I watch the sunsets and sunrises through a series of pictures on a small screen that I squint at half the time. I don't have to wonder why the bags under my eyes are permanent; I put them there every day. Last week, I went to bed early one night, I think aroung 10; I got up at 6 and noticed in the mirror as I glanced back at myself before opening the front door that something had changed: the bags weren't as noticable. My eyes looked better.
Whatever happened to the mornings when I woke up at 4, and drove myself out to the bluffs and watched the 5 am sunrise? Oh, that's right. I remember now.
Tuesday was a world war in the house, and I'm living with two backpacks packed and a foot out the door. My father is a selfish bastard. He's just like his brother, the one who, if we mention, starts a war. He's just like the his 'worst enemy', as he calls him. The abuse over the years turned from physical to emotional and my mother and I can't take it anymore. I see her looking out the windows in brief pauses when she doesn't hear me turn the corner into the kitchen. She's taken up one of my habits lately. I sit in the living room, on either couch or loveseat, and gaze out the window, into the street, watching passing cars and neighbors and kids on bikes. I'd just sit there and watch for hours, during the day, or middle of the night, I've done it since I was so young. I'm sure the pillows are nothing but dried salt under the fabric.
But in the mornings, when I leave, she's sitting there, thinking, crying every so often... Unaware I had just been there three hours before, doing the same thing.
I'm starting to force myself to forget things that I didn't think I'd ever want to forget, that I dont want to but must so pain stops; ignore the things that bother me, forget the things that hurt me. I feel like I'm turning myself to stone, and that I'm somehow anticipating the day I finally become a cruel, heartless bitch and live in solitude somewhere. But memories of happy times are fading because they are losing meaning, for they mean nothing to anyone else who had them, too. I'm always reminded of my sadness; they want to pay an old 'friend' from my past $150 to sit and listen to me for an hour again. I never liked him.
Though I'm realizing I'm starting to miss having someone to talk to about the most stupid of things: The irritating, the venting, the hot-and-hornyness, the pain, the future, hopes and dreams, and most importantly: the little things that happen hour to hour, day to day, that everyone overlooks. When I do talk with someone, it seems that as though when I slip in one little comment about something so trivial, it's..said, and gone. There is no one to say such stupid things to; Did you see those leaves move in the wind just now? See that cloud? Don't you ever wonder where every particle that it consists of will be in three minutes?
There's a black mark on my shoe. I want to share moments so more things have more meaning. Everything deserves that.
But people just keep going. And forget it. Fine. Forget my thoughts.
I'm lonely, full of hate and aggression, and there's a cavaty inside somewhere that I hold everything good locked up; it'll be ruined as soon as I let it out.
I have such high standards because I want the best for myself, even though it might look like I treat myself like shit. Really, that's only everyone elses opinion. Sometimes when I don't shower for days, and when I go 29 days without shaving my legs and when I go digging in garbage and choke on the dust of it, I'm treating myself like a queen. I know people see that as wrong, and I suppose I'm looking to be treated as though I'm aware of what I'm up to. I'm here typing, but perhaps my mind is outside, wandering around the yard like I did when I was little.
It rained a lovely rain yesterday. I played in it, of course. Rain/dark/overcast weather makes me so happy. When it's coming down in huge raindrops, ones that you can hear smacking the windows from the basement.. I had my arms out, and I swirled and twirled around on our blacktop driveway barefoot, spinning faster as the rain fell harder. I haven't smiled like that in such a long time, for such a long time. My teeth saw sunlight (or lack thereof, though they met rain)
The 'I'm cold; but who doesn't play in 30 degree water in 50 degree weather' smile.
When left to dry in the air, my hair gets really wavy; it makes me look really pretty. Even wet, you can still see the waves (from after my shower earlier that day, and from work). I was told that women pay large amounts of money to get their hair to look that way for a day.
I came home from work with 'munch clam' on the top of my right hand in huge capitol letters, and two chicks with dicks shitting while assfucking on my left. We talked sex and such things all day. It was a slow day. Many things were discussed. Kind of.
That Andrew guy is starting to scare me. I guess we all call him 'big A' now because he's tall. Big R, when he was there, was tall, and..well, he was a really large 15 year old. While we were spraying off a car, as the machinary was running, he walked halfway through the tunnel, towards me, stopped, and leaned against the wall to stare at me. Mind you, you stand anywhere in the tunnel for more than 5 seconds, you're soaked. I pretended to not notice.
Last night, my mother took me to Panera to eat. New to me. I loved it. On our way out, I told her that the next time I'm on a first-date and he asks me where I'd like to eat, instead of the same response I've always had (arby's), I'd say Panera. Getting into the car, I added, 'Therefore, I'm probably not going to eat in Panera again." Disagreeing, she said that I'd be back in no time.
"All I seem to attract are the pedophiles, sex offenders and their best friends. That's not looking too good for me."
I'm considering going full time at work, and getting a second job for the evenings. Then I might have reason to ask for every weekend off.
