Wah wah wah.....

Oh, I should be studying.

I haven't watched so much television in the past month as I have in two days. I have a marvelous gift of procrastination and distracting myself. At this moment, this is a display.

Times like these when I allow myself to drift in thought and ignore my 'duties' is when I start to think about things that I haven't bothered to think about in a long time. Kind of like how I'm reading this blog when I haven't bothered to in over a month.

I wonder what parts of my old life will go back to normal once this school bullshit is all over? Being here to write this makes me wonder how the relationship between my co-author and myself will evolve, or if it will continue to deteriorate as many things do over time.

I have this coppery taste of regret in the back of my mouth sometimes when I see how much things have changed. No matter how much I've improved upon myself as a person and grown to be a different creature.. I still miss so many things in my past.

At this particular moment? This part of my past. I'm terrified a time will come when I realize that I only have memories left.

Please don't let that happen.

Agreement.

Lucid.

In that place between consciousness and sleep, I am a very unhappy person.

When I dream, I am a blank slate. I have no identity. I have little memories, save for the ones I make up to suit the situation that I am in. When I wake up, my brain goes through the process of putting back together the person that I really am… Like a computer rebooting. That’s when I remember all of the things in my life that I would rather not think about.

A friend said to me, the other day: "I wish you lived close enough for me to take you for granted.."

While the lady that was pumping gas across from us gushed distractedly about how cute such a term was, I found myself concerned that she might think that he was hitting on me... and the true meaning of what he meant kind of escaped me in that moment.

Now as I sit awake, realizing that my flight leaves in 10 hours and 16 minutes, I've kind of had time to stew on that meaning and understand what I should have taken out of it.

This past month has kind of been an eye opener. In so many ways that I could write novels about it. I've never felt such emotional chaos in my life as this mixture of happiness, relaxation, anger, despair, stress, relief, and longing. Wrapped up into 30 short days; my moods have been twisting so wildly that I think, perhaps, I know what it is to be Bipolar. Or at least something close.

Nothing makes you feel like a total and complete asshole.. than moving away from your friends and family. I can't count on my fingers the number of times my mother has broken down into tears, sobbing over my inevitable departure... speaking as though I might be dying instead of just going home.



I feel almost.. betrayed in the sense of my friends, concerning the ways they treat me: Like it's a never-ending birthday that I endure; receiving the utmost respect, and reverement; seeing the most impressive fronts, and having them 'making the best of it while you're here'.

It's not that I don't enjoy the attention, mind you; but I guess I kinda feel like I want to live close enough to be taken for granted. I don't want to think people feel obligated to treat me any differently, just because they won't see me, again. I don't like the reminders of those important friendships that I have left behind.

I feel confidant that the majority of them will stand the tests of time; but also.. I hate that disturbing feeling of wanting to pick up the phone and call someone over to watch TV, and then remembering that they don't live a block away from me, because I told Minnesota to get up and go fuck itself.

I don't do well with Farewells and Good Byes. I always get awkward during them, and would rather just get the departure over with, rather than sit and consider how sad I'll be when I miss someone.

On the plus side: I adore my parents, but living here with them for a month has almost been hell. In that way, I really wish I lived close enough to be taken for granted.. because then I wouldn't have to make these long trips out here like this. To sit and listen to my mother cry because she misses me, and wrongly places her concept of happiness, and her sense of well being on my physically being there.

That.. is just something that is impossible to live up to. It makes it easier to leave, however.

That about sums it up. Good bye, internetland.

An epiphany.

It must be written, for it is GENIUS.

I was making pancakes for lunch, today, at 3pm. It was a desperate attempt on my part to remain awake while I was studying for my Project Management final tomorrow. (Which.. if I continue to procrastinate any further, I will fail like I bombed BSYS on Tuesday, but I digress..)



My mind was wandering, as it tends to do.. considering the intricacies of the food I was about to consume, and the recipe needed to prepare it. The name, I've always considered to be an odd one. Pancakes. Cakes? They look nothing like cakes. Well. Maybe they'd be more like cakes in a stack. Maybe if they had a chocolatey, more actual cake-like batter...

And then, it became all too clear.

What if I did have a cake batter? What if I did cook it in a pan? Wouldn't I then have the means to make an absolutely awesome layered cake? Each individually cooked 'pancake', cut down to size, and stacked atop another with a thin layer of icing in between?

Oh. Oh yes.

And so I write it down.. because I cannot rely upon my memory anymore. Hopefully, I'll remember to come back and read this, later.

