I'd love to go back to being a vegan someday...

but currently I have an unhealthy obsession to snickers bars; much to the dismay of my hips.

I'm dying I think. I need an adventure. I know it's ridiculous, and maybe melodramatic, but I'm having trouble looking at myself in the mirror. I don't know what this means, and it worries me.

Winter Says...

wound update

better, still gruesome. currently watching Love Actually, drinking Chamomile tea and eating fig newtons.

Current Third Degree Burn

While working with 300 degree isomalt sugar, I had a bit of a mishap and now have a third degree burn on my middle finger (excellent place) and a blister the size of North America. It is disgusting. Like repulsive even. I don't think I can go out in public today. FML.

Movies by myself

seems to be a trend that won't be ending soon. Regardless, Synecdoche New York was lovely. I almost cried. If it wasn't for my emotional inabilities I probably would have. I would totally fall in love with Phillip Seymour Hoffman, if given the chance. One line in particular stick out at me from the end of the film:

"I guess no one wants to hear my story, because everyone has got their own misery to deal with. Well I say, Fuck Everybody. "

It was incredibly weird, but good. worth watching. Now that I'm in a Charlie Kaufman mood, I'll be watching Adaptation with a bowl of honey nut cheerios in about 5 minutes.

YES

THIS MOVIE IS FINALLY OUT. HELLO LONELY MOVIE MATINEE TIME!

simple pleasures

I wish I had more time to travel, I forgot how much I miss hotel rooms. I'm adding this to my list of goals because I believe in pre-new year resolutions:

1. Travel more
2. Learn French
3. Be a better person (this is directly correlated to putting my shopping carts away in the parking lot instead of stashing them behind someones car)
4. Eat better
5. Sleep better
6. Finish a book every two weeks (equaling 24 books a year) currently: The Great Gatsby next: Lolita
7. Love my parents
8. Love myself.

like unconditionally.

"all of the music, movies and literature I horde, I would gladly trade for one meaningful conversation with a stranger"

lately I've been noticing a craving for conversation. Much like the saddening withdrawal of Vitamin D that I will be experiencing in a few short weeks, my body is signaling to me the necessity to communicate. I would love nothing more than to make this happen, but it seems more difficult than one would think. I don't even know what I want to talk about: books, movies, politics, the creation of the universe - I've given up on the hope of intimacy through touch and now need to resort through intimacy with words. I think I just have an unhealthy obsession with dialogue and somehow think that even a little meaningless chatter might make me feel more motivated to seize the day.

J.D. SALINGER

“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as some day, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.”

tattoo

"I have been have in love with easeful death"

"everything you need is already inside"

I'm running out of things to say. Trying to stay happy.

Today I went to the grocery store and my shopping cart consisted of milk, cereal, a Cosmopolitan and 2 bottles of Advil Migraine


and, side note: some of the sex advice in Cosmo is downright frightening

I blame the brick wall for what happened. I couldn't help it. The brick and the high ceilings, the red wine that I only pretended to like, and the muted television. I don't even miss the way it felt to be close to you, I just pine for the rows upon rows of chalky, uneven, crimson bricks. Trapped in a viscera of cement. I feel for them. I imagine that even if they wanted to escape, they could not.

14

I wish that my brother could meet someone and be happy.

If Palin and Mccain get elected...

I swear that I will move to Canada. My French is good enough.

"The only cure for depression is to read."

I think Ethan Hawke is probably a very good kisser.

Hey There, Ike

Apparently there is a monster of a hurricane heading towards Florida. It will probably wreck some mass destruction, and I'm a little disappointed I can't be there to see the uprooted palm trees and swaying traffic lights. I wish that the hurricane could change it's course and blow towards my house to sweep my roommate away; as she has become a heinous bitch as of late.

he's cute sometimes.

It has been a long time since I have been close to someone in the sense that I could touch them whenever I wanted. I forget what intimacy is.

l

See, Henry Miller gets it - why can't anyone else?

.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

I have a new job writing papers for lazy uneducated stoners that I go to school with. I refer to these people as my clients and have no concern for the morality of this situation.

wild horses.

Something about this picture makes me feel completely dissatisfied with my life; currently.

;

I think the perfect man for me would be very tall and occasionally bearded. He likes horror movies and flannel shirts and reads actual books of which he has actual opinions. He's well liked but doesn't try too hard. He always orders dessert and likes early mornings and never makes fun of me for speaking in hyperboles. He also should not show up for about 2 - 3 years because the last thing I want in my life right now is complication or companionship. There is a serious misconception about misery and company.

I used to be so much cooler 5 years ago. Like I hit my prime in highschool and everything from then on has been a slow, eventual decline.

birds of a feather, flea market treasures, lazy sundays, sick mondays, breakfast in bed.

!!!

My hair is finally past my shoulders. The longest it has been since I was 16. : )

sad city

George Orwell is ruining my life. I just finished "Down and Out in Paris and London" and he had some pretty awful things to say about the restaurant industry. He refers to a chefs work as such:

"He earns his bread in the sweat of his brow, but it
does not follow that he is doing anything useful; he may be only supplying
a luxury which, very often, is not a luxury. "

Years ago I think I had a much more idealistic view of the future; Even when I was a kid my endeavors were limitless: I wanted to save the world, do a little good for mankind. Somewhere down that line I decided that I just wanted to co-exist - and now I feel so disappointed in myself. I love what I do, but is my work really useless? Would my occupation feel unsatisfying? I keep asking myself these questions and feeling so confused. I know it's not because I don't love what I do, it's just that I'm terrified of having to get a real job and grow up. Maybe I just keep thinking "what am I doing with my life?" because I want more.

In happier, less distressing news: I painted this week for the first time in months. Despite my abuse of the talent, it still felt natural. And it felt so good to create.

In Search of a Midnight Kiss

I finally saw this movie. I laughed. I cried. I felt embarrassed by the resemblance of the plot lines to my own little life. I loved the way it was shot, not "Hollywood" at all. I didn't love the ending - but I never do these days; if it's a happy ending I feel envious and cynical and if it's a sad ending I feel angry that the imaginary lives of the characters end so bitterly realistic. I don't think I will ever, ever, ever get married - but if someone were going to propose to me, I guess I'd like to have them do so on a ferris wheel.

My commitment phobia is evidenced by the fact that it takes me 25 minutes to pick out a box of cereal at the grocery store.

Reductions

There is a Burt Reynolds movie marathon on TV. Can I think of a better waste of time? Nope.

"No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee."

Sometimes I am watching myself live; like in a movie. I am objective. I see myself making mistakes; I make them anyway. I feel despondent, and I don't know how to fix it. In this way, I feel like I am living two separate lives. torn. Part of me wants to be alone: undisturbed silence, solitude. That part of me desires to be reclusive. The other part craves human intimacy - in such a way that I feel I am incomplete because I share no part of myself with anyone. When you let people in, I feel like they keep a little part of you - holding a secret like a fingerprint or a lingering memory. These pieces survive us. And because I don't let anyone in, none of me survives apart from myself. That is true loneliness. I'm trying to fix it, I just don't know how to reconcile the pieces of myself to one functioning person.

Orwell

" It is a feeling of relief, almost of pleasure, at knowing yourself at last genuinely down and out. You have talked so often of going to the dogs - and well, here are the dogs, and you have reached them, and you can stand it. It takes off a lot of anxiety "

Awful Words

I cried today about it. I stopped and tried to think about why I was crying. I realized that I'm not sad that I may have c----- , I'm sad because I don't really care whether or not I do. There is nothing I have to miss, too lose; the world would not stop if I disappeared. Many people would be sad, but they would all live - and all things would continue on, unchanged. After all, I disappeared once before, didn't I? Last night I died in my dream. Everything went black and my body was numb. For a second my brain played a trick on me, and I thought that I was actually dead. Then I woke, dissapointed to find that no mysteries of the universe would be revealed to me then - I had to wake up and brush my teeth.I'm so scared that this is something I can't recover from.

Shearwater - My Good Deed

Everyday while I wait for my bus in the lovely downtown of Pittsburgh, PA, I people watch. I observe the strangest, creepiest human beings on earth. I'm losing my faith in the world day by day. Also, I really want someone to take me to see this: (because it reminds me of Manhattan. )

I have this theory that you can never date people that you actually like; only the ones you learn to love. The people you like first, the ones you chase after, are the worst candidates for love. Also, I just want to stop feeling like I need to convince someone that I'm worth it - I already know that.

Have you ever missed a place like it was a person? It all depends on your state of loneliness. You see, when people remember a certain place, like a city, they usually associate these memories with other people. They remember what life was like where they once lived because of who they spent it with. Location becomes a byproduct of companionship, and not just location, but seasons, and even years of your life. In a case where no human companionship is present, the city becomes your company.

World.
Shoulders.
Overwhelmed.

REVENGE

I need to destroy someones life. My motive, however petty, is still warranted. I want to google "ways to kill someone", but I'm afraid the government might come knocking on my door tomorrow. Where is karma when you need it?

I touched a stranger on the bus today. I was surprised at how this small bit of human contact both thrilled and overwhelmed me. The feeling lingered with me even until I arrived home, and as a result of my human encounter and a day of mishaps, I wanted to cry; but didn't allow myself the luxury.

girl time. well deserved, much needed.

I know I said I'd forget you but,

I really miss the feel of your hands on my back.

Hot For

I have such a crush on my English teacher. Something about a man talking grammar really gets my blood going.

I'm so sick of Pittsburgh. The awful weather, the less than optimal companionship.Most of all, the migraines. At least three times a week I am confined to my bed with an ice pack and the entire DVD set of Planet Earth.

On a side note,
Cisco Adler, (white guy) is pretty hot despite the fact that he looks like he probably doesn't shower.

girls just want to have fun

I JUST REALIZED,

I'M
HAPPY
BEING
ALONE!

(& I don't like you anymore. Hello sweet, content solitude. Hello Liberation.)

"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could."

The Painted Drum, Louise Erdich

I miss the trees in Gainesville.

bedside manner

Everytime I go to the doctor I feel like they are going to have bad news for me. Today I was right.

I'm leaving on a jet plane. Airplane food is surely missed. King Crimson is the soundtrack of my trip. There is a girl wearing a shirt next to me that says "Success comes from within, not from without" - Ralph Waldo Emerson. She's mad because I made her move her feet so I could sit down. Boy George is playing.

It sounds morbid, but my first thought before entering an aircraft is the run-through of preparation for death. I share an unspoken comradery with my fellow passengers- I think of who would hold my hand in the event of a plummet. I picture my final thoughts; my regrets. I think about what I would have done differently. Then I find my seat and do the crossword puzzle in the airplane magazine as the plane prepares for takeoff.

I used to be so afraid of planes, but now I just view the chance of crashing as a comical (somewhat romantic) experience. I think my phobia was born out of a time when I was much more afraid of death. I used to think that not being afraid of death would be empowering; but I've since changed my outlook. It means I'm taking life for granted.

Daniel Johnston; (as in "the devil &...")

True love will find you in the end
You'll find out just who was your friend
Don’t be sad, I know you will,
But don’t give up until
True love finds you in the end.

This is a promise with a catch
Only if you're looking will it find you
‘Cause true love is searching too
But how can it recognize you
Unless you step out into the light?
But don’t give up until
True love finds you in the end.

I have decided, conclusively, that I would rather wear my heart on my sleeve and get it smashed to pieces a million times than be cautious. It might be a character flaw, but the worst that could happen is that I end up just as singular as I am now. (Which I don't mind). Anyway, this is my declaration: I am officially done feeling sorry for myself, I'm taking up a new "glass half full" approach, and I resolve to be the most honest, most human person I can possibly be.

It has been too long since I last painted:

I'm feeling very creative today; like maybe I can make my own luck.

I fell in love during this encore:

For some reason I can't listen to KC Accidental while driving without getting the uncontrollable urge to crash myself into oncoming traffic. I can feel the impact. Smell the burning rubber. It's weird, I guess. I explained it to someone once before who echoed my sentiment. We reasoned that the song just has so much... life. Listening to it is realizing that this is exactly what I want my life to sound like. Each breath should be like every single chord. I can't explain it really. It just needs to be listened to. I tried explaining this to Emily once, she gave me a look like I was crazy. She also once said, "I really hope that someday you find a guy who is just as weird as you."