But atleast I didn't sit here for two hours and watch another sunset through a small updateable box on the screen.
Oh, wait, never mind.
Whatever happened to the mornings when I woke up at 4, and drove myself out to the bluffs and watched the 5 am sunrise? Oh, that's right. I remember now.
Tuesday was a world war in the house, and I'm living with two backpacks packed and a foot out the door. My father is a selfish bastard. He's just like his brother, the one who, if we mention, starts a war. He's just like the his 'worst enemy', as he calls him. The abuse over the years turned from physical to emotional and my mother and I can't take it anymore. I see her looking out the windows in brief pauses when she doesn't hear me turn the corner into the kitchen. She's taken up one of my habits lately. I sit in the living room, on either couch or loveseat, and gaze out the window, into the street, watching passing cars and neighbors and kids on bikes. I'd just sit there and watch for hours, during the day, or middle of the night, I've done it since I was so young. I'm sure the pillows are nothing but dried salt under the fabric.
But in the mornings, when I leave, she's sitting there, thinking, crying every so often... Unaware I had just been there three hours before, doing the same thing.
I'm starting to force myself to forget things that I didn't think I'd ever want to forget, that I dont want to but must so pain stops; ignore the things that bother me, forget the things that hurt me. I feel like I'm turning myself to stone, and that I'm somehow anticipating the day I finally become a cruel, heartless bitch and live in solitude somewhere. But memories of happy times are fading because they are losing meaning, for they mean nothing to anyone else who had them, too. I'm always reminded of my sadness; they want to pay an old 'friend' from my past $150 to sit and listen to me for an hour again. I never liked him.
Though I'm realizing I'm starting to miss having someone to talk to about the most stupid of things: The irritating, the venting, the hot-and-hornyness, the pain, the future, hopes and dreams, and most importantly: the little things that happen hour to hour, day to day, that everyone overlooks. When I do talk with someone, it seems that as though when I slip in one little comment about something so trivial, it's..said, and gone. There is no one to say such stupid things to; Did you see those leaves move in the wind just now? See that cloud? Don't you ever wonder where every particle that it consists of will be in three minutes?
There's a black mark on my shoe. I want to share moments so more things have more meaning. Everything deserves that.
But people just keep going. And forget it. Fine. Forget my thoughts.
I'm lonely, full of hate and aggression, and there's a cavaty inside somewhere that I hold everything good locked up; it'll be ruined as soon as I let it out.
I have such high standards because I want the best for myself, even though it might look like I treat myself like shit. Really, that's only everyone elses opinion. Sometimes when I don't shower for days, and when I go 29 days without shaving my legs and when I go digging in garbage and choke on the dust of it, I'm treating myself like a queen. I know people see that as wrong, and I suppose I'm looking to be treated as though I'm aware of what I'm up to. I'm here typing, but perhaps my mind is outside, wandering around the yard like I did when I was little.
It rained a lovely rain yesterday. I played in it, of course. Rain/dark/overcast weather makes me so happy. When it's coming down in huge raindrops, ones that you can hear smacking the windows from the basement.. I had my arms out, and I swirled and twirled around on our blacktop driveway barefoot, spinning faster as the rain fell harder. I haven't smiled like that in such a long time, for such a long time. My teeth saw sunlight (or lack thereof, though they met rain)
The 'I'm cold; but who doesn't play in 30 degree water in 50 degree weather' smile.
When left to dry in the air, my hair gets really wavy; it makes me look really pretty. Even wet, you can still see the waves (from after my shower earlier that day, and from work). I was told that women pay large amounts of money to get their hair to look that way for a day.
I came home from work with 'munch clam' on the top of my right hand in huge capitol letters, and two chicks with dicks shitting while assfucking on my left. We talked sex and such things all day. It was a slow day. Many things were discussed. Kind of.
That Andrew guy is starting to scare me. I guess we all call him 'big A' now because he's tall. Big R, when he was there, was tall, and..well, he was a really large 15 year old. While we were spraying off a car, as the machinary was running, he walked halfway through the tunnel, towards me, stopped, and leaned against the wall to stare at me. Mind you, you stand anywhere in the tunnel for more than 5 seconds, you're soaked. I pretended to not notice.
Last night, my mother took me to Panera to eat. New to me. I loved it. On our way out, I told her that the next time I'm on a first-date and he asks me where I'd like to eat, instead of the same response I've always had (arby's), I'd say Panera. Getting into the car, I added, 'Therefore, I'm probably not going to eat in Panera again." Disagreeing, she said that I'd be back in no time.
"All I seem to attract are the pedophiles, sex offenders and their best friends. That's not looking too good for me."
I'm considering going full time at work, and getting a second job for the evenings. Then I might have reason to ask for every weekend off.
But atleast I didn't sit here for two hours and watch another sunset through a small updateable box on the screen.
Oh, wait, never mind.
VIEW 25 of 28 COMMENTS
by the way, you look sexy when your hair is wet.