The television has begun to concern me, lately. It keeps telling me that I should be eating yogurt, having a baby, and getting married. I suppose this comes from the shallow glimpses I get of the glowing tube in between desperate attempts to keep my sanity, and textbook reading.

Maybe it doesn't help that I keep watching 'Slice', which is a channel dedicated to middle-aged women. A lot of the shows fascinate me.. but for reasons such as: I get glimpses into the lives of other people (Til Debt do us Part, Intervention, ect..).

But none the less.. with the more I watch, and the glimpses I get into other peoples' lives (Not all of which are in debt horribly or addicted to drugs), I realize just how fucked up my priorities are.

I have no intention to have a baby.

I have no intention to get married, even (which may come as a dull, painful surprise to Jason).

It seems that the things that other people value as important in their lives, such as getting married, having a family, filling their houses up with expensive televisions, cars, shoes, clothes, and fashionable furniture... they just don't do it for me.

When I look at my friends.. I see them doing the same things that I avoid. All of them. I consider the value they place on these actions, and I wonder why I don't have an inkling of desire to follow in their footsteps... and then I look back at myself and I wonder what I truly value out of life.

That's where I come up lacking. Major goals for me are having a nice job and making a lot of money. Buying a house I can be comfortable in, that has a big yard so I can have a garden. Making wine, and having a cellar. Ballroom dancing. Throwing fancy tea parties, and playing video games...

All these selfish things that I want for myself are so goddamned simple.. they're things people give up to spend 15,000$ to get married, or the huge dollar sign/responsibility drain that children take up.

I wonder why my priorities are so petty. Is there something wrong with me?

So strange.

I like to consider myself to be...confident. I have a high level of self esteem, and generally consider myself capable of anything I want, provided I can work up the urge to get my ass off of my couch and accomplish something. But bypassing my ego, and my narsicism, and beyond all the arrogance that I display to people around me, I'm realistic.

I know that there has to be limitations to my.. amazingness. I understand that despite what I might want, I'm merely human, and thusly a creature of flaws, despite the fact that I would hardly admit such to anyone's face.

I've begun to doubt myself. Not in a way that's an emo cry for help, or an internet scream for attention.. but in my memory. I've noticed that as I occupy my mind with lists of tasks I must complete, and the overwhelming inflow of knowledge that I am sucking from textbooks, my capability to remember things has gone by the wayside.

Now, that's not to suggest that I forget important things, like where I live, or how many hookers I have tied up in the basement, but more like things like: yesterday was my father's 60th birthday. Or that I should have made reservations for equipment for a presentation.

I find it interesting that things I would not normally 'misplace' on my priority list somehow seem to fall off while I'm not looking, simply because I have so much other crap to worry about.

Don't worry. After I woke up in a cold sweat, I called my Father and informed him that I am the worst daughter ever. <3

Time to breathe..

It's over. Well. For a week, or so. I have no more quizzes, tests, or huge assignments to worry about until the week after next. The disturbing thing, is knowing that I should use this time to catch up on my homework, now..But I can hardly bring up the energy to think straight.

I wanted to RP last night. I honestly, honestly did. But when I logged onto IRC, which used to be my most favorite place in the world, I could hardly muster up the energy to look at other peoples' text, let alone write something of my own.

But then again, I still had my head in the clouds.

I ended up going to bed at 9pm. If this keeps up, I'm going to seriously need to reconsider how I can be creative.

And now, a word from our sponsor:

Taking a break. Not that I can really afford it, mind you. The endless number of supply curves and rising and falling marginal utility numbers begs for my attention span, which honestly is nil.


I've been far too worked up, lately.

I'm hooked on energy drinks, again. Tea just doesn't do it for me when I have no time, and way too much cramming to do. I have a feeling I'm going to want to crash on Wednesday, and I am not even allowing myself that minimal pleasure.

No time for my old antics. I can't even remember how to RP anymore, let alone sum up the brainpower to do it. I've resorted to trolling 4chan for hentai lately to help feed my thirst for fucked up plotlines. Thankfully, 4chan always delivers. God bless the internets.

But, I guess that's what hard work's all about. Speaking of which; break's over. Back into this shit.

Dead as my body was, I was often fascinated by the twitch of my cock when I heard her hiss at me, like that. Struck dumb by how swiftly the line went dead, it took me a few moments to gather my thoughts enough to hang the hotel telephone back upon the hook.

Turning, I focused on the eyes upon me, as was expected after such an interruption. Annoyed by the stunned stare of the neonate apprentice as she gaped at the slowly growing tent within my robes, I lashed out.

"Snuff that candle before you set the whole goddamned room on fire."

I moved past her, stepping carefully over the intricate markings of salt that marked the floor where the carpet had been ripped free of the room. The summoning of Sponge Bob Squarepants would undoubtedly have to wait. The thought was sour upon my mind as I began to rummage within my suitcase for where I'd tucked my own cell phone. Taking it into hand, I dialed a number, and waited.

"Come on, Jezebel.. Pick up."

Quiet.. but only for so long. Sometimes, the rageful outbursts from my gun only gave way to the howling screams of a man who'd lost his testicles. Of course, that was always far more barable to endure than his mocking laughter.

I turned to look behind me, expecting to see his putrid face twisted with glee and mirth, but there was nothing. Just the sound of his voice. My teeth could shatter, for how hard I clenched them.

The night had started so well, too.

I forced myself to look at the ground as I began to walk... knowing in my mind where I should be headed, but making no conscious effort to move in any kind of direction. It was not that I was relying on a skill to find my way to where my answers were.. but I had faith that eventually I would stumble across something familiar.

The buzzing of my phone jiggled against my breast after a few moments, and as I passed by a coffee shop that was just flicking it's lights on to begin the day, I considered simply letting it ring. Even as my thumb slid against the slick, vitae stained plastic.

Alone? Not alone? What was the difference? Thoughts were little jolts of lightning between dead brain cells. But the blood that flowed down? Now that was something real. Something that needed to be addressed, and that right soon. Dragging my fingers along my tongue, I sucked up that errant liquid like it was anything else that would keep me alive. Skills long dead came into play as I held up and leaned back against a wall to collect myself.

The bloodstains on my phone didn't much register to me as I punched the numbers.

"Jezebel? What the hell. I was in the middle of a very complicated summoning."

Baring my teeth in a rage that came unbidden, I heard the phone start to creak with the force that my fingers exerted. Jabbing a fingertip at midair, my voice dropped to a hideous little hiss that I could hear overmodulating the microphone.

"Shut your mouth, boy. I just had my throat cut by something invisible. Make something of it before I forget why I keep you alive. Love you."

Shoving the phone disdainfully back into my bra along with the dirty cash, I wiped again at the slowly healing nicks on my neck and started back off down the street. There were places to get cleaned up and places to hide. Neither of these things much interested me, though. I wanted answers.

And goddamn it if I wouldn't shut Sam up with the business end of a .45 if he didn't quiet down.

Like a storm, my thoughts became jumbled. So clear and focused, only to be thrust again into such a panicked state of madness. These lucid states.. they never really last long.

The echo of my heels as they pounded into the wet ground beneith me served as a tempo to begin to calm my nerves. When I finally had mind to glance up and look around me, my surroundings had changed, and I could not recall where I was, anymore. Such a thing should have concerned me, perhaps.. but the slick, wet feel of black vitae as it dripped down my throat called for more acknowledgement.

I pressed my hand there, sopping up the sticky mess with my palm, lip curling into an awkward little smile as I considered what Jeriah might say if I told him what I'd experienced. Was I actually -alone- in my mind? Or was I falling down some strange road of maddness that only sucks in the most unfortunate of my kind?

Sam won't stop laughing, now..

Imagine my surprise when the image in the window started to move. We could have been sisters if not for the way that her hair fell around her face. Her hair never did that, no matter how hard we tried to force it around the hot iron. Always so damned mousy. But that image couldn't have been me. I wasn't moving like it was.

But it still seemed so damned real.

A chipped fingernail raised up, that apparition seeming to point to something beside her. As though to indicate where the door was or perhaps to indicate a thing that could not be see, she aimed that finger over to the side. My fingers dug into my palm as I stared at this window, oblivious to the muttered statements of the other people in the place. The slurping of coffee and the clinking of little pieces of flatware rubbing on plates had all but evaporated in the appearance of this thing.

Her finger hooked back along her own throat, dragging that nail across it and leaving a razor thin crimson mark behind it. She hadn't been pointing at anything. Just preparing to evacuate soul. My hand flew to my throat and unable to regard another moment, I fled into the night streets.

Anywhere but there.

Bits and Pieces. (A story..)

People hardly ever pause to consider where they're going with their lives. Moments pass us by as quickly and fleeting as thoughts.. one happening after another, with such insignifigance, that we hardly take moments to piece them together and make a full sentence out of a jumble of words.

