Isn't it wonderful to live with someone who constantly reminds you you're a terrible person? I mean, that's all what life is about; reaffirming your failure to live up to the expectations of others, including your life mate. Hope? Where is hope? There's no hope, only stupid self confidence; absurd, silly confidence that somehow puts this silly idea in your head that the world is full of wonderful beauty and love. There's no love, only the need to cling to people for fear of dying alone, in which inevitably happens anyhow. No matter how much we tell ourselves things will turn up, the events that happen claim otherwise.
So, what do you believe?; The actions or the intentions? Is the intention to love still valid after the "loving" husband just took a blunt object to his wife's head? Will you believe him when he tells you he loves you?
Date/Time: Saturday, April 8, 2006/04:39 p.m.
I'm smoking a cigarette. Do I usually smoke a cigarette? No. I think I'm just tired and when I'm tired I go into hypersensitive mode. Iím sure other people are similar, and for some reason today I chose to deal with that with a cigarette. Today wasn't so bad, it's just I was tired and I allowed shit to get to me. I also feel that because I anticipate a good weekend full of outside activities, I somehow have to balance out the much anticipated good feelings with these absurd bad feelings. Work sometimes does this to me, and it's always when I'm tired. I must separate myself at work from myself at home. Work should not affect my personal life. I was not born into customer service, I reluctantly chose it as a full time job, and I must contend with all that customer service entails. This is why you go to college; you aim to escape from these working class jobs in order to gain a more defining place in working society.
I might also be a little cranky after walking through this hot weather. Anyhow, I will wake up and everything will be fine.
Date/Time: Friday, April 7, 2006/01:16 p.m.
I'm sketching out this tattoo for a cocktail waitress at my other half's work. She wants a "Hawaiian" flower with a butterfly to signify her two children. Well, I decided upon a hibiscus for the flower. I had no idea that a hibiscus would be so hard to draw with its layers and overlapping petals. Anyhow, I've been drawing hibiscus flowers non-stop because now it's more of a pride issue rather than drawing a tattoo for this girl. Itís insane that one little difficulty can make me doubt my entire ability of reaching my full potential. Itís almost laughable how absurd it is. However, I think to myself that everyone inevitably experiences such a situation and itís up to them to find a way through it. Therefore, I took a break last night to absorb other things than frustration and try to figure out where I stand with this fucking flower. I guess sometimes you have to remind yourself that you are in control of the medium, not the subject. It could be the only thing you have control over in this absurd world.
Date/Time: Thursday, April 6, 2006/01:23 p.m.
Vegetable pot pies are very yummy. Bless Amy's food.
Date/Time: Tuesday, April 4, 2006/12:17 p.m.
I hate rushing for work.
Date/Time: Sunday, April 2, 2006/09:48 p.m.
I am the proverbial puppy in the window.
My head is pounding and I know it's because I did not eat anything for over 24 hours. Not to mention I slept over 12 hours. In any event, I ate a piece of toast with peanut butter and honey to hold me over. I don't know. I wore myself out giving this place a good scrub.
Anyways, two weeks ago I created a friendster account have being invited by my other half. Afterwards, I realized that he was "friends" with his ex. This is pretty normal considering their interactions and such, as well as their relationship. Not until recently have I had her friends and her family view my profile and for some reason it's kind of creeping' me out. Hopefully I'm not the topic over the occasional phone call or e-mail. Would it matter? People are just curious, and out of everyone I should be the one to understand that. Seeing that it's coming from his ex's side it's naturally going to have my back up. Well, shit happens. Let them look, tap on the glass, and make cutesy comments amongst themselves.
Date/Time: Saturday, April 1, 2006/05:48 p.m.
I was so tired today; I actually had to make a run to 7/11 for a cup of coffee. Saturday's are usually unpredictable, but I look forward to them because it's technically what I like to call my Friday. In any event, the morning was fine, but as two-o-clock rolled around people started getting all pissy and confrontational. Figures. After work, I made my way to the tiny little comic book store in which this friendly guy who reminds me of a catfish works behind the counter. I had been in there once before and I bought an Enid doll for my wonderful Jack-O'-Lantern (which he loved, mind you) and he pretty much sold it to me for .00 seeing that it had been sitting on the shelf for a while, and I was the first to inquire about it. In any event, I had gone in to see what else was new and just ended up with small-talk. I went in to kill some time, and left. I realized after leaving the store that it is nice to have an interaction outside of work and home. It was just a plain shoot-the-shit kind of interaction without any sexual undertones. It was nice.
