I am so fucking sick of feeling like I'm obligated to give every fucking person on the fucking planet the chance to prove that they are not fundamentally an asshole when I already know that they are.

fuck.

(this is a reaction to a specific event which, while not necessarily responsible intrinsically for said feelings, definitely gives rise to those sentiments)

pretty much I hate everyone. allthetime.

touchy

Now, I'm a touchy person with my friends, and I love giving hugs, high fives, holding hands, etc., but I like to do those things with people I know. Not just anybody. Particularly not you, drunk dudes at a late-night wedding reception who touch my hair, my side, who try to walk me to my car with my hand tucked through your arm. Who want to *kiss me.* No. N-O. No.

/rant

Thank god for a handful of redeemers; otherwise, I would give up on the male race entirely.

Pretty much Rob and Melissa are the two cutest people on the entire planet. True story! Last night was beautiful; I am paying for that beauty full-force now, however. I am only one hour into my ten hour shift, and I feel myself drooping like a daisy in the shade. As in, after two cups of coffee I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to type this. That's what I get for staying up until 1:30 on a worknight, sleeping for three hours in my car in the cold underneath a tiny jacket, and waking up at 4:30 to move to a van to sleep for a scant two more hours (but at least that part was with a friend, under a sleeping bag, not freezing. thank god.).

Friends are wonderful! I like people (sometimes)! I got a week off next month to go to New Orleans! I have a job! The sun still shines! I can still write! I haven't messed around with anyone and ended up regretting it lately! I'm learning how to make souffles!

These are all good things.

pendulum

gah busy busy week. not enough sleep. I need to try and sleep tonight and not spend the day falling asleep at the tweet. Eight and a half more hours of work today. (pleaseohgodkillmenow.)

Monday dance dance at the saloon. Tuesday I slept, read, and didn't do much of anything really. Wednesday I cleaned the old house in Vilas, and then went out and saw the kids for Melissa's bachelorette party, which I'm pleased to know she survived. Thursday morning waking up with a friend, cheeeeseburgers, the Saloon again. I think it's funny that I haven't been there in a month or so and in the last week I've been about 3 times now.

Important to remember: You can't invest too much in the idea of another person making you feel happy/complete/anything, because they are *another person* and therefore unpredictable.

Even if it is nice to pretend, for a night, things are good. Just between friends.

nightmare

We were all hanging out together, a bunch of friends, with hottie professor at his house. We had all been drinking. Hottie professor turned to look at me, and he said something, I can't remember what it was, but I remember the feeling in my gut as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice in it. He had been sitting indian style, myself sitting next to him, and I stood up and started backing away. As I was doing this he twisted at his stomach, turning towards the left to look around at me. He got up and started stepping towards me, an evil look on his face. I remember screaming out "Do you know what I was going to do to you? I was going to fuck you! I was going to fuck you so hard your eyes rolled in the back of your head!" I was trying to hurt him, to say things to him to assert that I had some sort of power, not to show that he had hurt me. He threw his head back and laughed, and then lunged toward me and tried to grab me. I screamed and ran outside. He followed me. It felt like I was fifteen years old again, sleeping with my bedroom door locked and a baseball bat buried in the blankets with me, praying this wouldn't be the night my stepdad snapped.

So pretty much this nightmare was a combination of all my deep-rooted fears of alcoholism and older men?

-

I feel like I used to take such better care of myself. Lately I have been eating like shit, ingesting way too much caffeine, not staying hydrated, smoking more and more cigarettes, and drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. Excessive. I'm turning from a happy-go-lucky, silly, fun drunk into one of those really depressed, stare-at-the-bonfire, not fun drunks. Or I get obnoxiously loud about how much I hate this-and-that. This-and-that usually tends to be men. Or one or two in particular.

I feel... I feel... eh. Everything and nothing.

(Also: interesting note. over the past few weeks I have been completely uninterested in starting anything vaguely sexual/romantic with anyone {well, with the exception of one, maybe, but he's currently not in the continental US}. As a result, I have been sort of nice, but generally kind of a bitch to some certain boys in particular who live around here who constantly keep pushing it just a little to far with this whole 'let's be best friends omg and then maybe I can make you drop your lady panties!' The interesting thing about this is that they will not leave. so whenever I am nice the boys don't stay. whenever I'm a complete bitch they won't leave me alone. whhhaaa? listen, kids, I'm not going to be dominated/won by your masculine presence. trust me on this one.)

Nights, I Called Out to You, and Your Name to My Mouth Was Sweet

by Garth Greenwell

Nights, I Called Out to You, and Your Name to My Mouth Was Sweet

Mornings, you answered,
And made the sweetness of all that had been sweet to me ash.

---------------------------------

Jesus fucking Christ this is perfect.

Every time I think I'm giving up on poetry I find something that serves as the perfect example of all that I aspire to.

Howard Hughes

I have spent almost the entirety of the last two days hiding in my apartment. I would probably do the same thing today if I didn't need to go to work and earn money to pay for my apartment, while almost all my best friends are in town playing on Watauga Lake. Pretty much I hate the world. I know I should be grateful for a job and all, but . . . I can't say I'm not still trying to win the lottery.

I am obsessing. Again. Which is ridiculous because the object of my obsession won't be back in-country for another six weeks. Hmmph.

(Sometimes I wonder if I will ever grow out of this shit.)

Once again, I feel like curling up and crawling into some small part of myself where no one will see me. And then I tell myself 'you're being a big fucking baby, get off your ass and DO something if you're not feeling productive' and then I'm all like 'but I don't waaaannnnaaaa... I just want to be all depressed n shit!"

Also! I only had one drink yesterday. Huzzah. I was starting to think I was turning into a functional alcoholic. (I did start smoking again though, but if I'm going to have a 'bad habit' out of the two, that's the one I'd rather have. It gets you into less trouble.)

I need to get dressed. I need to go to work. I need to clean my apartment. I need to get my life together. I need to love myself.

hot stuff

so the last week has been about me learning that perhaps I am still somewhat of a hot commodity around this town.

Batting 3-0, bay-be.

officiality

so it's officially over, and I think what hurts the most is his apparent flippancy about the whole situation on account of my feelings, but not of his.

I've spent the last week trying to drink until I couldn't feel feelings anymore. Instead, I ended up drinking until I felt all of them. I also think I told everyone at the bar Sunday that if they had a penis, they were liars. I feel kinda bad about that but also don't feel anything at all.

I will get over this I will get over this I will get over this I will get over this and hopefully come out of it with something useful, like a stronger sense of self-respect.