jesus. are there any other WICKED! freaks out there? my showtunes choir at Sem is singing selections from it and it's quite ill. whatever that means.
am seriousuly wanting to buy this 77 mustard mustang from one of my teachers for 2 grand, but of course i have to make the money and buy insurance (i'm 16, so you know it'll be like, yea high ::spreads arms::) and registration and whatnot. grrr. SHAKE FIST!
there has been much staging of interventions lately. julia and i want to patch things up with victoria (cough whore cough), and if laur doesn't pop that godawful zit on her forehead angel and i are going to make our second attempt at holding her to the ground and going in manually. it should be ugly.
who wants to give me money?
furthermore, who knows where i can get cheap singing lessons on elmwood? (preferably near/around buff sem and the globe market).







hollar.

oh wow. oh wow.
it's been a nite of subtle epiphanies. i've been thinking- things don't matter enough. not nearly enough. my outsider grade, my SATs, the college i end up in, what victoria says, what karl wrote, how i miss and hate carlee, whether or not i sing better than caitlin or chunks, what people at work and sem see and think, who i date-- right now it doesn't matter enough to trip me up. that'll come later. later, it will be important. cause i've decided one thing for sure. tonite, i decided. made up my mind and said fuckit to everything else-
i'm going to be a writer.
i am a writer, and everything else is just stuff. i have this one solid thing to grasp to my heart and motherfucker i'm going to hold on so tight everything will just sway in comparison. i always have anyway- why not make it official? no matter who i'm with (or not with), or who i am (or am not), i'll be a writer. whether i'm at columbia or sarah lawrence or fucking buffstate. at least i've got a constant.
what have you got?

I have to be honest. I'm confused. I don't know if I love you, or if I simply fell in love with everything that came with you. Everyday sights, sounds- small things that are so blatantly trivial it shocks you to notice them when you do. Such overwhelming events! The clinking of dishes in the sink, various peoples coming over at their leisure to smoke and drink and say wonderful things that leave you dumbfounded (It happens every nite. I'm sure it's life for some people)
Whatever it is, Months have passed and I am no closer to breaking through the surface than ever. I am reminded of a year prior, when it was all the same save for a different backdrop. In retrospection, I can easily separate the seduction from the boy. I think I may have been able to do it at the time too- but I'm not sure. This may or may not be the same thing- I can't trust anything I think I might remember because the chances of my having made it up in my head are liable to floor me at any moment whatsoever.
I have taken a break, and am now going to start up again.
Now.
The thing is, I don't want to need to be with a man or boy or whatever to notice these small symphonies of routine. And, to an extent, I don't think I need to be.
So why can't I churn out a decent pome without one?
Upon having such epiphanies, real life becomes exceedingly hard to bear/bare. Things that were once labeled as shallow and posessing two dimensional glamour seem even sillier- the weight of the world is in our hearts, and I'm paranoid. The only way to describe it, is like a bad trip. I had my only bad trip during my only time doing shrooms back in january. You were there, for part of it anyway. Not the really bad parts.
What it all comes down to is fear. Maybe this is fear of intimacy, or just the scariness of grwoing up, but I can't ever possibly imagine being truly comfortable with someone. not even myself. I'm just always waiting for when I screw up and things go vacant and white.
This house is a mess and wreaks/reaks of shit and piss. I can only hope I won't wake up feeling this way.

right. so. behold the wonder of spoiled private school girls.
there was this huge debate in first period history that extended throughout the whole day. lines were drawn, enemies made, allies forged- the seating arrangements at lunch altered considerably.
one girl went, "i'm a feminist, so i'm supporting bush."
and no, not sarcastically.

me explaining to angel why i'm having a bad day:

linernoteluv (10:10:41 PM): ugh i'm fat and a male lion and i can't sing and divorces suck and i still have feelings for karl and everything with victoria is crazy and i've gone and done it again and i can't stop and everything's tangled and messy and i like need to do history and to stop sucking at my job and to stop being fat and a male lion and obsessing.


UGHHHHH!!
i have to work tomorrow. bugger.
i need a cool life, oh, about now-ish. please and thanks.

tomorrow is the day of reckoning- when i match up my voice with those of the stupid upper middle class white spoiled private school brats i like to think i'm above.
oh holy fuck.
poem, now please- come out. now.







peas.