again

forgive and forget. of course it was a man said it.
hmmm.
apparently, if the right man asked me, i would say yes. this scares me sometimes.

a weight

death. loss. i used him. and it came naturally. i thought this was over and done with. the shelves want to be dusted. i do not see it.
sleep cycles.

i will attempt

My muse walks slow, steady, pausing between steps to watch the world above and around. He lives in poetry and pineapple days. He wears anything, everything, something; i notice not what he wears. He smells like musk and custard; he sounds like laughter. For fun he will tease, for fun he will muse. He smiles like rainbows.

and do i dare?

1. What does your muse walk like?

2. Where does your muse live?

3. What does your muse wear?

4. What does your muse smell like?

5. What does your muse sound like?

6. What does your muse do for fun?

7. What does your muse like to eat?

8. What does your muse smile like?

thirteen

Advanced Charecterization
Myself
Good points
1 I'm kind-hearted
2 I am sensible and can THINK!
3 Am always on the side of righteousness
4 Am friendly (I hope)
5 I am helpful
Bad points
1 Sarcastic
2 Rude
3 Disobedient (Says Mum)
4 Contrary
5 Concieted

singing good memory progress in tws friends among the boys (don't care what others say) knitting sweeping dance english maths listening skills loyalty trustworthiness spellings
hot temper


my handwriting is better. so is my spelling. and grammar. and punctuation.
poor misspelt number five disappeared somewhere along the way, and my hope is a big hole.
i break my heart.

burn

i could see us. further forward than the others. does it mean it is not me, or that it is? i will wait and watch. a hundred years old and then a baby. as are all of us. we will hope that he will always be fond.

recognition

i am incomparably selfish
i wish i weren't, but it's true; at the end of the day, no one matters more to me than myself. and the happiness of people who make me happy.
i have been wondering. is it not possible that any relationship could work if only both parties are willing and willing to listen? it is surprisingly easy to get someone to behave exactly as you want them to, and easier to behave as someone wants you to. the question is, where is the sacrifice, that's all. and what you think when you say settle.

update

Gentleman, not just boy. this needs a little more thought, but i think i will soon have it. it is a man whom you can sit next to, who may tease you and cajole you and flirt with you, but who will never make that creepy crawly indecent slime slide up your spine. and when it is a boy, there is only joy. mmmuah.
and the ding, and pam. and others forthcoming. i cannot be such a happy person if i have not more than these. :) happy days are picture postcards.

boy

This needs to be addressed and put to bed. What is it about them? And I don't mean males.
I mean boys. Those irresistible creatures who roam in packs and make life a great big game, who are that way no matter what age they are, who make you feel comfortable. Now that's boy.
here are mine: the hijacker, the tamagotchi, the jew, the babe. they are the joys in my day. All the others are only boys in bits. Bee calls them all boys, and they all are, but only at times, and not with every fibre of their being.
Here's the thing. I am about to draw analogies. Fairly unflattering ones even. What happiness.
Think of a dog. Any dog. Every dog is different, no? Every dog has its own little peccadillos and peculiarities, but there is a way to get to almost every one still. And once you find that certain magic spot, or word, or food, you know they are yours for life. Any time. Just push the right buttons. Boys are harder than that, sure, but the principle is almost the same. Every boy has a certain something about him that makes him special. And when you get to that point when he can cry on your shoulder, you know you've done something good with your life.
Is it any wonder at all?

but naturally

Turns out it was true. I can hardly believe it. I fabricate and then it's true. I feel like whoever it was that did that. Alas my lamentable memory.

Here is the thought. We are our true selves not with the people we love, but with the people who love us. It makes sense, no? When you are sure, sure, of someone's love for you, you take them for granted, and that's the one person to whom you will feel free enough to show all parts of you. And all sides of you. Rather cruel, now I come to think of it. (oooh i'm capitalizing automatically. why but?)
Second thought: I now know whom to go to when I want stories and to whom to turn when I want profound thoughts. Unfortunately the one has to be recultivated, but I'm in the process, so yay!
What I need now, is one who will inspire me to write that scintillating piece of writing that will blow everyone away and make my mother happy.

I'm glad that the poetry comes regardless.
And I wish I were more like my mother.

perhaps not

some days end well. like today. a horrid day and happy ending. what did i do to deserve it?

everything ends well, actually. you just need to make sure you call the end at the right place. why is it so hard to believe that i could love the world? love doesn't mean like. just because i love someone to distraction doesn't mean i'll always like them. does it now? well it shouldn't. not for men, anyway.
meanwhile.
the poem is still in place. and that bit of doubt has been reassured. tentatively.
now i worry about my potential and waste, alas!
and what has he discovered? "i don't play games" it sims. he doesn't pay attention to half the things he says, that unintentional hypocrite.
oh i am happy mins happy oh tamagotchi kun.
it is easy to be people. i wish it weren't so gosh-darned hard to be popular.
i am almost only me with him.
almost.
only.
me.
it feels wonderful. tell me why? something there that i just don't see.
i look no gift horses in the mouth, be sure.
megrims away.

am i so unworthy, then?

i wish i had. would i have met better people?
would i have met funner people?
would i have been happier?

i don't want.
i am doubting again.
not fair. not fair. not fair.

*sigh*, meanwhile.

So. I did it again. I didn't have a hope in hell here, so it was a good plan.
"It's not brutality. It's boy, only boy."
Oh, for that you could forgive him anything.
And new ones are always good. Little lilies.

i have a phone

i want to cry



teardropcomepickmeupsideways just because. i want to cry i want to cry i want to cry. how long and i still can't let it go. and i go around and find new ways to torture myself. thank god for the songs oh god. i'm always depressing myself. stupid woman.
i want you to call me up at all times of the day and read me poetry. to think i'm the most wonderful person in the world. to think of me whenever you stop thinking of everything else. to treat me like a princess till the day i die. to cherish me. to love me above all else.
and i wont care if you're old or ugly or bald or short or fat.
and i'll love you only just because you love me.
that's all i'm asking for. nothing and everything.
so simple it sounds. why can't i find anybody, then?

one more thing to blame

i find it increasingly hard to adjust to being stuck in this same mental pasture. i write so much and end up arriving at the exact same points almost every time, albeit by a different route. i seem to enjoy finding new things to point fingers at to explain my condition. i'm afraid again, meanwhile. i don't anticipate much pain this time, but i anticipate all the other things. i suspect the things i think are all wrong. but i think that every time. and when i go back and see the things i've written, i suspect it about the same thoughts, even.
i wish there hadn't been those two letters. now all the thoughts are topsy-turvey.
confusion is less overwhelming for some reason. either it is because i'm maturing or it's because of the heavy heavy lunch.
hmmm.
i feel like jello now.

not enough by far

why do i hate pain so? not mine; mine i can handle. i like being in pain. it keeps me alive. what scares me is the foreshadowing of it. and the pain of people i care about. when they're all achey-breaky hearts and i can't do anything. all my loves, every last one. and all i've had to give are these stupid words.

midnight odd thought

so. here's an odd thought. what if i really am a happy person? what if the real me is that crazy over-the-top super-enthu cutlet? what if it was only those squashings that had me down and glum? what if it's that spicy tamale that i'm rediscovering? what if that's the reason i'm suddenly so comfortable in my skin? what if that's the reason more people like me? what if that's the reason that i like me?
if it is, i'm glad i was down in the middle. downs give ups meaning. within reason.
where is my bee?

tiny vessels caught me

someday i will ask him what it was about her. someday i will ask what it was about me. someday i will find out all the gruesome details. until then there will always be a part of me that flinches.
and that day i will not have them singing at me.
i have to be careful.
in the meantime.
my homie is a babe. so is my babe.
i have to be careful.
*sigh*
boys are painful joys.
i dance. happiness is easy. happiness is not a pleasant feeling. it is a groovy scary scoopy weepy high. why would anyone ever need anything but their own minds to be happy?

