of inverted anger. |
|
|
| I Do Not Struggle in Your Web. |
[May. 27th, 2008|10:40 am] |
| [ | I'm feeling pretty |
| |  contemplative | ] |
Man, I can't believe I've been loading all my gay-ass journal entries onto facebook accidentally.
This weekend I did stuff. Went to Bayou Boogaloo. Went to Greekfest. Saw Indiana Jones (RIDDICULOUS). Went to a Mod Dance night. Shopping with my sister. Went to a Rollerderby. Missed Jakefest because it went on too long. Went shopping. Ate some rocking food. Spent monies. Got my ass kicked. Deserved it. Had a lot of fun with several people and one specific person. And I'm a flaky motherfucker now, apparently. Whatever. When I get my cell phone hooked up tomorrow everyone can bitch at me. And deservedly so.
Have you ever been around someone that you felt comfortable with? Maybe oddly attracted to, but you don't think it's anything deep or serious? Sometimes you look at them across the table and realize you have nothing to say, and the awkward silence sits, and you think of that scene from that movie with the "dining dead". But you want to say things. All sorts of things. What things? No clue. In being so comfortable, is there a possibility of actually being uncomfortable? Especially in achieving a state of comfort so quickly... even immediately. Confused at your self and your lack of feeling? Maybe.
Or, perhaps you're just so used to being needed and nessecary for emotional and financial support by every guy you've ever had that you don't know how to react to someone so self sufficient.
And, Matthew's grandma died. I called him yesterday to see if he'd take the cat to the vet like he was supposed to. He said no. Then he said he couldn't talk to me because he was busy dealing with all the turmoil his life has become, from me "a girl he cares deeply for breaking up with him" to "two of the most important figures of his childhood dying." You know what? That broke my heart a little. I'm a caretaker, and it made me want to drive home and hold him. But I can't do that. I can't do it for his sake, and for my own. There's growing up on his part that has to be done. There's rebuilding life stuff on my part that has to happen. They can't happen simultaneously.
My memory's getting bad. |
|
|
| binding. |
[May. 14th, 2008|09:30 am] |
| [ | I'm feeling pretty |
| |  blah | ] |
So I have tonsillitis. It's fairly miserable, but more miserable is the feeling that comes along with getting sick. Getting older is a very complicated experience. I'm home alone, sick, and there's no one to take care of me, and there potentially never will. I mean, I've accepted the fact that maybe I won't wind up with anyone really; that's not the problem. I simply don't know if I'm up to the task of taking care of myself, and as much as I'd like to think I am, I know that sometimes I sit on the sofa and wonder if life's even worth living at all. I've gotten stupid with age. My sense of logic has blended with some sort of feminine emotion that I never will want or understand. By no means would I ever erase emotion from myself, because life is assuredly not worth living if there's no emotion to it. But, my irrationality gets the better of me more often than not, and I find myself becoming more and more frustrated with my inability to logically control myself. Am I broken? Sure. Are you broken? I'm positive of it. I wish that I was a puppet; a puppet I, alone, could control, and I'd just close my eyes and maneuver myself to accomplish whatever it was I needed to. And, if you really think about it, that is exactly what living life is like. Just floating around, pulling your own strings, making yourself move and live. Well, if it's so easy, why is it so hard? Some people are master puppeteers, completing all their dreams, while others are mediocre, just sliding by, and lastly, others are horrid, just letting the wind take their strings, and even if the wind stops blowing, they'll just let themselves sit there and rot. I think I'm the last one. And that's what being sick reminds me of. I'll never be a good puppeteer and I'll die on this sofa, with the remote in one hand, a stack of books behind me, and my laptop on my left knee. But really, I close my eyes and think, if I was any good at living, exactly what I'd be doing then. Going to school, writing books, inventing, making art, dancing freely, and singing. Maybe I'd even teach myself to whistle.
But that'll never happen because I'm too busy entertaining myself with my books, movies, music, and computer. So, for now, I'll sit back and listen to Joni Mitchell, Pheobe Snow, Niel Young, and Donovan and wonder what I'll do with my empty day. Because that's all time is for me. Something to fill.
Nauseating. |
|
|
| |
[May. 12th, 2008|08:35 am] |
Last night me and Mary Jane got into a fight and she won me over for the first time in years with her feminine wiles and sexy saunter. I have never been so stoned in all my life.
