confessions Blog by perfectlyinked
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perfectlyinked's blog: "confessions"

created on 11/10/2008  |  http://fubar.com/confessions/b258518  |  1 followers

so, on the way to take evan to daycare one morning....

 

I was driving along one of the three roads that lead from the town i live in and the next town over. After coming over a hill, I see several lumps on the horizon. Getting closer I see these lumps are actually pigs. 

 

Pigs are not cute and charming like Babe. They're huge fuckers and hitting one could lead to severe injury and car damage. It could possibly lead to a lot of free bacon but since I don't eat it, it wasn't really worth the trouble. Instead, I proceeded slowly until the car was surrounded by oinkers and I was forced to stop.

Logically, I called 911. 

 

"911, what's your emergency?"

 

"Yes, I'm stopped on Lake Douglas road between Bainbridge and Climax and my car is surrounded by pigs. I guess they must have gotten out of their pen."

 

"The pigs are in the road?"

 

"Yeah, and someone needs to put them up before they cause a wreck. They're pretty big. Someone could die."

 

At this point, some of the pigs lay back down in the road to sun themselves.

 

"Can you give me an address so I can send someone?"

 

"I'm on the road. I don't have an address."

 

"I can' t send anyone unless I have an address, ma'am."

 

"Look, you get on Lake Douglas Rd and head towards Climax. I'll be the only car on the road surrounded by fucking pigs. Should be easy to spot." 

So I’m standing around at a NOFX concert…

Yeah, I know. I should have thought this through a little better.

Anyway, I’m standing at this concert and I have a total Final Destination moment. This happens due to the summation of several factors. 

1. I am on the second floor of a bar/club and I can feel the vibrations of the double bass drum from the band playing on the ground floor.

2. The entire building seems to be made completely of wood. 

3. There are numerous men who are much too big to be jumping around like kids who are, indeed, jumping around and punching at each other like children. Hereafter these men shall be referred to as fatties, huge bitches, or big ass motherfuckers. 

4. These huge bitches are making the floor bounce like a fucking trampoline right underneath my feet. 

1 + 2 + 3 + 4 = death trap. 

In my mind, I see these fatties causing the floor to give way beneath us. It would splinter like a frozen sheet of ice covering a lake and start to break away. The stage would begin to collapse, sparks would fly, and all this wood would begin to burn. With all the alcohol spillage, it would ignite quickly and the entire place would be engulfed in flames. After suffering a broken ankle in the fall , I would be trampled while trying to make my way to the exit and I would die while the fat cells of some of those big ass motherfuckers who fell on top of me dripped onto my skin. 

Sounds like a good time, huh? I probably had marginally more fun than that in real life since I didn’t live out a scene from Final Destination 17. In fact, before the night was even over, I walked out and left the person I accompanied there while I waited not so patiently in the car. My last text read: 

I am ready to fucking go. It is freezing. I have beer everywhere. I don’t care who you talked to. I am not going to wait out here another hour while you chat people up. 

I don’t understand the point of throwing a ham sandwich at a Jewish guy. That is the theme of the evening. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a worse crowd in all the many concerts I’ve been to in my lifetime and I’ve been in some rough ones. It doesn’t take much when you’re 5’4 and have a vagina. Unless I’m there with a guy as a pretty, tattooed accessory, I’m in the way. But still, Metalheads seem to have nothing when it comes to the sheer unadulterated ignorance of a collective punker crowd. 

We’re going to hurl crushed, mostly empty beer cans at a band we paid 30 bucks to see. We’re going to ironically insult them by tossing processed pork. We will smoke pot in the middle of the crowd because we’re rebels, baby. We don’t have any rules. It’s anarchy, bitches. Fuck yeah. And we’re going to run around a room in a circle punching and kicking other people in a mass of sweat and stink and cigarette smoke. It’s ironic dancing. Everything we do is ironic. And that’s how we fight the system to take it down, doll face. We do drugs that people have negative opinions about then act in completely inane, violent ways. It’s okay though. It’s all irony, you see. 

What? What’s that you say? That doesn’t seem like a sensible approach to accomplishing a single fucking thing? Yeah, you’re probably right. 

