"It was agony, man. Fucking agony."

Once upon a time. There was a kitten

as cute as a button

who looked like a tiger

pee-peed on my pants.

Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides Completed Boo YAH

YES YES YES YESSSSSS

And no, it's not an orgasm!

Everything that I was excited about is basically making my stomach churn.

Taking the iniative

OKAY.

OKAY.

okay.

I need to breathe

because I might be going to CALIFORNIA IN THE WINTER!! AND my hopes for who's going to be living with us next year is set! AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME!

Now...to only deal with Jury Duty =/

I got locked out of my house twice. TWICE. I've been outside only once.

In that minute second you're seen, you exist, you existed.

Overlapping and I have no idea

Okay. I was at Harpur Palate and read some incredible stories (disturbing ones). It's amazing how some people can write so well; their stories are so fluid and thought provoking.

What's strange is having to see people you think you'd never see again and then you see them. It's like great, wish I had been more social and less fucking weird last time--I have a bad habit of playing up to what I think their impression of me is. It kind of reminds me of HK actors, where you watch a movie with the same actor/actress you watched a thousand times before in other movies, except it's with people you have to associate with in real life.

Lately, everything seems to be such a coincidence, little words and actions and events. It's linked to something or other that's been on my mind. For some reason, this makes me feel like I'm close to discovering something important. In relation to but not really pertaining to, I was at Harpur Palate I overheard something that made me break out into goose bumps and chills. I thought my blood would start spurting out of my veins because I tensed up and fidgeted, knowing that I'd see a different perspective on things--the truth? I tensed up because I knew what was about to be said were going imply that there's a tendency for weirdness, close enough to be insulting. I feel rather stupid because now I see someone else's point of view.

My first instinct was to delete, delete until I could feel like I got back my dignity. I mean, really? Am I that naive and gullible? Then I tried to think about it reasonably. I can understand their opinions, but I feel like if I turn back then it's like I'm just like everyone else who judges without getting to the core.

I know and I suppose that's all that matters. Besides I'm not the one lying, just perchance being lied to.

Image Source

I hate how you can make me giddy. FUCK.

To never see your Screen Name again on AIM

I was adding all the lame, sappy, romantic sad songs to my Windows Media Player. Why? Why you ask? Because I am quintessentially female--wait that's sexist--quintessentially human.

There was only ever two people I ever wanted to be with and ever wanted to talk with and ever wanted to converge with. I didn't say my choices were great, but that they felt right though reality says otherwise. If there was no reality, if there was no society, if there was no age or distance or circumstances, then perhaps, perhaps I could have been with one of them right now.

The Past

Silly Dilly (11:04:15 PM): to be honest, when we stopped talking, i didnt really think about it much afterwards

Silly Dilly (11:04:42 PM): but then everytime we talk again its just...

Silly Dilly (11:04:43 PM): ugh

dr34m0n(2:04:46 AM): its just what?

dr34m0n (2:05:21 AM): ugh bad or ugh good

dr34m0n (2:05:22 AM): lol

Silly Dilly (11:06:40 PM): good

dr34m0n (2:08:08 AM): lmao is it ugh good right now?

dr34m0n (2:08:09 AM): hahha

Silly Dilly (11:09:57 PM): not when you keep asking all these serious questions =P

I have a billion things more important to worry over, but I can't concentrate.

Seriously, screw you; I'm eating the brownie.

Must get better at beer pong...

I want to get it over with--seeing you--already. The nerves and the anticipation is killing me!

Demi Lovato's _ _ _ _ Land

I'm delusional--where fantasies are my refuge.

Repeated experience, and bitter experience indeed, had long since taught him that every intimacy, which in the beginning lends life such pleasant diversity and presents itself as a nice and light adventure, inevitably, with decent people--especially irresolute Muscovites, who are slow starters--grows into a major task, extremely complicated, and the situation finally becomes burdensome. But at every new meeting with an interesting woman, this experience somehow slipped from his memory, and he wanted to live and everything seemed quite simple and amusing.

The Lady with the Little Dog by Anton Chekhov

When I'm here, I depend on you more than I expect. I have no one to turn to--besides Billy--for all my questions, all my thoughts, and all my insecurities, but you. So knowing that you aren't here at this moment is driving me nuts because I keep thinking things and the only one who would seem to get them is you. The only one who is around is you. You. You. You.

How is it that simply having your existence in my life can crystallize ideas that I never understood, making everything everyone ever mentioned make so much goddamn sense. How is it that you can make me feel so at ease and anxious and restless and comfortable, all at once?

How is it that we are so incompatible? Destined not to be destined.

Shit am I reverting?!

I am literally obsessed with Yahoo! mail again.

Just watched State to Play and it was pretty freaking good; watch it douches!

Tomatoes and Green Peppers

NF for started but never finished.