That's the thought that went through my mind as my fingers smoothed the worn fabric of my skirt back down over my hips. The warmth I felt between my thighs, and the itch of crumpled bills tucked against my right breast was a sad reminder of what had gotten me to the place I was now.. like a bitter example of my previous thought. I'd be a liar if I didn't say I smiled a bit in self mockery.

When I turned to grab my purse from where I'd dropped it to the ground, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a dirty window. I thought about pausing to inspect the ragged display of my image, but instead, I found myself squinting and leaning forwards to look past the illusion of a mirror that bright lights could give off.

(To Be Continued...)

Just like that, weirdness happens..

The strangest thing happened to me, today. I was on the bus, minding my own business and gaping openly at Justin's Doppelganger as I seem to be running into him quite often, these days. I felt something buzz on my lap, and thinking it was my cellphone telling me something, I reached into my pocket.

Nothing. No messages. No voicemails. No missed calls.

Back to gaping.

And then I feel something buzz, again. Intrigued, and realizing that this pleasing sensation was actually coming from my purse, I reach into the pocket that I sometimes stash my phone, only to find this weird alien cellphone sitting there.

Now, I drunkenly lost my phone at a friend's house over the weekend, so I think: no problem. I'll just call Alisha and see if anyone is missing their phone.

Turns out, Nope.

So.. now I'm really confused. Time goes by.. and I feel this alien phone buzzing again. Oh! A call! So I answer it.

An odd little conversation occurs, in which a man sounds rather confused as to why a woman is talking to him. I can only imagine this is because well.. this isn't my phone. After about five minutes of explaining, I finally let this man know that no, I am not 'Marty', and no.. I have no idea where this telephone has come from.

He kindly informs me that he'll let Marty know who has his phone. At this point, I play the waiting game, again.

And another call comes in. I answer, only to find that I am now speaking to the actual owner of this phone. This is a good sign. I politely ask him if he was at Alisha's party over the weekend. Nope.

"I live in Cloverdale..." he explains.

That's funny. I haven't been anywhere near that area in some time.

"Well, were you at the Celtic Times on Saturday?" I ask eagerly.

"No, I was at a football game..."

Huh. Now it is starting to get weird. How the fuck did I get this phone!?

The conversation goes on.. each of us absolutely bemused as to how I ended up with his phone in the first place. Finally, I agree to meet him at a gas station across the street from campus on my lunch break so that I can return his ill-begotten cellphone.

I bring a small army of friends with me. I'm not a dumb girl. I know that sometimes people do strange things in the hopes of luring pretty young women into their grasp, so I had backup. When the man rolls up in his truck, I'm hoping to recognize him. To get some sort of inkling as to -how- I ended up with his telephone in my purse.

I've never seen this person before in my -life-.

It was a rather anticlimactic exchange, to be honest. I handed him the phone, he asked me if I knew a man named 'Darrel', which I do, but it wasn't the Darrel he was asking about.. and then he drove off.

Didn't even say thank-you.

At the end of all of this.. I keep thinking to myself, that I am probably going to go to my grave..never knowing how the hell I got ahold of that damned phone.

Let's see, here..

So Justin reminded me yesterday that while I give him shit for never blogging.. I actually hardly ever do it myself, anymore.

Out of fear of being a hypocrite, here I am.

So it's occurred to me that I worry too much. I've observed the massive workload that is being handed off to me, and then I make a list of what I need to have done over the weekend. It's a big list. Something huge and blood-pressure raising.

Every weekend, I sit on my ass eating cheetos, watching Season 5 episodes of House, and drinking obscene amounts of tea. Every hour or so, I do some homework, then go back to my usual tactic of fucking around and doing nothing. By the time the weekend closes, I've gotten about half my list of homework done, and I spend Monday morning chewing down my fingernails.

Then I look at my schedule. Is everything that needs to be turned in done? Yes. Do I have time over the week to finish other things? Yes. Is my head on fire, and am I going to die? No.

Then what the fuck am I so worried about?

I think I could use a chill pill.

Details, and more details

I woke up today contemplating doing something very, very stupid. I don't think I've thought about hurting myself in order to get out of work in a very long time and it seems that the time had come for me to go and think about it again. In my infinite wisdom, I sat in bed and wondered what kind of injury would be most believable but with as little pain and disabling as possible.

I realized that my little toe might have to someday take one for the team. And I have two of them. That's like two days off in the bank, courtesy of God and my parents. They won't be tracking those in any HR department. This, I know.

I feel it slipping.. I feel it slipping away.

Accumulated Amortization upon my Sanity has been Debited to my Amortization of Sanity Expense account. D: