edward cullen

i'm not sure what i'm doing. acting on impulse and fragments of memory.
drinking coffee on the porch and watching her wake up. classes are more exciting than i thought they would be. i'm starting my thesis, gathering little souls to be interviewed by ME! on my road to being a real sociologist.
gossip girls last night was AMAZING. how are they all so very young? is it perversion to watch the 17 year olds get their FREAK on? esp. with that math teacher.
we have a new adorable boy roommate named david. he walks around in his american apparel undies just like zack, a nice replacement.
peeber still loves me.

there was a time when it fell into place

a time when it was you and the pieces fit. but that time is so far away from where we find ourselves now.

i enjoy writing on the computer. sometimes more so than writing on paper.

when does the matter of missing someone become insignificant? or can it? i think it depends on the circumstances of the missing. the longing. the wondering. i question myself so often that it's hard to keep track of what i mean and what i am trying to say. i like that, though. it gives room, cushioning for options.

when i was with you so much more made sense but i understood so little of what i'm taking in now.

i have options and that is a lot more than some people can say. we are lucky. is it that hard to remember? yes. i could point my feet in a different direction if i wanted to. or if i had the motivation.

lying on job applications and trying to make myself sound worthy enough for them to accept me is gross.

there is a new mad hot librarian lady that started here today.

you called last night and i smiled and i remembered that there will never be a time when you don't understand. in the midst of everything that was going on around me. voices were carrying and mixing and pushing at each other to get to the ears first. it was overwhelming to hear these over-excited voices grasping at random concepts that raced by their ears. grasping and then elaborating.

but. you called and that was good. black hair sitch must be elaborated.

i'm writing it out the easy way

-intense insomnia
- extraordinarily vivid dreams
- extreme confusion during waking hours
- intense fear of losing your sanity
-steady feeling of existing outside of reality as you know it
-memory and concentration problems
-an unconventional dizziness/vertigo
-the feeling of shocks, similar to mild electric ones, running the length of your body
-an unsteady gait
-slurred speech
-profuse sweating, esp. at night
-blurred vision
-breaking out in tears
-hypersensitivity to motion, sounds and smells
-decreased appetite/nausea/diarrhea/loss of appetite
-chills/hot flashes
-hallucinations/tremors
THE WINNER:
-semi-orgasmic state (esp. in women) to the point of irritation.
true story. like i wasn't ridicz before.

*good news. i'm not pregnant by mary fran...but withdrawal from my grand tons of paxil has made my life hellhellhell. and it's not getting better everyday. just worse. really.
*i hate this.

-i don't want to lose my sanity and i know that i'm not. but this is the absolute worst feeling ever.
-oh, and to help alleviate these symptoms i'm supposed to avoid all stressors. this means that i have to stop thinking about my lack of real job, lack of motivation for school to start, my ex-girlfriend dating a trashy ho that is my antithesis and my father seems to be doing everything in his power to upset me in every way possible. but that may just be the pax a lax speaking.
-also, lil wayne/weezy helps a lot.

you are where i am.

another series of hot vents opening in times of crisis. pushing out and drawing in. hot vents. cool tapes. your breath is a hot push on my neck. cross to the deep and search me now. touch my palms and press your lips onto skin.

I fell harder for them then I will for you. understand that. i tell you to be fair. but actually it is only to appease myself.

either way, you were going to fall through a plate glass window. you carry your fate with you. it’s not as simple as you’d like to think. I know you’d like me to think that I carry you with me, daily. this is false information.

spreading my hand and placing it flat on your abdomen, you told me that you'd never been sober in all of the times we'd had sex. i told you that you were a light weight. you didn't laugh. and what do i feel? guilty? should i question why that seems to always be the case?
so then how can you feel so drawn to this? attracted to the idea of these meaningless sexual encounters that are followed or begin with a peppering of psychotherapy to help you cope with your break up. i'm barely holding what i have intact, i can't do anything for you. but why can't you see that?

planet weezy

we are not the same.

i have nothing figured out right now. no organization whatsoever to this madness that is being thrown around day after day. but i am happy. i have let the ugly feelings and images slip away with each day and i love the people that i surround myself with.
i cannot say that my feelings match hers. i can't say that at all. she looks at me in a way that is oddly familiar. i remember looking into eyes and lips 4 years ago and feeling that intensity that she is pouring into me. i do not want her to waste it on me.
i know that no matter how i twist this or how this may (and inevitably will come to an end) i will come out looking like the one that caused hurt, breaking, anger. she will be angry because without my consciousness looking after me, these days i mix the signals and twist the meanings and tell you lies to make both of us feel better.
as therapeutic as i thought it might be, we have traveled a bit too far down a dangerous road and i know that it will cause hurt.
dolor. olor. pain. smell. we always have words.

it is clear that i must find my other half

you've left strands of hair on my pillow and now i am certain that tonight, as it is, i will not sleep. i worry about the way you leave the stove on or lock your keys in your car. so careless but so precise. i worry about the way that you look at me, intensely, questioning or completely reading into my thoughts. i worry that i may be too transparent when it comes to you. but there is no such thing, as i'm sure you would say.

i worry that you will wake up one day and have forgotten about me. i worry in gallons and tons. but when your skin is touching mine and your eyes are on mine, you are (as they say) relief next to me. sometimes words just don't fit and sometimes my mouth can't move quite fast enough and sometimes all we need to do is fuck. watch my eyes, now. slowly drifting from your palms to your elbows to the curves on your back. i graze on the folds and the drops and the sweetness that encase you. i press my lips to your skin and feel the floor dropping faster.

i don't want to be an image of someone else. my life cannot be summed up in the creases of paper, clenched in your hands. you say that you know me. you say that we are important, a bigger speck on this never-ending map. maybe it is true. but it could all be washed away with the stroke of a key.

he tells me to keep my eye on the ball, follow the whizzing white point through thick, muggy air. but instead i am fixating on another focal point, my stomach twisting in lust and my head protesting in embarrassment. all in the hips. so i am watching your hips as you walk, moving in and out of my horizon line.

i stopped caring when you disappeared. apathy crawled into the empty spot next to me in bed and i happily accepted it in your place.

it is so remarkably easy to lie to you. i think of this now, as we lay here, under my sheets. you could be so easily manipulated into my antidote. i smile back, feeling quick regret spreading through my gut. i want you to leave. i did not ask for a morning smile or a reminder of all that i once had. she took it back and now you're here, an unsteady replacement. the need in your eyes makes me sick and i wish you'd go away. she rubs her eyes and looks around the room. i have been lying to you, i want to say. my lie went under your pants and into your mouth. i suppose an apology would fulfill the proper etiquette, but that is the last thing on my mind.

i wrote you letters, i wrote you volumes.

i have never been so happy with the idea of uncertainty.
i am, though. i feel like i can make choices without second and third and fourth guessing them. i'm living how i want to and not letting anyone change that. last night i smoked in my new room in my new house and drank good beer. by the time the others had gone to sleep i was left in my room to watch a bad ben stiller movie. it was time, way past, to go to sleep. i couldn't. i felt the serious need to feel something. my body was slightly buzzing with the need to feel someone else, feel delicious waves of sex and crests of lips.
this didn't happen, obviously. i went to sleep and woke up to my own bed. comfortable. in my own room. new.change.sleep.wait.come.let.fall.turn.stop.
the library is the best place to write blog entries. the things that you never let yourself think about all come up and spill out my fingertips onto the keyboard.
the rise, the fall. you play, you win. you play, you win, you play, you lose.
it's the playing that matters.