1. Wicked by Gregory Maguire (NF)
2. Children Playing Before the Statue of Hercules collected by David Sedaris (NF)
3. Naked by David Sedaris
4. Wind-Up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakami (NF)
5. Ten Little Indians by Sherman Alexie (NF)
6. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
7. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
8. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picault
9. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
10. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
11. One Man's Bible by Gao Xingjian (NF)
12. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoesky (NF)
13. The Progress of Love by Alice Munro
14. Zombie by Joyce Carol Oates
15. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey
16. Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
17. Never Let Go by Kazuo Ishiguro
18. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (NF)
19. Pale Fire by Vladimir Nabokov
20. Rabbit, Run by John Updike
21. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
22. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
23. The Golden Notebook by Doris Lessing
24. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
25. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
26. Everything That Rises Must Converge by Flannery O'Connor
27. American Salvage by Bonnie Jo Campbell
28. Drown by Junot Diaz
29. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Waoby by Junot Diaz
30. The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
31. 1984 by George Orwell

Talking to you again makes me dream about you, but I have yet to see you.

"Dreams are boring," Elliot told him.
Helping by Robert Stone

Yes, they are.

the LIST

Books I have to read/finish.

1. Wicked by Gregory Maguire
2. Children Playing Before the Statue of Hercules collected by David Sedaris
3. Naked by David Sedaris
4. Wind-Up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakami
5. Ten Little Indians by Sherman Alexie
6. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
7. The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky
8. My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picault
9. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
10. A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

The rest will be listed tomorrow as I am too lazy to do so this moment.

These are the Best Days of Our Lives

I haven't written here for a while because I feel that whatever I write is inadequate to describe what I'm feeling and what I'm thinking so I don't bother.

I've been reading a lot for Creative Writing, Love & Death in Modern Literature, and Harpur Palate, and I'm beginning to question if I have what it takes.

The other day, a girl was sitting in the front of the bus, on the outer seat. However, she saw her friend and butt-hopped to the side, leaving a vacant space for her friend to sit. As her friend got on the bus, she said cheerfully, "Hi Abby!" And Abby replied, "Hey," but kept on walking to the end of the bus. The girl with the empty seat next to her looked crestfallen.

I can't find peace.

Har Har Har

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns. Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

Summarized version:
Lolita. Oh, she was something. Really sexy. Really hot. I loved saying her name, over and over. Lolita, Lolita, Lolita. I liked the way she looked in her school uniform. She was pretty damn cute. Oh yes. The Making of a Story by Alice LaPlante

oh god. I can't stop crying.

Mama, I miss you so much.

Lady T & Tiger JK

I wish I could be this.



I wish I could have this.

You are quite linda

I've come far. I've matured.

However, I'm still maturing, still learning, and still in need of improvement.

---------------------------------------------------
My professor asked why there'll always be some kind of war in every time period.

I wanted to say that it's biological. We all have the instinct to destroy.

What if he doesn't exist

When I got out of high school I was still sixteen and I got a job at Wal-Mart. I didn't know what else to do. We needed the money. What little it was. Anyway, the night before I went down there I had this dream. Or it was like a dream. I think I was still about half awake. But it come to me in this dream or whatever it was that if I went down there that he would find me. At the Wal-Mart. I didn't know who he was or what his name was or what he looked like. I just knew that I'd knew that I'd know him when I seen him. I kept a calendar and marked the days. Like when you're in jail. I mean I aint never been in jail, but like you would probably. And on the ninety-nine day he walked in and he asked me where sportin goods was at and it was him. And I told him where it was at and he looked at me and went on. And directly he come back and he read my nametag and he said my name and he looked at me and he said: What time do you get off? And that was all she wrote. There was not no question in my mind. Not then, not now, not ever.

No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy

Do you ever have times where you're just standing from afar and you're watching everyone mingle and you think that you can fit in if you wanted to, but as you stare at the crowd you realize it's so meaningless and so pointless to bother.

[Romanticized view] when I go out to places filled with people--bar--I always hope, ridiculously, that I'll catch someone's eye and some guy will catch my eye and BAM it'll happen, that I'll find someone worth knowing in that mass of people because I know. But I really don't know anything.

That kind of thing doesn't happen (and perhaps if I deny it enough that it will happen).

Ready to Get Out and Live It Out (Metric?)

Professor Pindell said, "Pistols were always made to kill people. Rifles are used for animals, but pistols were specifically made to kill people."

Life is Beautiful If you're willing to Live it

I'd pull the trigger.

If you had to kill someone--aim a gun to their head--knowing that if you let them go they would kill you and your family, and numerous others. Would you?

I would. I'd pull the trigger.

It takes little to govern good people. Very little. And bad people cant be governed at all. Of if they could I never heard of it.

No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy