the other day i padded into the community garage (its under the building, like a bizarre secret lair that everyone knows about and are totally aware of how to get to), barefoot and rushed. gotta get something out of the vehicle...

there is an exorbitant amount of old ladies in my building, as evidenced by the ratio of how many of them i see and how many other people i DONT see. one of these ladies was wandering aimlessly in the garage area, looking somewhat vague and completely lost. suddenly i was POSITIVE i was in the mall garage scene from the remade dawn of the dead, and i was going to meet my zombie fate being mauled and/or eaten to death by an eighty year old women.

i would have been so embarrassed. thank god she wasnt actually a zombie.

yet.





but seriously...

im so tired. tired of being here (here being used as a completely vague and undefinable term, this has nothing to do with the website people), tired of waking up late every morning and vainly rushing in an attempt to be on time to something im almost always late for...

doesnt matter what it is; odds are, im late.

im tired of people telling me that things are going to be okay, that they're going to even out and everything will be fine.

nothing ever gets better.

but you know what? i can live with that. you know how i know? ive done it for 22 damn years, and even though things never look up, or start to look up and are immediately crushed by something much, much worse, life goes on.

as much as i hate that.

last night you told me that reading it made you hate us both a little more. the tension between us got worse; you stay on your side, and ill stay on mine. i dont talk much; im the queen of failed expression... but--

"you said it made you hate us both more... and if thats true, then you hated me to begin with."

you sighed and to me it sounded like that 'stupid girl' sigh, that sigh like i was so predictable and you knew i was going to say that... which of course, you confirmed.

"i thought that might be a poor choice in words..."

and of course it was; probably the WORST choice in words, feeding my paranoia and self doubt.

one of the few people who know the best and worst parts of me, and there are still some things that i cannot share for fear of judgement and disappointing you...

which i feel i often do.

you told me to start writing again, to log the dreams, to write anything; to keep a journal that was completely open and honest, leaving nothing out and having it for me, to ease MY mind, and to fix ME.

but the truth is, i cant write anything if i know it will never be read. hell, the longest ive ever kept a journal outside of this one was a week. two entries to its name, and i never opened it again.

i guess im writing fiction from now on.

or else im going to have to find a new audience...

i make you unhappy and sometimes you make me unhappy too; but i was unhappy to begin with. youre one of my best friends and for that i almost want to tell you to fuck off, get out, like everyone else tells you to do. not because i dont want or need you; the only thing that KEEPS me from doing that is a selfish need for you. some of the greatest company i know, one of the few people i can (i guess about certain things) be open with... why would i push that away?

because i dont ever want to hear that tone of voice again.

you deserve better than a friend who makes you miserable.

im only me.

and i suck.