I like that. I hope so, too.

FEBUARY 26TH

Dear God, I'm already planning the housewarming party.

plans;

"No matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close. "
Chuck Palahniuk

I'm going to be social this week. Change of pace, believe me. Show Wednesday: guaranteed to be uncomfortable, but I need a good reason to wear a dress. Company this weekend? Perhaps. Show Monday: I need a lot of luck for this one, and a very, very special dress.

Following that, 4 more days until I'm back in Florida. I want to be happy about my 10-day vacation, but it's making me anxious. I just want time to fly, because the sooner I can get out of Pittsburgh, the better. Even though I've realized that by changing my location, my undealt problems are still going to follow. I need a self-makeover, followed by some re-prioritzing. I' plan to rent "Bridget Jones' Diary" and take notes.

life:

I'll take an ice-cream cone over human company any day.

1.2.3.4.

I am obsessed with making lists. I can't stop. to-do's, top tens, favorite anythings. I have become utterly OCD about categorizing my wants, needs, haves and likes. I'm afraid that if I disappear suddenly, all that will be left of me are these scratchy scribbles of all the things I've completed; and whats worse, all the things that have yet to be crossed out. I desperately need something to take my mind off of these strange transfixtions (not a word). I need someone to cuddle with before I lose my mind.

buried essays

I don’t know much about my father. It’s not a common story of single-parenthood, and has nothing to do with my mother being divorced or widowed. My father has lived with me my entire life. He has never been away for long trips, never had a separation with my mother, and never left my brother and me as we were growing up. Yet, I can’t tell you exactly how old he is. I don’t know much of his hobbies, his fears, or any of the idiosyncrasies that come with living so close to a person; that come with knowing them underneath the persona they portray to the world. He has always been there, and in so many ways, he has been a great distance away. For me he represented the idea of God. Omnipresent, though he was, and knowing the facts of his unconditional love, I still could never figure out exactly how to communicate with him. I think I made peace with God about the same time that I made peace with my father, but there were miles before that destination was reached; eighteen years worth of traveling to be exact.

Growing up I was the kind of kid who was fascinated by the Bradys and Cleavers. When I watched television families speak revealingly to each other, I often blushed just at the thought of saying such things to him. Full House was my favorite show, and I often wished that like Danny Tanner, my father would make funny jokes or give me a loving but firm lecture when I would break curfew or accidentally put a dent in Uncle Jesse’s new convertible. I still have my letters to the Tanner family, asking if they had room for just one more kid. Scribbled in crayon, I kept them hidden away under my bed because I was too embarrassed to ask for the address to San Francisco

My father seemed to be the exact opposite of the sitcom dads I admired. He was unemotional and always carried with him a sort of reverent fear. I never saw him take an interest in any of the normal “dad activities” like sports, hardware, or bass fishing. No, the only hobby I ever saw him participate in was betting on horse races. Every Saturday morning, like clockwork, I would see him leave the house with his jacket on and his racing papers under him arm. He meticulously studied those racing papers at his desk after work, tearing through them with a highlighter and his fountain pen. I was rarely allowed to stay awake until he returned on Saturday evenings, but sometimes I would pretend to fall asleep in my parent’s bed so that I could have him carry me to my room. With my eyes closed, I rested my head on his shoulder and held on tightly to his jacket; which smelled strongly of tobacco and cologne. I loved that smell. It would linger on my clothes for weeks.

As a child my fathers distance was fascinating and interesting, but as I grew into a teenager, his emotional absence turned that same wonder into resentment. His schedule had not changed since my childhood. He left for work before I woke up, and I would catch a glimpse of him as he came back home and headed for his room. If I wanted to find him, he would be at his desk until he left his room for dinner. Since we never ate together, I had even less opportunity for conversation. Rarely did he ever seek me out to talk unless it regarded my schoolwork or my behavior. Those were the only two subjects of my life with which he was ever acquainted with. We loved each other, of course, but it seemed unnatural to express it; better to leave it unsaid and mutually understood. The only time emotions were exchanged between us was when disciplinary matters became too hard for my mom and overflowed onto him. I believed he had no right to dictate rules into my life when he hardly had any involvement. Of course, that never stopped him from grounding me.