Except for that time at Faivre's house with the brownies that we used a fucking fourth to make. Oh. God. Balls!
I guess, even when you're "over" one stage of your life, you can't help but regress. So, overall, what's the point of changing to begin with?
Had a date. It went rather well, so I have a second this weekend.
Cox is supposed to come fix my house phone so I can call people again.
CAAAATHERINE! |
|
|
| |
[May. 1st, 2008|10:45 am] |
|
This is the first day of the rest of my life. |
|
|
| Oh, Things |
[Nov. 23rd, 2007|01:32 pm] |
| [ | I'm feeling pretty |
| | contemplative | ] |
So every single guy I called last night is on my shit list. Me and Desiree were harassed by sir humps-alot on the dance floor at 80's night. Shawn and Rene were being turds, Nolan and Jeremy never showed, and everyone else was busy being boring.
Anyway, those sleazy guys pretty much forced us into leaving if we didn't want to be humped to death, and no one came to the rescue dispite several pleading phone calls/messages.
Then, I got sad. Me and Matt broke up, but things are still complicated because we live together. We're alternating sleeping on the sofa until Mona moves out and we can have seperate rooms, which is the only thing keeping me from dating again. It's just a miserable situation that I'm compensating for by never being at home. I just don't know how to act normal with new guys I'm meeting because I haven't done the dating thing in a long, long time. So, I call too much, talk too much, laugh too much, because I don't know when is enough. Scarin' 'em off left and right.
Anyway, I'm just stressing. Going to St. Francisville tomorrow for thanksgiving fun. Then, I have work that night, and Sunday I'm going to Ren-Fest, then to Andw's play. Exciting.
Everyone should hug me. Because I'd like that.
Oh, and I hate HATE hate Christmas music. |
|
|
| ETC. |
[Nov. 14th, 2007|10:29 pm] |
This semester has been exhausting.
Issues with everything. Bla bla bla.
Might have to drop a class. I guess it's not the end of the world.
And LSU is expensive when you're trying to pay for it immediately without aid or loans.
I wonder why none of my friends call anymore, but then I remember it's because I never call them back...
Yadda, yadda, yadda. |
|
|
| |
[Nov. 1st, 2007|12:59 pm] |
|
Christmas decorations? Already? Hmmm... |
|
|
| I Woke Up This Morning |
[Oct. 18th, 2007|09:55 am] |
| [ | I'm feeling pretty |
| | pensive | ] |
| [ | I'm listening to |
| | Andrew Bird - "Opposite Day" | ] |
With the sun light in my eyes,
and there was no warning as it took me by surprise as it,
hit me like an act of god,
causing my alarm that I had not become a cephalopod,
I still had legs and arms,
yes I still had legs and arms!
So yesterday I'm walking to my car from work when I step on and break a beautiful, glittering, glass snowflake. I picked it up in full wonderment and held the pieces back together and I stood there for a minute or two just thinking about snow. I mean, I've only really seen it that one time it snowed for Christmas before the hurricane. My famous quote was something along the lines of, "Hey, what's wrong with the rain? It looks funny today." Embarrassing? I could have said worse. I don't think I've ever seen a snowflake like those big kinds I hang from trees or around the house, or like the one I had broken, but it got me thinking that maybe somewhere there's a place where snowflakes look like that. Maybe it wasn't cold enough to make them in New Orleans. Then I got to wondering, thinking that if I was in a place where there were snowflakes like I was imagining, would they be as grand and sparkling as the broken one here in my hands? Would I be disappointed in their lustre in comparison to the man-made, twinkly-glass version I was used to? But then I thought about that day when it was snowing in New Orleans and the way it made me feel, as opposed to how it looked, and I decided I would probably not be disappointed in something I had been so deprived of due to a harsher climate. I'd probably be awestruck, as I was three Decembers ago, and I hope it snows again, even if it was kind of like slushee falling from the sky. That the sky can even make slushee to fall is pretty neat, right? Anyway, I carefully placed the shattered snowflake in the passenger seat and drove home to my empty apartment.
Things can get awful complicated if you let them sometimes. |
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
| |
|
|
![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
thesexgod's journal