NOFX, though not exactly my thing, put on a great show. But as I’m standing there frozen to the spot in midst of my Final Destination montage with beer drying on my Chucks and jeans, sore, possibly bruised and bleeding, makeup ruined from the water that had been splashed in my face from a hurtling plastic bottle, I realize this is really not how I would like to spend the last few moments of my life. There’s no value in this experience to say the least. So I squeeze through the crowd and go sit in my car to work on my book. I’d rather have been mugged and murdered sitting in my car in the middle of Atlanta than drown in adipose while flames lick my toes and creep up the legs of my beer soaked jeans. In fact, after measuring my options, the risk of getting mugged and murdered on my way to the car or while in the car seemed trivial in comparison to sharing one more moment of my time with such a negative entity. 


Tips for Punkers (and anyone else who acts like a fucktard at concerts):

1. I don’t care how hot it is--do not take off your shirt in a crowd. Your armpits always smell and you look like a dick. Keeping the shirt on minimizes the amount of sweat you insist on depositing on someone else when you rub against them on your way to do more punching. 

2. A band will likely not come back if you throw lunchmeat at them. I know this is hard to process, but I would never lie to you. 

3. Learn phrases like “pardon me” and “my bad.” When you trample someone a foot shorter than you, he or she may be less likely to elbow the fuck out of your ribs on your way by if you simple use such a phrase. 

4. It’s probably a bad idea to pound 8 beers while participating in the equivalent of the Running of the Bulls. 

5. Having a standard look is the same as a uniform. Uniforms are, ironically, a symbol of oppression. This leads me to think you are, likely, oppressing not liberating yourselves. Being a “punker” is not a way of dress. It’s supposed to be a way of life. 

6. Respect the fact that some people came to actually watch the band. It’s tough to understand right now, I know, but it’s true. Just think about it for a while. There are people in these crowds who have no less right to be there than you who absolutely do not have any desire to run around all crazy like and get punched or knocked down onto a hard concrete floor. 

7. Some of you are way too big to be running around like that. You’re going to kill someone or possibly have a heart attack. You should slowly work up to that amount of aerobic exercise.  Also, some of you come to these events just for the punching. I know you got made fun of when you were younger, but let it go. Between fight dancing and Call of Duty addiction, you’re all becoming pretty scary and you will never get laid. 

8. Not wearing deodorant is not a form of rebellion. It’s fucking stupid. 

9. Those guys at the front of the crowd who work for the venue get tired of picking your drunk asses up and redistributing you when you’re having a “blast” crowd surfing. They’re doing it for a reason. If one of you happened to fall and break your neck while this was allowed to go on, your pathetic ass would sue the shit out of said venue. This rule has a reason. No one wants to pick up 30 people over the course of 4 hours because you all persist in your stupidity. 

10. If 1-9 are still giving you some trouble, perhaps you should stick to something simple. Use some common fucking sense. 

A: I am not a gamer. I’ve never even personally seen World of Warcraft. I’d rather let someone shoot me in the arm (in the style of Simon from Go) than really have to dedicate any time whatsoever to video games. Mario does not count. 

B: I can’t play an instrument (skin flute excluded). This, now, is a bitter disappointment. I’d like to play bass guitar in the styles of music that bring me joy. Think grunge princess in a torn dress with a Schecter 5 string Stargazer bass in crimson ghost. Alas, it’s just not in the cards for me no matter how much I’d like it to be. 

A + B = I’m not great at Guitar Hero but I still attempt it. I can get a 90+% on the easy setting and that’s alright by me. As I said, I’m not a gamer. I don’t mind having to play on the easiest setting because even then…for just a few slight moments in the songs I love playing….the room fades back and I can see myself onstage. Dress, ruined tights, boots, shiny lips, hot pink streaks in my tresses…the whole 9 yards of it. Those fleeting moments are addictive which is exactly why Guitar Hero is fucking genius. 

I want to be a rockstar when I grow up.

That’s what my song, age 5, tells me now. He sucks at Guitar Hero even more than me but he doesn’t care. Even in the living room, he has awesome stage presence. He’s the Sid Vicious of GH and he rocks that plastic instrument because he loves music and wants, badly, to be a part it all. I don’t have the heart to tell him that realistically his dream is “I want to play an instrument in a band, even if talented, will likely never make it past playing small bars and whose members will all have day jobs at records stores and construction companies.” He’s 5. I’ll let him hold on to his dreams and in fact, for our Guitar Hero nights, I’ll  join in the dreaming. 

We have Guitar Hero 5 for now which has not only made me envision myself in full rock garb onstage in some Seattle hole-in-the-wall, half forgotten bar but it has also made me nostalgic for the days when grunge rained supreme. It includes bands like Nirvana, Bush, the Screaming Trees and the Smashing Pumpkins, Spacehog and even Garbage (oh whoa Shirley Manson). There’s a couple others as well. It’s taken me back in time. Who knew that all you needed for time travel was the right play list?

I play those songs smiling even as I fuck up from trying to sing along, eyes closed, game momentarily forgotten. They take me back much like the Allman Brothers used to do for my dad. If I could bottle the exact chemicals created by my reaction, I am fairly certain I could make Prozac obsolete. On top of A and B listed above, I’m also not a chemist. I can, however, make a musical collage aka A MixTape. 

It would be impossible for myself and everyone I know to make an album compilation featuring all the songs each of us loved or had fond memories tied to even from just the 90s, but we’ve made our best faith effort to recapture our youth for a few hours. A MixTape for time traveling on antidepressants. 

If you feel you’re in need, I’ll be happy to share a copy. Just contact me with your address. Don’t ask for a digital copy…MixTapes only come in tangible forms…in this case, a 3 disc, handcrafted-with-love set of cds.

i started the blog. i've got a new post up tonight and i'm adding some of the ones you've already seen here on fu just for content. if you think you want to join in, send me a pm. there'll be several of us posting hopefully in the next few weeks and also some interesting images as well.

www.boobietasselsforbuddha.blogspot.com

 

i expect participation. thank you.

 

j

two blogs in one day???? don't faint please.

 

perfect breakfast: big steak omelette from ihop at 3 a.m. after a night out. butterscotch rocks pancakes to go with makes it the pentultmate of perfection but fucking ihop stopped selling them. which...much to my chagrine, is actually a good thing since said breakfast almost puts me in a food coma.

perfect date: a good show, a few drinks, sex in the bathroom because we couldn't be contained, getting the above mentioned breakfast...laughing our asses off, going back to whoever's house, getting a shower (more sex), climbing in bed, talking/laughing/story sharing until we pass out then waking up for more sex.

no seriously.

perfect kiss: spontaneous, passionate... catch me off guard because you get caught up in the way i look right at that moment, push me up against the wall, come in close, kiss me hard, bite my bottom lip... you get the point.

perfect argument: ends with a solution, most likely a compromise... and like boo, i think the perfect one would end with both of you laughing

perfect man/woman: smart, sarcastic, funny... motivated to live a full life... someone who isn't full of shit and doesn't fol themselves into thinking they are actually perfect. imperfection is perfection. someone who isn't afraid to open up and be who they really are and who can keep up with my high sex drive ;)

perfect shoe: black knee high boots with 3 inch heels. no pointed toe please. or black chuck taylors when i dress down.

perfect movie: either has me laughing my ass off or saying "what the fuck??" the whole way through

perfect flower: calla lilly...or maybe a tulip

perfect time of day: 10 p.m.-2 a.m.

perfect mood: contentment

perfect dream: i have dreams about a friend of mine that died a few years ago... sometimes it's awful waking up and realizing it was just a dream but it keeps me feeling close to him. the ones where we talk and laugh and fuck around like old times are perfect

perfect drink: ice cold white wine... i don't have much of a preference on the type.

perfect name: fuck, i don't know. let me say this: i think it's perfect for parents to give their kids a name with meaning instead of just picking something random (like who names their kid apple for fuck's sake?). my son is named after the friend mentioned in my perfect dream response.

perfect drug: the perfect drug makes you feel like you've gone to paris even though you haven't even left the couch. i think witty might agree with me here. <3

hi

i want to lick your face. that is all.

 

all my love, j

yeah...so...it's me.

 

This personality profile is based on the writing of Jenniy French created at the website: Handwriting Wizard.com - Handwriting University's Official automated personality report creator based on standardized basic personality traits as taught through Handwriting University's Certification Level Program.

 Jenniy uses judgment to make decisions. She is ruled by her head, not her heart. She is a cool, collected person who is usually unexpressive emotionally. Some may see her as unemotional. She does have emotions but has no need to express them. She is withdrawn into herself and enjoys being alone.

The circumstances when Jenniy does express emotions include: extreme anger, extreme passion, and tremendous stress. If someone gets her mad enough to tell her off, she will not be sorry about it later. She puts a mark in her mind when someone angers her. She keeps track of these marks and when she hits that last mark she will let them know they have gone too far. She is ruled somewhat by self-interest. All her conclusions are made without outside emotional influence. She is very level-headed and will remain calm in an emergency situation. In a situation where other people might get hysterical, she has poise.

Jenniy will work more efficiently if given space and time to be alone. She would rather not be surrounded by people constantly. In a relationship, she will show her love by the things she does rather than by the things she says. Saying "I love you" is not a needed routine because she feels her mate should already know. The only exception to this is if she has logically concluded that it is best for her mate to hear her express her love verbally.

Jenniy is not subject to emotional appeals. If someone is selling a product to her, they will need to present only the facts. They should present them from a standpoint of her sound judgment. She will not be taken in by an emotional story about someone else. She will meet emergencies without getting hysterical and she will always ask "Is this best for me?"

 People that write their letters in an average height and average size are moderate in their ability to interact socially. According to the data input, Jenniy doesn't write too large or too small, indicating a balanced ability to be social and interact with others.

 Jenniy is secretive. She has secrets which she does not wish to share with others. She intentionally conceals things about herself. She has a private side that she intends to keep that way, especially concerning certain events in her past.

 Because Jenniy has zigzagged shaped 'm' and 'n' hump, Jenniy is an analytical thinker. Her mind sifts and examines facts. She interprets all facts by separating them, breaking them down, and organizing them from a critical point of view. This pattern of clarifying facts contributes to her strong reasoning ability. Jenniy's mind is constantly analyzing all situations that she encounters.

 Jenniy is a practical person whose goals are planned, practical, and down to earth. This is typical of people with normal healthy self-esteem. She needs to visualize the end of a project before she starts. she finds joy in anticipation and planning. Notice that I said she plans everything she is going to do, that doesn't necessarily mean things go as planned. Jenniy basically feels good about herself. She has a positive self-esteem which contributes to her success. She feels she has the ability to achieve anything she sets her mind to. However, she sets her goals using practicality-- not too "out of reach". She has enough self-confidence to leave a bad situation, yet, she will not take great risks, as they relate to her goals. A good esteem is one key to a happy life. Although there is room for improvement in the confidence catagery, her self-perception is better than average.

 Jenniy is sarcastic. This is a defense mechanism designed to protect her ego when she feels hurt. She pokes people harder than she gets poked. These sarcastic remarks can be very funny. They can also be harsh, bitter, and caustic at the same time.

 Jenniy has a temper. She uses this as a defense mechanism when she doesn't understand how to handle a situation. Temper is a hostile trait used to protect the ego. Temper can be a negative personality trait in the eyes of those around her.

 Something is incomplete in Jenniy's life. She feels frustration relating to her physical needs and desires. Somewhere in her life there is some disappointment, non-fulfillment, and interruption. This is very likely to relate to Jenniy's sexual needs.

 Jenniy has a healthy imagination and displays a fair amount of trust. She lets new people into her circle of friends. She uses her imagination to understand new ideas, things, and people.

 For a graphologist, the spacing on the page reflects the writer's attitude toward their own world and relationship to things in his or her own space. If the inputted data was correct Jenniy has left lots of white space on the all four borders of the paper. Jenniy fills up just the center area of the page. If this is true, then Jenniy has a particular shyness toward people and a fear of moving too fast in any direction. In some cultures, respecting people, rules, and adhering to protocol are ways of life.

The right side of the page represents the future and the left side represents the past. Jenniy seems a bit stuck in the middle, afraid to take action.

Jenniy seems to have a fear of looking bad or of crossing boundries. It will be easy to work with Jenniy on a team, because Jenniy will usually follow the rules. However, this desire to respect the boundries can often be construed as a lack of confidence and people will walk over Jenniy if she is not careful.

well, i've been meaning to do this all week long, but i've had A.) heart trouble and B.) a broken net for most of the week. So, here's my weekend....finally.

I'm doing this in installments because witty is my hero and to tease the fuck out of jay. thanks.

 

When the dogs do fiiiiind her, got time, time to wait for tomorrow.... to find it, to find it, to find it....

 

Who can resist singing along to Plush? I can't. My brother can't. So, that's exactly what we did when it played Saturday morning. It wasnt the only song we belted out either. It was about 10:30 and we were speeding along I-10 about to hit I-75 on our way to Tampa. Happy Birthday to me!! I was so super excited about going to meet Witty and Babyfrog and GBT...I had been so excited, in fact, that I hadn't gotten any sleep at all the night before.... I mean, who cares about being 28, right? I can still throw down--stay up all night and party all day, right? Um, right.  That's why I kept falling asleep in the car in spite of consuming energy drinks and massive amounts of sugar. Fuck it man... I'm getting old.

I called Witty right after we got on I-75 to double check our google directions (google maps blows dogs for quarters). She didn't sound like I thought she'd sound. She sounded so sweetly innocent... I got directions to the apartment complex and then changed the cd. Time to wake up, girl. White Chapel. Oh my...White Chapel is a big switch from my acoustics and covers mix...big switch. White Chapel also gets my panties wet. just sayin'

We made it to Witty's pretty easy. It's cool to be able to associate an actual person with an online persona. Of course, you're wondering if they'll look like their pictures and act like they do online. Witty is most definitely still Witty in person. She's funny, sarcastic, pretty, outgoing...she tells it like it is and has just the right amount of sweetness so she has an edge without being a bitch. In other words, I love her.

We sad around chatting a little bit about our previous night, a little about Fubar mess, and then attempted to decide what we wanted to do. We all enjoy flea markets and decided to go to one in Oldsmar. Yay to 'hidden treasures'. I had on ripped jeans and a band shirt (yay to letting my boobs act as a billboard and thus getting me free shirts), so I had to change. That would be waaaaay too hot for the flea market. I thew on a pretty short skirt to fight the heat then did the girl check in the living room--bending over and reaching back to make sure my ass was completely covered in said position. After checking a couple times, my brother decides it's a good time to tell me that I had been doing my check in front of the sliding glass doors. Anyone looking out of theirs, especially on the ground floor, totally got a peep show. At least I was wearing panties...

Before we left, Witty and I decided that the only way to be Klassy at a flea market would be cheap wine in big gulp cups. The only way to be any Klassier would have been cut offs and no bras, but we just can't that off. We stopped at a convenience store on the way out for the wine, cups, candy, and water (gotta keep hydrated as Witty says) and were off.

Let's just say I don't remember much about the place...The first store had dresses. I know I bought a Janis patch to add to my flair collection. I got Jay a Beastie Boys patch...and picked up a joke gift for a punctuation mark. It made me giggle pretty hard. But, then...I think I was over halfway through my gulp of wine by that time. We talked about fufriends some, I think and maybe what we'd do that night. If your ears were burning last weekend, you must have been on our discussion list.

Most of the time spent out there, though, is fuzzy. Witty got me a great deal on an awesome black purse with silver balls. Total knockoff, but still... $10 bucks for a purse with the shiniest balls ever... who wouldn't? We ate candy and corndogs. I know some lady tried to talk to me in the ladies' room about my earrings and I think I made her feel how heavy they are. We looked at jesus watches and these awesome necklaces... At this point, Jeremy comes into the story. He sings for this band that plays with another band I know and I'm taking pics in his band's shirt for their website, I guess, or something like that. He picked out this really cool necklace for witty. He had on sunglasses which I thought were silly.

Then, it was time to get out of there...Witty was planning on cooking for me. Fuck yes. I love that woman. So I followed Jeremy to his vehicle to get the shirt. Witty said he could come to eat and I'd have felt bad for not asking him. So I did. When I got back with the shirt, they made fun of me for 'sucking face' as my brother says... and I totally played it off. Hahaha and all, you know... Of course, they say a lady doesn't kiss and tell....  But, that's only if she has a reason to be coy. I, however, contrary to my brother's character witness testimony to Witty, spent most of said time listening to band stuff. Yada, yada... show at blah blah and we just recorded wahwhahwah... *yawn*  I just nodded my head and looked hot. No, not hot like whoa that bitch is hoooot. I mean, I was sweaty and red. It's Tampa and it's in the 90s. Shut the fuck up, dude, and let me go get in the air conditioned car for christ's sake. For the record, my brother has plenty of reason to think I'd be sucking mucho face. We go everywhere together and I love that kid. We've been close for a long time and if you sat listening to some of our stories, you'd probably flip out. Like when we tell people he went with me when I got my nipples pierced... They always say, "He was in the room?!?!?!" Well, no...duh. He was out in the waiting room for emotional support. So, he's seen me suck face with random dudes on a few occasions, but hey...i introduced him to his first lay. He even woke me up in the middle of the night that first time (while i was sandwiched between my live-in and my on the side) to ask for condoms. It's been a crazy brother/sister bond....