why is it easier for me to feel happy after a job well done? why can i not care about the result? why can't i be indifferent, and take the ups as i take the downs? why must failure always be so oppressive and success so uplifting? and why do i hate competition so? because someone always loses. why does it matter to me? why can't i accept that people lose? because i can't. i can't losing is not a good thing. not coming first is alright. but when there are winners, there are losers. LOSERS. ahhhhh. i hate competition. life should all be about the play, where every person is only the sum of their talents and potential and performance, and comparisons are not drawn to find winners and losers. idealism is very amusing from the outside. they are all amused. so am i, sometimes. would i rather not, i wonder. i guess i'm glad i can be both inside and out. perspectives shift, and life is always interesting. what more can i ask for?
love, maybe? but i can live without it.
for now.




and this is the list. am i crazy??
some devil, come pick me up, teardrop, always in my head, tiny vessels, hard time killing floor blues, i know, the scientist, transatlanticism, amy hit the atmosphere, the maker makes.
masochistic, apparently.
damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.
but how beautiful is music, love. yes and yes, always and always. good night and good luck.
yes and yes and yes and yes as many times as i can think it.

adrift

isn't there anybody out there that feels the same way? i can't take it. i feel like something has been irrevocably screwed up in my head. i'd do anything to fix it, but i don't know how and i don't know what. i want to go silent again, just to see if anyone notices. will you miss me? i want you to. he thinks it's childishness, and perhaps it is, but he doesn't understand the first thing about why. how can a person so wise be so stupid? i want you to miss me. i want to know, every day, that you care. i need to feel that somewhere there is a person to whom i mean something. mom says it too, she says, once you know they care, it doesn't matter that they never call. how does it not matter? how? i'm not saying call everyday. i'm not saying call everyone. just a line? just a note? just a ping?
to have all these means of communication and still have them lie empty is one of those cruel jokes that people attribute to that wily ol' lady fate. and a pox on the one i hate it. is it too much to ask to go on as you've begun? apparently it is. i can't understand it, and i can't accept it and i need someone to explain it to me like i was a child. so many friends, and with all of them, the warmth peters out to this lukewarm almost-caring, and i can't handle that nohow contrawise.
i go into everything so passionately, and i want it to always be that way. why can't it?
i need to know.
i'm not averse to change. i'm averse to change without reason. i need motive. i need purpose. i need rules. i need a plan. i feel lost and the words aren't helping. they aren't pretty and they aren't structured and i'm just rambling along. i don't think i will want to come back here to read what i've written, better to let it lie as purged. i will try and get a high from the day. almost it holds promise.
first i teach and then i learn. two of the most wonderful things to do. why can i not feel excited?

no and no and no

i hate feeling lost with no apparent reason. violence is not the answer and cursing helps nobody, but sometimes they help take your mind off things.

i made a mistake with this list. all i want to do right now is sit in a dark corner with my knees under my chin and hug myself. all i want to do right now is rock back and forth saying please no please no please no make it stop. loneliness is not yet a stranger, and she's no longer a friend.
my heart feels big and empty.
i want . you know. it won't solve anything. but it'll help.
out out out.

pain is everybody's. i want mine no more.

discoveries

In other news, turns out I discovered my sexuality somewhere and didn't even realize it. Bummer.
I guess it's what all this new-found confidence and comfort is all about. I'm definitely not that same ol' scaredy cat I was back in school, and nothing has changed anywhere else to suddenly make me more aware of my self-worth. Sure, I got to know my mind, but I don't think that would have been nearly enough.
I don't know if I like the fact that all theories can be turned over just with a little new information.
ehmehbleh
However, glad that the theory of comfort holds good. I like that theory. It's more beautiful than most.

