if you are a dumb crazy bitch who can't take a hint, maybe you should get a grip, stop doing drugs, and stop blaming everyone and everything but yourself for being a lazy unmotivated piece of shit. if you dropped the psycho, glenn close bullshit, people might not regret hooking up with you so much and might actually consider you someone worth being with.

ps: getting fucked up and forcing yourself upon someone doesn't make you guys an "item", it makes you desperate, pushy, and pathetic.

Sarah's lists about me

1) The "Boy/Girl" List
Specific things I have done/said divided up into a boy or girl column, in order to determine whether I'm more like a boy or a girl.
2) Anna's to-do and not to-do list
One thing has been crossed out, and it's only because it included "or make Sarah do it."
3) The "I'm Going to Stop Talking to Jesse" Tally
A record of how many times I've said I'm going to stop talking to Jesse.
4) The "Hate List"
The reasons I shouldn't get back together with Jesse.

NOTE: I do not necessarily condone the content of some of these lists, but I do find them really funny.

I've been meaning to write a blog for sometime, but everything that starts to come out is negative.
I'm getting annoyed at how liberal I'm becoming. I lost the idea for a while of running off and being a hermit, but now I'm kind of going back to that. I think that's the best option for my future generations. And I'm falling behind in a lot of things. I had a week of drama and being sick, and it threw me off completely.
And this will sound weird maybe, but I think we're supposed to get fevers, because every time I come out of one, I feel as though I have a different mentality than I did when I went in it. Like it gives some kind of clarity. I feel like this one brought me back to reality.
Shit's fucked, and I'm a huge bitch. What an epiphany.

limbless

So I truly believe that the most correct things in life are the most painful. Like cutting off the arm that keeps stabbing people in the back. It hurts but you know it's THE RIGHT THING TO DO.
At this rate, I will be limbless, and the body count will still be unforgivable. I'm so apologetic, and yet I never change.
Oh, the humanity.

The box o' stuff

So the stereotypical box of stuff was hardly as dramatic as you would expect. It felt normal, appropriate, and not cliche in the least. I needed my stuff, so you know, I had to come get it. And it just made sense for him to put it in a box, so I could carry it all out the the car in one trip. There was nothing wrong with this box.
It was more the idea of him cleaning his room and gathering everything of mine that didn't belong there anymore. Everything of me that he had could fit into that box, and he had to put it all there himself, maybe thinking about how he wouldn't ever seen these things again, and I wouldn't have toothbrush behind the bathroom mirror anymore, or leave makeup powder in the sink or any underwear on the floor. I feel the pain of the symbolism now, even if it didn't hit me until I was driving home.

I hope things continue to change

It's hard to go on when I keep saying the same things. It's a lot more dangerous to speak with a tongue that has been weighted down with words said with unapologetic anger that isn't as uncommon as you may think. I'm not as mad as I seem, or I am angry all of the time. I can't really tell. I'm aware, however, that there is something that is not being filled.
I can understand how my heart could be mistaken for a body of water. The further you walk, the harder it is to see your feet. You move your toes into the ground because you know that it's there, even if nobody else does. But by the time the calves are no longer visible, people lose their nerve. No one has the lung capacity to just hold their breath and sink.
I've thought about it a lot lately, thinking about how maybe I should get ready to turn back. I swear, after this pack, it's over, after this bag, I'm done. But it never turns out being that easy. I like to say that I can't help it, but it's really just that I don't want to be able to help it. I want it to control me so then I can have a hearty and reasonable excuse. How can I fight what I cannot fight? This way, it's easier for me to ignore what I already know. This way, no one can hold this knowledge against me. I like to think that i can't do anything. I like to think that something bad is going to happen. I like to think about what I would do and the things I could say and the people I would have to call and the tears I could form, and would they be smooth or rough like they get sometimes? But I don't know about crying. It shakes my chest, or it ruins my dress. And it's despicable, really, or at least, that's how I feel after I let my emotions get the best of me.
I also know that I definitely cannot stay here forever. I don't even remember getting here in the first place. I know there was plane, a vomiting air ride and a bathroom or two. My eyes were like stones, but I couldn't help that. I'm not really sure which foot I put first through which door, but it certainly brought me here. To this bedroom to this state to this dining room table to this sand. Since I got here, my heart is going on like some sort of clock without an alarm, and it's constantly reminding me not to get comfortable, because I've got to move on and I've got to get out. I need to go somewhere that leaves me with no doubt, and if this wall won't come down I guess I will tear it apart myself.

Well, well, well

What have we here?