I'm high, and I have a burrito.

Be creative.

I'm not creative.

I'm not original.

I'm just here.

I just go with whatever has been tossed my way.

How can you be a good writer when you lack creativity?

Fuck.

My day in lists

Things to do:

1. Shower

2. Wash dishes

3. Pick up Chris.

4. Drink a Sparks

5. Chill the fuck out

Things completed:

1. Get Lauren from school

2. Smoke on the porch

3. Help Lauren find her pants

4. Eat my weight in burritos and pretzels

5. Watch two hours of Disaster Date

Things I want:

1. A hug

2. Sweet tea

3. New shoes

4. Haircut

5. A better way to waste my time than killing my health.

Things I need:

More friends outside of Chris and Lauren.

Shit.

We accept the love we think we deserve.

I just want to start by saying that I'm not typing any of this in hopes that someone will feel sympathy for me. I don't care about that. This is so I can take note of my weaknesses, remember them, and somehow better my circumstances.

It's pathetic to say that I'm actually more sensitive than I appear. In all honesty, if you don't mean shit to me, I don't give a fuck what you have to say. However, the simple actions that probably have no real meaning that come from the people I love scare the hell out of me.

For example, last night Chris and I are lying on the futon trying to to sleep. As always, I'm being the same clingy bitch I always am, and I'm super close to him. He rolls around a couple of times before he wakes up and readjusts our futon. Since it's broken it's slightly angled on my side, and that pushes me just a tad bit closer to him. He could have been doing this for a plethora of reasons like the angle hurt his back or something of the sort. I convince myself that I'm crowding him, and take my pillow and hug the wall for a while. I hide my face because I feel like I'm going to start crying. After a few minutes of me trying to talk myself out of being sad, he turns over in his sleep and puts his arm around me.

The point of this story is that I have got to relax. I have to realize that everything that happens is not someone's way of telling me to leave them alone.

On a similar note, I keep having different nightmares that relate to the same thing. In the end, I end up being dumped by Chris for someone who I feel is better than me. Subconsciously, I have this fear that everyone I love will leave me. I don't want to sound cliche by any means, but the only conclusion I can conjure is that when my dad left me in North Carolina for a lady he just met a couple of weeks ago to live in Florida, it fucked me royally. This lady was better for my dad than I was. Now, I feel as though everyone I love has someone out there who is better for them. I'm just afraid of the moment they actually meet so said person.

In January my tarot card/palm reader told me about my relationship. He said that it's strength would be the innocence to it. He said it would be almost childlike. It'd be easy, fun, and happy. He also said that the weakness would be my inability to let shit go. I don't think I've ever believed him as much as I do now.

I want to be one hundred percent comfortable around Chris, and sometimes I am. I'm just insanely inconsistent, and it bugs the hell out of me.

But, could this really even be my dad's fault?

Now that I'm speculating, I'm worried I may be doing the same thing to my mom by moving to Portland. I love her dearly, I do. It's just that I can't stay here. I can't stay in North Carolina. Moving to Wilmington showed me that there was more to the world than broken down gas stations, Wal Mart, the longing everyone has to leave. I know half the people in my hometown don't want to be there. My mom even says she wants to move. I ask her why she hasn't, and she says she's waiting for my sister to graduate from the same school. After that, she'll be waiting on my grandmother to die because she doesn't want to leave her. In essence, it's one excuse after the other. I don't have those. I don't have a reason to stay. And, I hope that I'm not hurting my mom because I'm giving her a fair warning, and I'm letting her know that I still care about her, and she will always hold an important place in my chest.

As for now, I just go home from chilling with Lauren. We smoked, listened to music, and ate donuts. I hate that Chris had to work all day. I miss him.

Stop being clingy.

Fuck it.

I need a shower, and the apartment needs tidying.

Everything can't be low self-esteem, can it?

Sometimes, I need a punch in the face to bring me back to Earth. Don't get me wrong, I'm by no means a masochist (although I do enjoy fingernails digging into the skin of my back dur- Actually, that's not important), but every now and then I find myself lost in reverie. I can wander around in my dreams forever unless someone socks it to me... hard. I don't know if this is a bad thing, but I do know that I should definitely start participating more as opposed to standing on the sidelines. It's something I'll definitely need to work on.

Sometimes, I end my sentences in prepositions. "....need to work on." I mean, we all do. But, since I was in high school all I've ever heard was "DON'T END YOUR SENTENCES IN PREPOSITIONS WHILE YOU'RE WRITING!" and "NO SPLIT INFINITIVES!" I listened to my teachers then; however, I recently just decided to call bullshit on those rules and any similar ones. You don't need rules to be a good writer. I mean, a storyline or point of some sort, those I can see as necessary. Any other rules are completely irrelevant. As long as it flows well and makes sense, it's fine. These thoughts further influence my ideas about returning to school. If I go back to college, my intended major is creative writing. Granted, four years of practice and critiques could definitely improve my skills, but I'm afraid of my writing being dictated. Last semester, I listened to my instructors advice over everything. In the end, I liked the original better. Well, whatever I decide, I'll be content.

Sometimes, I wish I could be paid just to hang out with people. I read Chris' Chinese Horoscope the other day, and it stated that his ideal job is a salesman. Well, he is, and he's damn good at it too. Next, I checked mine. My ideal job? An escort. My first thought was "What the fuck?" but upon further reflection, besides the whole "fucking strangers" thing, it could definitely work out. Well, I mean, I'd like to be paid to be my clever, witty, clumsy self among others, but I don't really see that working out. I do need some sort of income though. This whole being "broke as a mother fucker" thing won't fly much longer.

Sometimes, I like to hide behind my hair. I'm not sure why I use this mess of tangles as a security blanket but I do. I like to keep it short because it's thick, and I'm too lazy to take care of long hair. But, I find myself covering my face with it at times. For instance, Chris and I could be lying on our uncomfortable futon, and he'll turn over and smile at me. Of course, I grin back, but then I brush my hair over my face to cover me. If he tries to brush it back, I dig my face into the crotch of the Jason, the red Power Ranger (we have MMPR pillowcases.) and hide. It is possible that I lack self confidence, and that's why I do this. That's what everyone who knows me would probably say. But, that's not it. I think I just get nervous sometimes. I love Chris, and I know he loves me, but I'm still fucking awkward, and I still get nervous. Still, I'm more comfortable with him than I've been with anyone else.

Sometimes, I spend all day pondering my religion. I don't really want to go into detail about it now. There's too many ideas and beliefs I have for that. But, with Easter tomorrow, it's hard for me to take my mind off it. Expect an entire post on that tomorrow.

Every time I look outside
Makes me feel so young and alive
Why I chase such a useless burn
Now just a whiff makes my stomach turn
And it poisons my body and it turns my mind
Talk real slow but it feels real fine
If you gotta puke man, go outside
'Cus killing myself makes me feel alive

Sometimes, I like listening to mix CDs I made in 8th grade. I hate the person I was then, but I love most of the music I listened to. It was a mixture of street punk, oi, pop punk, and (as much as I hate to admit it) anything that made me want to cry. During the day, I'd go from listening to this insane assimilation of The Casualties, Rancid, and Good Charlotte (yeah, I know.) during the day and pretending to have this "I don't give a fuck" attitude, and then at night I didn't give a shit what was playing as long as it was loud and my mom couldn't hear me sobbing from the cuts I made in my arm. I don't talk about this point of my life much. I don't really like thinking about it either, but, I still love those CDs. They helped me grow. It sucks pretty hard that none of them will play anymore, but I intend on downloading most of the same stuff soon. It's weird, but I like to be reminded of my past so I can make my future better.

This was all just a long, drawn out way of saying that I'm weird. I'm awkward. I'm fucked up. I get fucked up. But, I'm fucking happy. I'm content with myself. I'm confident in my decisions.

And, I don't really need you. If you're in my life, it's because I want you to be. Know, that unlike everyone else you will meet, I don't have any expectations from you. I spend time with you or help you out because I want to, not because you're going to owe me for it later. Know that if you're in my life, it's because I love you.

This moment will just be another story someday

This is me with ten minutes to spill my guts.

Kayleah's gone. I miss her like a mother fucker, but I'll be fine. The ride to the airport was okay. The ride back was insanely long and cold. The last thing she said to me was "Get a job!" Yeah, tell me about it.

I don't really know what's going on with Milky.

I somehow managed to unclutter the apartment. Granted, it took all god damn day.

I have seventeen bucks in my bank account.

It's April Fools, and I'm gonna get Chris.

Prom's tonight. Oh, dear.

This is a straight to the point, frank as fuck post.

No internal thought right now.

No time.

Must keep going.