Well, I have a shit load of cleaning to do. I might as well get on that.
Date/Time: Friday, March 31, 2006/11:04 p.m.
Right now, this very minute-second, I feel like there is something wrong with me. I feel disconnected and dead. My head is blown. It's my head. I hear the whisper of cars going by. I can hear it but me, me--I am just drifting farther and farther away. I am a child whoís lost their mother in a supermarket. Mother can't find me because she's not looking. I see only the shifting of feet and ankles. Ankles! I can't even see myself anymore. Jump rope! Pumpkin! Give me something! Give me anything! Momma, please.
Date/Time: Friday, March 31, 2006/10:32 p.m.
I woke up this morning in the middle of holding some kind of jagged creature who breathed like a machine. Like some sort of sound similar to someone on a respirator. I heard a knock at the door and I could hear the breathing; that low noise of oxygen being pushed through a tube and absorbed into the lungs. I went to answer the knock only to be attacked by some sort of human or animal of some kind. I held it down, and before I woke up I was telling my other half,Ē Shoot it! Shoot it!"
It was a rather nice walk to work, however. Smooth overcast skies with a soft breeze.
While I was walking, however, I saw a man and his wheelchair. I could see that he was getting up from the ground. I rushed over to him, and asked him if he was alright. He said he was and I asked him again if he was sure. He shook his head and once he was situated managed to wheel down the sidewalk, past me as I moved out of his way of course. He maneuvered his way along the cement.
As I watched the jerky movements of his chair, I wanted to weep.
I did not mention it when I arrived at work. I didnít mention it to anyone.
Date/Time: Friday, March 31, 2006/12:06 a.m.
Styrofoam is all over the floor, and I choose to sit here and somehow validate my creativity by spitting out something halfway readable. Instead of washing the dishes and cooking dinner for myself, I choose to desperately hang on to whatever emotion that provokes me to write on this absurd piece of abstract technology and write. Write what? Write about love, cigarette burns, or porn? Perhaps my recent episodes of anxiety, a constant racing of the heart or the extreme ups and downs in emotional balance? What about the month from hell that is at its end, but still manages to continue onward like some sort of perpetuating snowball? Tell me, my dear reader, what does one write about when one cannot even confide in art for comfort or even themselves?
Date/Time: Friday, March 24, 2006/12:22 a.m.
Stress. Stress is all I feel. His interactions are all a front. He loves me be he's not thinking about it, he says. Well, I am. I'm thinking about it all the fucking time. I hurt you. You're killing me. Is this want you wanted? Are you satisfied? Do you want me at your ankles, pleading forgiveness for spontanious reactions? Nevermind the pain I endure from your own. No. I apologized, but that wasn't enough. You wanted to string this along, and you did. I'm doing the best I can, and it's all bullshit to you. Everything I say is complete bullshit.
I'm so fucking tired of this. I'm. Fucking. Tired.
Date/Time: Friday, March 17, 2006/11:07 p.m.
Ever get sick of work? Now I'm not talking about the usual sickness of work day to day. I mean dizzy in your head --these fucking fluorescent lights will be the death of me!-- sickness. Maybe it's the fact that I worked a six day week last week, and I'm running on only one day of rest. Bingo.
Class is finished and this wonderful blanket of depression has come over me, and I can't shake it. I blame it partly on the blood that keeps on bleeding from in between my thighs and on what I had mentioned previously. Still. It doesn't take away this dull feeling I have and the tightness in my shoulders. Well this has been the shittiest St. Patrick's Day yet. Of course, every holiday is lame when you have to work. It kind of takes away the feeling and all you feel is the constant hum of the fluorescent lights.
Damn, I hate fluorescent lights.
Date/Time: Friday, March 17, 2006/12:17 a.m.
Well, here it is. Another holiday that is misconstrued, more specifically, into: pinching, green, loud drinking, and red-haired leprechauns. What is interesting is that it celebrated the life of a man, whose claim to fame was converting non-Christians into Christians. Iíd like to look at St. Patrickís Day, more as pride and respect for our descendents who came upon the good ole U.S of A, shunned and spat at. Today is more as away of showing pride for your heritage, and respecting those who fought, kicked and bit their way as an equal in American Society. Forget the ridiculous green top hats, your flashing, green clover headband, and for the love of Mary, take off those silly shamrock-shaped sunglasses.
Happy St. Patrickís Day, everyone.
Date/Time: Thursday, March 16, 2006/01:26 p.m.
Menstruation is probably the most humbling experience a woman has to endure every month. Iím sure men see it as some sort of sign of weakness. On the contrary, such an experience creates pain, alienation from your body, and the forced adaptation to living in this modernized world and having this constant-week flow of blood to constantly mop up with some sort of female product placed in the "feminine hygeine" aisle of your grocery store.
Date/Time: Wednesday, March 15, 2006/12:19 p.m.
What is it now? What goes on from here? Once again, I pissed my time away responding to an absurd survey for a friend, and I did not even finish it. I still need to eat, and I have ten minutes to head out the door.
Oh, so I've been taking this accelerated sociology course and I did not even know it (it's an online course). The course ends this Thursday. Last night I fried my brain taking a sixty question test covering about ten articles and touching upon the last two articles in the form of a written discussion.
Date/Time: Saturday, February 25, 2006/09:31 a.m.
I'm running late, but I had to share this with everyone. It's just so fucking awesome.
It used to bother me, because of the usual assumed reasons, and that society tells you to be upset because obviously you're not enough. Not true, dear reader. Men are, in fact visually stimulated, and thus it would be only natural that this would happen. What's any difference from me masturbating with a vibrator or doing it manually? We women happen to be stimulated other ways. We're able to use our heads and actually imagine things, as well as we too can sit down, watch porn, and get off.
Ah, the wonderful complexities of the female.
Each person's sexuality differs from person to person, and no one should ever feel ashamed or hurt because of this factor. Just embrace our biological functions as an animal.
I personally enjoy Indie nudes. Itís porn with a more artistic touch to it. Don't worry it's not the pretentious bullshit otherwise known as suicide girls. Suicide girls are the effect of picked on goth kids in high school. Not my cup of tea.
In any event, Iíve got to leave the house in about fifteen minutes to get to work. My face is starting to break out, and it sucks. I have nice skin to begin with, so naturally it throws a wrench in my self confidence when I have to be face to face with people all day with a blemish here and there. Well, todayís my Friday, so Iím good. I just have to complete this assignment for sociology and Iíll be good on that.
Date/Time: Friday, February 24, 2006/12:54 a.m.
I can feel it in the back of my throat. I'm getting sick. I fucking knew this was going to happen. This is what happens when the owners of a fucking family owned business, who are there everyday, get sick; they pass it on to their fucking employees. I guess it was inevitable being around all those dirty people with their dirty money. That reminds me of strippers. I wonder if strippers get sick from their clients. I mean not through sexual contact, but just from being in the same room. I don't know. All I know is that I can feel the sickness in the back of my throat and when I wake up tomorrow, I'm going to feel like shit.
To hell with it, Iím eating vegan chili dogs. Bless that magical bottom shelf at the grocery store, full of vegan meat.
Date/Time: Wednesday, February 22, 2006/11:07 p.m.
Fla. Man Kills Roommate Over Toilet Paper
From Associated Press
February 21, 2006 6:18 AM EST
MOSS BLUFF, Fla. - A man accused of fatally beating his roommate with a sledgehammer and a claw hammer because there was no toilet paper in their home has been arrested.
Franklin Paul Crow, 56, was charged Monday with homicide in the death of Kenneth Matthews, 58, according to the Marion County Sheriff's Office.
Capt. Thomas Bibb said Crow initially denied his involvement, but confessed during questioning.
Crow told investigators that the men were fighting about the toilet paper over the weekend when Matthews pulled out a rifle. Crow said he then began beating Matthews with the sledgehammer and claw hammer, according to an affidavit.
Matthews was beaten so badly he had to be identified through his fingerprints, detectives said.
Crow was being held at the Marion County jail without bond. It was not immediately known whether he had an attorney.
Date/Time: Wednesday, February 22, 2006/02:00 a.m.
All that set aside, things are a-ok. I'm feelin' a little guilty because of the weekend and my reaction towards things. Is it wrong to feel these things? Especially in a relationship? When you enter a relationship you and your partner are pretty much responsible for each other. We need to remind ourselves that we are all we have, and petty things are best left six feet under.
I cannot believe it's fucking two in the morning already.