Meanwhile the bee is all crazy with my poorly phrased cyphers. Aiy-yah. Not all of it was the same person, if you're reading this, my babe.
Also thank you for all the new persons. I am far too lucky.

nudge, wink, nod

What is this I'm feeling? And am I seeing hints where there are none? My instincts are usually spot on, baby. What is this all about?
*sigh*
People should not be allowed to hint things where relationships are concerned.
Alison and the tea is where it should stop.

Meanwhile.
I want to study!
I'm so happy, darling.
Thank you to the new one.

hard time killing floor blues

i am a puddle of self awareness.

make it better

I'm down again. I can't seem to go a day. Alright. I'm getting better, I am, really. It just seems as though there is a part of me that enjoys wallowing in the misery, so that, given a chance, I rehash and relive and settle comfortably right back in those dumps. *sigh* Is there no cure?
The only cure lies with myself, and I'm not going to be happy unless I decide I'm happier happy than miserable. But with the bee and the star fuelling my idiotish notions, that ain't likely to happen anytime soon. Oh for burning passion, for searing romance. For messy outsides to match messy insides. Am I to settle for comfortable?

And why do they all talk of "settling" at all? Ai-yah. I need some new rabbits.
Two is OK. Almost OK. It's not very hard to get the reactions you desire. Did you know? The words are apt weapons. yah.
yah yah yah boo to you. I call my frustration anger. What do you call yours?


Oh. Rufus is always a mistake in the morning.
One more smile I fake; try my best to be glad. One more smile does the maker make because he knows I'm sad. Oh, lord, how I know; oh, lord, how I see; that only can the maker make a happy man of me.
I need to be loved. um um um. At this point anything will do. Oh the danger.

guh.

oh baby. what a girl i am.
irony and stereotypes.
:D

p.s. i have nice eyes. and still can't handle a compliment.

bleagh.

nothing takes the shine off a perfect day quite as effectively as unwanted attention from someone you have no interest in.

gimme

make out

and here comes the fall

How can he do this every time?
Every time.

Make me feel small and petty and worthless. Childish. Immature. No one else makes me feel this way. How is this good for me? I'm tired of always thinking of ways to defend my actions. I'm tired of discovering that I have no depth. I'm tired of being told I'm nowhere close to as grown up as I thought.
I'm tired of every explanation I try to find being viewed as an excuse.

And where do I go from here, love? He doesn't see me. He doesn't know me. What made me think he did? What made me think all the things he said were true just because he was right some of the time? I've been wrong before. Nobody's perfect.
And he won't see.
He won't see.
He stopped listening. I don't know when, and I don't know how long I've been pretending he hadn't. He's got me confused in his head with someone else. I don't know who it is. I'm not that person, and I refuse to be that person.

I'm exasperated. I used to think that was experated till I read it aloud for the first time. Class Five. Kim. Kipling.
Who will listen?

Yesterday I decided words weren't enough. Well guess what. For me, they are.
Fuck the fucking chinese fucking walls.
Hm. I got mad. Why'd I get mad? Mood music, I think. I don't want to be mad. Anger solves nothing. If I should be angry at anything it's me. I hate that every letter ends with me writing something to make him feel better. I hate that everything I write to him is about making this relationship easy. I hate how easy it is to lie to the people you say you love. I hate that I still can't tell what love is. I hate how every time I think of him I think something different. I hate how he takes everything I tell him at face value, but how much more would I hate it if he doubted what I said. I hate how I try to package and label all the things I feel about him. I hate how I know I can never tell him any of this because I want to be comfortable. I hate how I know this is going to end. I hate that I know it will all be my fault. I hate how much I see and how little I use. I hate that I was happy this morning and I'm messed up again. I hate that I spend all this time thinking about him when there's absolutely nothing I'm gaining from it at all. I hate that he'll still always be my muse and that all I need to get the words flowing is to think I'm writing him a letter. I hate that I might be able to do that without ever dropping him a single line. I hate that I no longer need his letters. I hate that I've started thinking of him exactly the way I thought of the other. I hate that he always finds the chinks in my armour and the flaws in my reasoning. I hate that I don't know whether I want to be right for the right reasons. I hate that I can't tell what's going on inside my own bloody head. I hate that everything about me is a lie. I hate that everything about me is an act. I hate how I can use words to make everything fine without solving any of my problems. I hate how easily I use the word addiction and still truly believe I mean it. I hate how I can no longer tell what I truly believe and what I've convinced myself I believe. I hate that nothing I convince myself about regarding him stays for more than a day. I hate how my dreams are no longer distinguishable from reality. I hate how I can't tell people what I want. I hate how I can't tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation. I hate that I don't know how to stop making excuses. I hate that so many words aren't defined. I hate that I can't tell what's true and what's not. I hate how I will never gain the guts to tell him any of this. I hate that I'm thinking that all of this is just me being poetic. I hate that I don't know whether I mean anything I'm writing now. I hate that I can convince myself of anything. I hate that I always fall for it. I hate that the simple things make me happy but a boy can still turn everything on its head. I hate that I don't ever know how to make people go away when I don't like them but I always manage to get rid of the ones I'm afraid to need. I hate how I always want the most painless way out of everything. I hate that I'm not afraid of hard work, but I still cannot apply that to relationships with people. I hate the way he said "when did vin and I become people". I hate that he will always make me feel that I will never be the person he wishes I would be. I hate that he loves me and still causes only heartache. I hate that brothers can love you to distraction and still only understand that part of you that they see themselves in. I hate that it takes me so long to think of anything. I hate being so wise in the head and so abysmally clueless everywhere else. I hate that I don't know how I feel about anyone. I hate that I keep thinking the only reason I can say I love them is because they love me. I hate that I know so much in theory and yet nothing in practice. I hate that I still love me. I hate that I can anticipate change and still never reconcile myself to it. I hate that I haven't figured out the world. I hate that that bothers me. I hate that I have no ambition. I hate how every thought of him leads right back to me. I hate how every second thought leads right to him. I hate how I can convince myself of something and then fall in the same traps every time. I hate that I can't fix it. I hate that the ones who love me will always offer things I can't use to make me all I want to be. I hate that I can be content sometimes. I hate that I love to self-destruct. I hate that my instincts don't prevent me from doing the wrong things. I hate that right now I'm thinking that I can't ever avert any of the messes I see coming a mile away.
More mood music.

I hate that I decided words weren't enough and then went ahead and used them to fix myself for this moment anyway.

And because I must always end high and poignant and poetic. And because she always makes it better. And because she is right now.
My song.

I would rather a bad day that ends well than a great day that ends badly.

so high

So here's a random thought.
I've been getting comfortable in myself, and suddenly, the more I get along with me, the more I get along with others. The nicest people are the ones who are so happy being themselves that they just make you feel the world is a good place to be in. Am I a nice person? The answer is almost yes. I like spending time with me. I like the things I think. I love how I love everything and everyone and the whole bloody world every morning. I exasperate me.
I love me.
Hurrah.

layers

I found out last monday how little I've changed since I was thirteen. And how much. Eight years, oh boy. I wonder if it's the same for everyone? I still think the same things, I still believe in the same things. I still want the same things. All I've done is prune. I got mellow; I had the rough edges sanded off me; and I discovered I had a smile. I learned to accept myself for who I was, importantly. The thought strikes me now, suddenly. What if that's a step backwards? Once you're happy with whomever you are, does that mean you grow more resistant to change? I think not. I have such fascinating conversations with myself. I am the absolute best listener I know. To resume, (and i've decided on no para breaks for this one. just to see) I am me. The same as I always was. It's more than a little creepy. What I love is how much I've learnt in life, and how that has refined me. There is nothing about myself that I have changed. I got more tolerant. More observant. Less explosive. Less volatile. But the core of me is the same the same the same.

The biggest step I've taken is probably meeting myself. Getting to know me. I am a fabulous person. Oh, flawed for sure. But I am a person I could love. I am comfortable in my skin and self confident and self assured. Almost.

song for the day. just because i'm listening to it right now. and because nothing fits as well.