It seemed my mom and brother did not seem to notice a problem with his behavior. I noticed my brother began to mirror the same quiet, reserved, and closed tendencies that my father exhibited. He became the honor student and the account ting major; I was the one that painted my ceiling with literary quotes in an act of rebellion. When I questioned my mom for her opinion on the matter she usually responded with different versions of the same sentence, “your father loves you, but he just doesn’t know how to show it”.

The first time I saw my father cry I was already an adult and had come to terms with the fact that we were always going to remain distant. Everything changed when a BMW 350 rear-ended my parent’s car on vacation and my father dislocated his C1 joint. Month’s later, no amount of medication could dull the pain in his back; he even took the risk of permanent paralization to try to correct the problem, but to no avail. He was weeping. My father, with emotional sensitivity of a rock, was weeping. Grasping my hand, he was no longer concerned with his stature, dignity, or his appearance. It seemed he was crying a lifetime’s worth of tears, and I felt for him. I finally understood what it felt like to desperately want to take the pain of another. I saw my father in a way I had never imagined him; vulnerable. Then I realized why he had tried so hard all these years to hold everything inside, he was trying to be strong for us. I had not seen him this way before, but I realized he was afraid. He was human. I forgave him.

My father’s favorite desert is crème brulee. I know that once when he was seventeen, he paid ten dollars to see Bob Marley in concert before anyone had ever heard of him. I know he has a tattoo, but none of this really matters. Most importantly, I know all the things he thinks, but never says. When he sees me, I wait for him to embrace me, hold me, and tell me all his secrets; but he never does. Instead, he mutters something simple, “It’s nice having you around.” That is more than enough. I know it seems morbid, but I look forward to the day when I will be able to speak of him proudly at his funeral. Perhaps, in his absence, I will have the courage to call him “daddy”.

I always wanted to be Veronica; but I'm Betty.

Idiosyncratic

Someone told me today, "it's important to know your quirks!"
Luckily, I make a habit of cataloging them:

1. I have a thing for covers of "Wonderwall"
2. My idea of taking a risk is enjoying the occasional rare steak. (living dangerously)
3. Grammer is the basis of all my friendships.
4. I always cry at the end of "My Best Friend's Wedding"
5. I am fascinated, and oddly attracted to intonation and tone of voice of the opposite sex.
6. I have an irrational fear of chairs breaking underneath me
7. I love sleeping in hotels (& I never, EVER, sleep on my back!)
8. I never wear pink (coral;maybe)
9. I'm always in the middle of at least 3 different books
10. I love the smell of old books, the sound of crunching leaves and the feeling of being submerged in water.
11. I hate holding hands, and especially interlocking fingers
12. I often like to imagine the sounds that inanimate objects would make if they could vocalize
13. Sometimes I eat cereal for all 3 meals of the day
14. I would rather have a dog than a boyfriend
15. I talk incredibly fast, and even faster when I'm nervous
16. My ideal man is basically a lumberjack (i.e.; tall, bearded, and lots of flannel)
17. I hate the word panties
18. Outward displays of emotion make me incredibly uncomfortable
19. The more syllables, the better.
20. I'd rather be interesting than beautiful
21. I always think it is romantic when a woman ties a man's tie in old movies
22. Sometimes classical music moves me to tears
23. I find washing dishes to be incredibly therapuetic
24. I hate the words "slice" and "cuisine"

finish your collapse and stay for breakfast.

There is nothing else I would rather do with my time. meticulous. My dad said he was proud of me this weekend; (first time, ever?). I can't explain the euphoria of that feeling. Which was quickly counteracted by the awful migraines I've been getting daily. ALEVE Migraine, orange juice, and animal crackers. triumph.



I'm going to start speaking exclusively in declarative sentences.

mer·cu·ri·al /mərˈkyʊəriəl/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[mer-kyoor-ee-uhl]

–adjective

1.	changeable; volatile; fickle; flighty; erratic: a mercurial nature.

.

.

---