I've been back for a while now.

I'm just tired all the time.

And sick of all the drama.

I hate drama.

I am leaving for Cedar Point right now.

I'll be back on Thursday night.

Goodbye Suicide Girl land.

I'll miss you.

So I've been doing this "adult texting" job.

It's easy and really amusing, but there's not much potential to make a lot of money, as far as I can tell.

So I suppose the job search forever continues.

I get to take a 4 day vacation to Cedar Point in less than a week. I'll post again before then, though, so don't say goodbye just yet.

I really need this vacation.

I'm hungry.

It's hot and sweaty here now.

Summer has begun.

It's 5:30 in the morning and I can't sleep.

I'm cold, and tired. Physically and mentally.

But my thoughts won't let me fall asleep, even for a minute.

The "Look over there! It's Mothra!" (substitute whatever word you'd like, I just happen to like Mothra) trick doesn't work with thoughts.

They just won't look away.

So there's a Ramones' song in a cell phone commerical now.

Hmm.

I see.

I don't want to take up board space with this, but if someone can help me get my webcam up on here, it would be greatly appreciated.

Plus, then you can all see me sitting here in front of my computer.

Bored.

Woo!

It was three o'clock in the morning. We were driving in the black truck with the windows rolled down about an inch. But it was stuffy inside the cab. I think he had the heat on. I could've told him to turn it off. I could've said that my throat was getting scratchy and dry. But I sat in silence. I thought maybe he would drive off the road. I thought it would be easier than the inevitable broken heart. I destroy, I told him. I glanced over at him, and he just kept driving. His hands at ten and two. He didn't respond because I didn't say it out loud.

I meant to say it out loud.

I wonder if he saw that my eyeliner was smeared all over my face. I pushed my hair behind my ears, even though I know I don't look pretty like that. Broken rag doll with straw hair. Reveling in her tears. Beautiful disaster, they would say, unless they only stopped long enough to notice that they liked my style.

He said that he felt like he was waiting for something that was never going to happen. He wants to be an adult. I want to be a child forever. The little girl in my head that has black hair and a pink dress with matching ribbons said she'll never be if I don't grow up. She said she likes cotton candy too, and she wonders if we can share some on her seventh birthday.

I told her she'll never exist.

She pouted and stomped her shiny Mary Janes on the ground. That's because you want to be me. You can't go back. You're selfish and rotten. She screams at me. She has a British accent.

I told him he should switch lanes unless he was planning on making an unscripted trip to Chicago in the middle of the night. He switched lanes. I told him he was predictable. Who wants to be spontaneous? I said. And I pouted, too.

I didn't really want to go to Chicago. I wanted a fight.

He rolled down the windows the rest of the way and the wind blew all around my head. I closed my eyes to be dramatic and pulled my hair because I like the way it feels. I wished I had a valium. I wished I had a thousand and one sleeping pills. I wished I was blind, and deaf, and dumb.

We pulled into his driveway. I stayed completely still, staring at the big tree in the front yard.

He got out and shut the door. He turned his back to me, lit a cigarette, and leaned against the truck. I knew he was worried about me without even seeing his face. He worries about me a lot.

I don't remember how long I sat like that.

I feel like I'm waiting for something that will never happen, too. I said after a while.

I turned my head to where he had been standing to see his reaction. But he was gone.

He must have went into the house hours before.

Forgive me Lord, for I'm going to sin.

*meow*

I'm on the boards a lot more now.

I kill threads, and have fun doing it.

My fucking set is for sure being shot this coming Thursday. If I lose an arm before then, it'll be a amputee set. If I get sick, it'll be a puking set.

If I die, you necrophiliacs are in for a treat.

I'm excited.

Adore me.

Hey everyone.

I have a favor to ask of you.

My best friend and future set photographer finally broke down and got himself a membership here.

Go say hello.

He hasn't met anyone on here yet, so make him feel welcome.

Be sure and mention how ridiculous it is that he doesn't have me listed as a favorite girl.

Thanks everyone. Love, love, love for all of you.