Back at Witty's after a wild car ride, I totally fell asleep on the couch. So much for partying hard at 28, no?  I think I might have even snored a little. Most likely. Jeremy just droned on and on and I couldn't help myself... What can I say? He sings. He's sorta cute, but too over the top. GBT came over and more conversation ensued... Jeremy had the bright idea for my little brother to get his first experience in a strip club. OOOOhhhh, wait...I like this idea. Oh yes. So, food, drinks and band at a bar, followed by a strip club. Excellent birthday plan. We were pretty excited about the evening ahead..or at least I was when I wasn't sleeping.

Right here, I have to tell you that Witty is a smashing cook. Fabulous. Chicken with wine sauce and rice. Fucking tasty. My birthday cake? oh. my. god. It was yellow cake with buttercream icing and a layer of chocolate pudding. Oh. my. god. We used a votive candle for me to blow and there were some interesting up my skirt shots when i blew it. Nice.

Time to say goodbye to the band guy and get ready for more birthday celebrations...

 

to be continued....

I need to scream. Instead, I'm going to make a list of complaints here like a whiny little bitch in hopes that I can get some things out and get some momentary internal peace. Peace of mind? no. I realize it's doubtful I will have that especially this evening. 

 

Please don't feel the need to inundante this blog with i'm sorrys, it'll get betters, look on the bright sides, or stay positives. While well intentioned, I just don't give a fuck about that. I just want to complain and know that someone somewhere heard it and wishes me better days. Thank you, wisher.

 

1. I had a kidney stone Monday. I lost sleep for like 2 days and I'm totally wiped out. Never had one...pain wasn't terrible, but I had no choice but to work. I'm like a zombie walking around today. 

 

2. My son's father is a self centered, immature jerk. I suppose that's why he's my ex and not my current. I try so hard to maintain a friendship with him that most people see as odd just for the sake of our child. I ignore a lot and put up with a lot just to be able to have that friendship. I even go to bars with him and his current girlfriend. But, he puts pussy and fighting (he does some kind of mma tournament fights) above seeing his son. He never calls, never stops by...he's a father on his designated days only and to hell with the rest of the time. That, in and of itself, is bad enough. But, I'm the one here with my son all the time. I'm the one that has to come up with explanations why he can't see his dad, the one that has to say no, the one who says I can't get your dad on the phone.....I'm also the one here everyday dealing with his acting out because his dad doesn't spend enough time with him. He wants attention I can't give. It's overwhelming. Same fight again last night...it's never going to change. Sometimes I think that the part time father thing just confuses my kid more than if he were completely absent.

 

3. All my life I've never been good enough for anyone I've known. It works against me or has in a lot of ways. My dad never called me by my real name...a myriad of put downs such as fatty worked just fine. I didn't hear that I was a beautiful girl. I didn't hear about how wicked smart I am or funny...instead, I got told to do better. Bring me a 110 next time. Oh, you got a 110...let's see you get a 120, smartass. I just graduated, as some of you know, with my bachelor's degree. My gpa is a 4.0. I did this while working full time, attending classes full time, and being a single mom on top of voluteering as an anti death penalty advocate. Not too long ago, my mom told me I needed to get my priorities straight because my car isn't spotless. Two days after I graduated, she finally says to me, "uh, you know i'm proud of you, right?" I just shook my head and carried on. The most excitement about me being a college grad was here on fubar because someone awfully wonderful made a blog about it for me. (thank you, t).  I thought I wouldn't care about this...but, in reality, I do. I really do. 

 

4.  I keep breaking my own heart with a particular person and for the last time, I guess, today. I don't exactly know what made me let my walls down with this person, but I did. And I mean, almost completely. I have this tendency to need answers, to want to know where I'm headed...I guess, at least this one time, I should have leaned back and enjoyed the ride without concern for the destination. I fucked up. I'm not the only one to blame but I'll take responsibility for my part. I pushed too far and I very likely lost someone I truly care about in ways I haven't cared for someone in a long fucking time. *Cricket, if you read this, I am sorry for what it's worth. 

 

5. I've been in school for so long and been pushing myself so hard that I have become, in the last couple of months, completely jaded and unmotivated to do anything. I have so much I should be doing before I start grad school in the fall. I can't do a fucking thing. I move through the day in a daze most of the time. 

 

 

sigh. 

 

i think that's enough for now. let's hope this helps. i don't even feel like myself today. 

 

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