I'm alive.

Finally. I have internet and some form of spare time.

Let's see.

I'm hungry.
I'm broke.
I'm jobless.
Seems like shit can't get any worse, right?

Honestly, I'm still happy, and I'm surrounded by awesome people.
Sorry Lauren, I'm not unhappy in Portland like you want me to be.

Run where you'll be safe.

Where am I? I cannot believe today that my mental state has had any sense of normalcy. Excitement didn't build in my guts when Chris took me too a surprise lunch at Flaming Amy's.
The only conversations I took place in were between myself and me. Only random ideas and thoughts leaked from my mouth.
The feeling of the disconnection between my mind and the outside world has plagued my brain all day.
I have quite possibly found the source of such feelings. I think I get quiet, and I have trouble overcoming that state after I live there for so long.
I can't be too sure though. I can't be too sure of anything.
I can only trust the compromise that forms my thoughts and my instincts. I just have trouble coming to any type of solutions.

Maybe a shower would help? Maybe I can let the shampoo sink through my skull and cleanse my mind.

In all honesty, I don't think there is anything major wrong with me. I wish I could build communication skills. I wish I could interact more with the people who surround me. I wish I could comfortably tell a joke or share an idea without stuttering or getting sweaty palms. I wish I had no reservations about approaching new people and starting conversations. Mostly, I wish I could share my feeling by using my lips, tongue, and voice as opposed to a fucking my hands and keyboard or pen.

Maybe this move to Portland will help me. I'm really counting on this to help me grow.

Tonight, my source of growth will once again be alcohol.

It tore the wiring of my brain; I did my best to keep it clear.

La Dispute reminds me of November.
It's odd because in all honesty, I wasn't very happy at all.
I think it's when I think about the times I was at my lowest, I get nostalgic. Christ, I'm such a masochist.

Fail

A good writer writes every day.

Fuck that.
I'm not a good writer.

I'm just a kid on a futon eating Death Valley Chipotle chips.
I'm just a kid on the verge of a move across the country away from my family and friends.
I'm just a kid with a mild form of social anxiety and lack of communication skills.

But a writer, I am not.

Romance has been elegantly defined as the offspring of fiction and love.

"You're gonna kiss me, and you're gonna like it, you little bitch."

I love my boyfriend.

Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day.

A lovely day is always promised when you spill a nice cup of hot fresh coffee on your lap, keyboard, and futon mattress.

The upside is I got to use some of Heather's badass, super-absorbent neon towels!

Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.

Well, yesterday was fantastic.

"What are you doing?"
"Workingggg."
"At Jungle Rapids?"
"JaaaaJaaaaJa."

Next thing I know, I'm walking to take some pizza pans back to Big Splash, and I see Ashley Wynn. It was probably the highlight of my work day. I walked her around and pretended to be doing my job.

A few hours later, Macey informs me that she's in town at her granny's.

"What time do you get off work, hoe?"
"Like, just now, but I'm about to play some Mario."
"Hurry up, bitch. I'm lonely."

She bought me some coffee and we sat outside Port City Java for a good two hours talking about weed, tripping, hookah, and some other less important things. The meter-fairy who sat behind sometimes seemed interested, so I tried speaking in codes.

"Yeah, dude. I really wanna try "the opposite of base."
She's quite for a moment.
"Ya know, like a 7 on pH scale?"
"Ehhhhss...."
"ACID!"
"Ohhhhhhhh, I was trying to spell base backwards."
*FACEPALM*

After that, we went to her granny's porch where I sat in the rocking chair, and she sat Indian style on the ground.

"Now listen here, grandchild..." I started. I proceeded to tell her about how I ruled the universe, Lincoln was from Mars, and George Washington Carver invented the peanut and was our first president.

I love being insane and hyper with her. I love her. I will always carve her pumpkin and birth her tacos.

Later that night, I picked up Chris. We had original intentions of going to a wine party. Instead, we decided it would be awkward since we didn't really know anyone. Then, we decided to go to quesadillas at The Gypsy, maybe smoke some hookah and try to score some booze.
When we got there, it looked empty so we tried to find a short cut home. An hour later, we're downtown at Domino's. At midnight we were sitting on the ground waiting for a medium pepperoni pizza.
In the midst of all that, we had some awesome conversations. I was pretty glad we ended up walking and talking as opposed to drinking.

However, I would truly love a Sparks sometime soon.
Rum would be better.
Gin would be amazing.
Fucking Tequila would be the shit.

Luckily, I convinced my mom to have a drinking night with me before I leave.

Poor, dramatic puppy

Puppers! Calm down, baby! She wasn't yelling at you. Stop shaking. It's okay, I promise.


Just lie beside me and cuddle by my leg for now. =3

Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism.

Hopefully, today someone fills out an application to take over my lease. A girl named Megan is meeting me at The Creek around 3:30 to take a look at the place. I'm desperately trying to get rid of that place. I hope to God she wants it.

I've been living in the corner of Ben, Heather, and Dawn's living room with Chris for three days now. It's not so bad. I still feel awkward around them, but I'm sure that will go away soon.

I have a problem with not feeling connected to anyone again. I think it's triggered when I'm in a new environment. That too should go away soon.

Beer is a nice way to overcome that. Although I hate the taste of beer (besides Sparks), but I downed some Sam Adams last night and took it like a champ (and by "downed some" and "took it like a champ," I mean I sipped quietly without complaining). They talked a lot about babies and all that mess that I would rather not get into, and I mostly listened. Then we played Tourettes, and I mostly sucked.

I fell asleep sort of early and woke up with a message from Kayleah. She's not too happy back in Cali either. I hope things get better for her. I love her, and I want her to be okay. I'm just not sure how I can help now. I'm going to visit her after I get settled in Portland and have some money saved for a plane ticket.

On a lighter note, Dawn just sent me friend request which makes me feel a tad less weird. Things are going to get better. I just have to work on getting over this whole awkward, dissociative phase I've got going on right now.

Thanks, Eddie.

In attempt to prepare for the move to Portland, Chris and I have moved out of The Creek and into Ben and Heather's (and Dawn's!). Chris and Ben are playing Dream Cast. Heather and Dawn are planning our road trip route.

A couple of days ago (while under the influences and above rainbows) I decided that there is a man who lives under the ditch crossing. He stays there like a troll, and when unsuspecting pedestrians cross, he grabs their legs with his decrepit, bony hands and pulls them under and devours their organs for dinner.
I blame my active imagination and weed.

But, I think hookah's almost ready. Adios.