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ladyoflorien) wrote2005-04-03 01:43 am
ladyoflorien) wrote2005-04-03 01:43 am
It hurts being useless.
Contemplating death again. And I wonder:
Would anyone notice if I wasn't there? Would anyone care?
I've come to this juncture again, after so long, where my life seems completely pointless. I just don't care--about anything--I see no point. I wish it was a depression. Depression I can handle. Depression I can ignore and pretend it's not there and push to the back of my mind where it slowly eats away at me until I break down and pretend like I don't know why. But this isn't depression. I've become too accustomed to death, too familiar with it, that I've lost my healthy fear of it. And I see it everywhere I look, and instead of turning away I welcome it, and let myself feel curious, and wonder at it, and toy with it, and come oh-so-dangerously close to feeling it again. Again. again. Experiencing it again.
I got lost on the way home tonight. A route I could travel with my eyes closed. A path I don't even have to consciously think about anymore, I traverse it so often, that it's like second nature to me to start out at point A and safely arrive at point B without having to think hard about where to turn or which way to go. I just get there. But I got lost. With Motorcycle Drive-by blaring as loud as it would go and my windows rolled all the way down while the semi-heavy rain poured in and soaked through my jacket and my hair and hit me in my eyes, but I didn't care because they were already so blinded by angry evil tears that came from nowhere and raged through every inch of my body. Soaked through the wind seemed frigid, and I thought about contracting some horrible fearsome sickness and slowly rotting away, or losing all sight of road directionals and flying into oncoming traffic, or experiencing the sickness in my throat of the wheels of my car lifting off the ground and touching sky and then no more. And a hundred other scenarios, all equally numbing, like the thought of death was so natural to me that it seemed there was no other just outcome but to expect a pain and a dying away and a loss of all evil thought. Looking back it should have scared me. It should have scared the hell out of me that I had no idea where I was headed, that I couldn't concentrate on any one corporeal thing, that I couldn't feel and couldn't explain why there were tears burning my skin or a rawness in the back of my throat or a tremor in my fingertips. When the fog rolled in so thick I couldn't see three feet in front of me on a road that should have been hit at no more that 35 mph, where I found myself at 65 mph, I should have been scared witless, I should have felt panic... I should have felt anything. But every thing, every inch, every thought, every sight was numb. I couldn't see. I couldn't feel. I literally couldn't hear because of this sickness I'm suffering, nor could I breathe at certain intervals. I realized as I stood in my kitchen, low lights and stale air, that I sincerely didn't expect to get home that night. I really didn't think I'd reach my destination. And that didn't scare me. It simply left an impression of, "...oh. Isn't that odd now? I'm actually here. Why am I here?"
I've lost my grip again, and I'm going a little crazy. I haven't written anything, any single thing in months, and there's a backlog in my head that's starting to force comprehensive thought and power of reasoning out. Like a black tumor steadily growing, pushing functioning, clean, healthy cells away, devouring them like a demon spirit, and leaving this blank spot in it's wake. Until I write there will be no way to "cut out" the tumor, and it will continue to grow, and I will continue to lose myself and my power of thought until there's absolutely nothing left of me at all that makes sense or bears any semblance of intelligence. I haven't slept in 9 days, and my body is literally starting to break down. I will start to shake uncontrollably or feel bile rise in my chest or get these sudden, violent, disorienting headaches. I almost passed out three times today, which would have been humiliating in the company I was with, and I had to stop and take deep breaths and force the contraction in my lungs out and close my eyes so the world would stop whirling. I've been working 24/7 since LAST Thursday night, day and night, without any breaks except to get to the meetings and head straight back again, and that leaves me alone all the time. Which is really the worst thing for me right now. And when I'm not alone, I'm with crazy people (literally can't be any more politically correct than that). Even when I AM alone I'm with crazy people, because I can't stop reading, I keep devouring book after book, and when I'm not writing that's just like taking bite after bite of some chew but never swallowing or spitting out. My head is filled with these voices and these faces and these images and these places and they keep piling up on each other over and over and higher and higher, filling every crevasse, swelling my head with this madness I can't escape, and I hear and see them at all times. But still my fingers are dumb. They wont work. They wont move. And all these things are driving me crazy. I've lost my grip again. I've come undone. And I'm trying to tie it all back up again and stuff it back inside, but it's all full up. There's no room left to board any more wanderers. So instead of hiding them away again and pretending they're not there, I'm becoming them. I'm going mad. And since everything is pointless to me right now, I don't give a flying s*** about pretending like everything's fine. Pretending like I'm not FUBAR. Pretending like those things never spoiled my childhood.
Today was a disaster. I kept getting lost. I kept wandering off into some other unearthly realm and not even realizing it until someone would nudge me and I'd jump out of my skin and almost shriek in surprise. I couldn't focus on reality. And I would awake as if from a dream and have a mild inkling that every answer to every problem I've ever had had just been revealed to me, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. It was like I was literally leaving this reality. I would have no idea how long I was "gone" for. Minutes? More? I've lost whole sections of my life, like I was knocked unconscious, and I can't remember who was there to wake me up on the other side. But I get the feeling that all is not well in my other world, and that whatever I saw when I left this earth and went away for those infinite periods of time will be the solution to everything I am troubled with in my dream world at the moment, if I'm ever granted the serenity to rediscover them. I can't concentrate on anything until I do. I can't keep myself fixed in my body without inadvertently wandering away. And on top of that, there's all the insanity. The headaches, the shaking, the shortness of breath, the random outbursts of manic laughter, the sullen silences, the exhaustion, the nervous twitching---It's so hard to mask these things. To pretend I'm not any different than normal, just a little tired from lack of sleep is all. It's just a caffeine rush is all, I'm really OK, honestly. Nothing's wrong. Nothing's different. I've just lost all compulsion to hide myself away like I normally do; I just don't care enough to be what you want me to be. What you think I am. What I should have been, had I not been hurt by them. Touched by them. Cursed by them.
And suddenly I'm haunted by memories that come at me out of nowhere, attack me at odd times, and make my whole body go rigid and my back lock up in pain. And I see my brother, and them I'm flying, and he's pinning me to the ground again, spitting in my face, hurting my wrists, and he hisses at me that I am worthless, that I'm not his sister, that I'm good for nothing, and my head spins.
It's such a strange phrase. "I love you." It still confuses me sometimes. If I hadn't met her, if she hadn't come bounding into my life the way only she could do a year ago and decide for some uncanny reason that I was her soul mate and attach herself to me so fixedly, demanding that I am her best friend, it would still be a phrase somewhat foreign to my ears. I wonder if she knows she's the only person who ever says that to me? "I love you." It will forever be linked to the tone of her voice in my head, because I only hear it directed to me from her lips. None of my other friends ever utter it. My family rarely does. And sometimes I hate her for it, because her loving me so assuredly now just means it's going to hurt worse when she leaves me later. I'm so attached to all of them now, I don't know how to handle it. I wonder if they know that when I'm not with them, I'm not with anyone at all? When I'm not talking to one of them, there's no one there for me to talk to? I wonder how long it will be before they become like everyone else from my past. Before they discover that thing, that undefinable thing inside of me that makes people hate me, that makes people look at me like human waste, that makes them leave me eventually after heated words and angry curses. I wish I knew what it was about me that drives people away. I wish I knew what was so terribly loathsome, so evil, so putrid that people can't stand to be near me. What causes them to vomit words of hate in my face, as though I actually might think that I am really worth something, and it's their solemn duty to snuff out that ridiculous idea. It's been so long since I've had anyone that cared about me and that I cared about in return so purely, that I forgot what it was like to be scared to lose something. And I'm petrified, absolutely terrified that I'm going to f it all up again, and they're going to hate me for it, and then that will be it. They'll be gone just like the rest.
Even as I'm driving home, music blaring in my plugged ears, wind and rain whipping in my car windows at 65 miles per hour, numb and glassy-eyed, seeing deaths from my past, deaths from my dreams, and my own possible deaths of the future playing out before my eyes, I'm asking myself if anyone would care should I leave this mortal realm tomorrow. And to my utter shock I see their face, every time. And it's not who you might expect. But they're there, in my minds eye, like a photograph, questioning me further. Would they care? Would they notice? And I shock myself. And I wonder why they're there. Have I really let myself love them? Have I really let my guard down? Can I really be that utterly stupid?
I miss the protection of innocence. I miss the shelter of my girlhood making it OK to hang out in a group of boys without it being tabu. Without it being some sort of scandal. I miss feeling protected by a group of people that understood me. I think it's utterly ridiculous that now that years have passed and certain organs have grown that suddenly it's not okay to be friends anymore. Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if I just had a dick instead of these damn ovaries. I HATE being a "girl" and not just "one of the guys" or ideally "my best friend." I hate being tainted by this difference in gender, like I have some horrible disease now that they're terrified to contract. I hate being away from Christopher, or Gerren, or David, or even Anthony. That was the last time I felt protected. That was the last time I felt sheltered. That was the last time I felt comfortable in my skin. And all I want, ALL I WANT is for one of my guy friends to have the balls not to be scared s***less by the words "I love you" or by any simple action of physical contact. But no, I'm some sort of creature-thing and god forbid they get too close. I don't fit anymore. I haven't fit since I hit 13 and the world decided for me that I could no longer be with those who made me feel normal and accepted. I haven't BEEN accepted since, not until her, not until she came around. She's the only one who hasn't slandered me, or hated me, or lied to or about me, or tried in some insidious way to hurt me... yet. She is the only woman that's ever wanted to be close to me. She's the first friend I've had in 7 years. But even so, I'm so spoiled from years of hatred directed at my own gender, at my own self even, that I'll never fully be able to accept her the way I did my boys. She will never be one of my "Boys." And I may love her, up until the very end, and even beyond the point when she leaves me in her dust, but it will never be the same. I can never be myself, I can never be whole, when it comes to female friends. I have nothing in common with them. I have nothing to say to them. So I will never feel safe again. I will never feel accepted. I will never feel protected. I will never feel like I belong. Because I never will, because none of my guy friends anymore have the balls to put his arms around me the way Chris used to do when I needed some reassurance, and put his chin on my head, or put my face at the crook of his neck, and whisper in my ear, "They can't hurt you as long as I am here," without freaking out or thinking I'll get the wrong impression or worrying I'll fall madly in love with them. I'm no stranger to rejection. And I am not naive, nor am I stupid. I know I'm not any man's dream girl, I've resigned myself to that fact, and I wont follow you around like a little puppy dog begging you to love me. All I want is your friendship. All I want is to feel that, just one more time. All I want is to experience that one more time without some moron f*cking it up by throwing sex into the mix. All I want is for someone to see me here, going out of my mind, going stark raving mad, having trouble keeping it all together, all bottled up, and reassure me that no matter what happens they can never hurt me as long as he is with me. All I want is to remember what it feels like being protected by the arms of a man who is not trying to hurt you in some insidious way. All I want is for time to rewind, and Chris to be here, and it be okay for him to just hold me while I keep myself from crying.
But no one has the balls to do that because who knows, I could get impregnated from a hug and one reassuring sentence, and then where would I be? No, who would love me or respect me enough to give me that one simple gift? I'm on my own here. For forever more. That's the end of my sanity. I can't fit in, I am an outcast. And now we've circled back to the beginning: My life is pointless.
Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt myself. There's too much at stake to risk that. I'm just adding to the rumors that livejournal is the "angst capital of the internet". Sometimes, when you have no one to talk to, when it's been seven years since your last best friend, and no one is there to tell you "they can't hurt you as long as I am here," you just need to vent. And this is where I go, because It's practically like talking to myself, now isn't it? Without the more heavy crazy undertones. Hoping that writing something, ANYTHING, will get me writing everything else in my head. Putting all my hopes and dreams in one tangible location. Trying to rid the chill from my body, and the horrifying images from my head. Trying to forget all the things that hurt, and remember all the things that don't. Trying not to need that friend to put his arms around me, but knowing that cure-alls from your childhood are the only ones that ever work to fix a problem, and there will never be another solution to match it. Feeling sorry for myself. Wanting to die, but leaving that up to someone who is greater than I am. And still keeping all the scary things, all the bad memories, and all the images that make me afraid to go to bed at night for fear I dream them in my head, without feeling like I only typed totally pointless things. So on the off-chance anyone did read this, they don't have to be haunted like me, and I still feel like I got something off my chest and onto paper (er... computer?) instead, so that it's not weighing me down anymore.
But I'm still crazy, and I don't know how to fix it. But I'm going to go crawl in bed now that it's five-thirty in the morning, and tomorrow I'll go to the meeting and smile and laugh and make small talk with people and pretend like I'm not dying inside. And no one will be the wiser. And my costume will still hold.
Would anyone notice if I wasn't there? Would anyone care?
I've come to this juncture again, after so long, where my life seems completely pointless. I just don't care--about anything--I see no point. I wish it was a depression. Depression I can handle. Depression I can ignore and pretend it's not there and push to the back of my mind where it slowly eats away at me until I break down and pretend like I don't know why. But this isn't depression. I've become too accustomed to death, too familiar with it, that I've lost my healthy fear of it. And I see it everywhere I look, and instead of turning away I welcome it, and let myself feel curious, and wonder at it, and toy with it, and come oh-so-dangerously close to feeling it again. Again. again. Experiencing it again.
I got lost on the way home tonight. A route I could travel with my eyes closed. A path I don't even have to consciously think about anymore, I traverse it so often, that it's like second nature to me to start out at point A and safely arrive at point B without having to think hard about where to turn or which way to go. I just get there. But I got lost. With Motorcycle Drive-by blaring as loud as it would go and my windows rolled all the way down while the semi-heavy rain poured in and soaked through my jacket and my hair and hit me in my eyes, but I didn't care because they were already so blinded by angry evil tears that came from nowhere and raged through every inch of my body. Soaked through the wind seemed frigid, and I thought about contracting some horrible fearsome sickness and slowly rotting away, or losing all sight of road directionals and flying into oncoming traffic, or experiencing the sickness in my throat of the wheels of my car lifting off the ground and touching sky and then no more. And a hundred other scenarios, all equally numbing, like the thought of death was so natural to me that it seemed there was no other just outcome but to expect a pain and a dying away and a loss of all evil thought. Looking back it should have scared me. It should have scared the hell out of me that I had no idea where I was headed, that I couldn't concentrate on any one corporeal thing, that I couldn't feel and couldn't explain why there were tears burning my skin or a rawness in the back of my throat or a tremor in my fingertips. When the fog rolled in so thick I couldn't see three feet in front of me on a road that should have been hit at no more that 35 mph, where I found myself at 65 mph, I should have been scared witless, I should have felt panic... I should have felt anything. But every thing, every inch, every thought, every sight was numb. I couldn't see. I couldn't feel. I literally couldn't hear because of this sickness I'm suffering, nor could I breathe at certain intervals. I realized as I stood in my kitchen, low lights and stale air, that I sincerely didn't expect to get home that night. I really didn't think I'd reach my destination. And that didn't scare me. It simply left an impression of, "...oh. Isn't that odd now? I'm actually here. Why am I here?"
I've lost my grip again, and I'm going a little crazy. I haven't written anything, any single thing in months, and there's a backlog in my head that's starting to force comprehensive thought and power of reasoning out. Like a black tumor steadily growing, pushing functioning, clean, healthy cells away, devouring them like a demon spirit, and leaving this blank spot in it's wake. Until I write there will be no way to "cut out" the tumor, and it will continue to grow, and I will continue to lose myself and my power of thought until there's absolutely nothing left of me at all that makes sense or bears any semblance of intelligence. I haven't slept in 9 days, and my body is literally starting to break down. I will start to shake uncontrollably or feel bile rise in my chest or get these sudden, violent, disorienting headaches. I almost passed out three times today, which would have been humiliating in the company I was with, and I had to stop and take deep breaths and force the contraction in my lungs out and close my eyes so the world would stop whirling. I've been working 24/7 since LAST Thursday night, day and night, without any breaks except to get to the meetings and head straight back again, and that leaves me alone all the time. Which is really the worst thing for me right now. And when I'm not alone, I'm with crazy people (literally can't be any more politically correct than that). Even when I AM alone I'm with crazy people, because I can't stop reading, I keep devouring book after book, and when I'm not writing that's just like taking bite after bite of some chew but never swallowing or spitting out. My head is filled with these voices and these faces and these images and these places and they keep piling up on each other over and over and higher and higher, filling every crevasse, swelling my head with this madness I can't escape, and I hear and see them at all times. But still my fingers are dumb. They wont work. They wont move. And all these things are driving me crazy. I've lost my grip again. I've come undone. And I'm trying to tie it all back up again and stuff it back inside, but it's all full up. There's no room left to board any more wanderers. So instead of hiding them away again and pretending they're not there, I'm becoming them. I'm going mad. And since everything is pointless to me right now, I don't give a flying s*** about pretending like everything's fine. Pretending like I'm not FUBAR. Pretending like those things never spoiled my childhood.
Today was a disaster. I kept getting lost. I kept wandering off into some other unearthly realm and not even realizing it until someone would nudge me and I'd jump out of my skin and almost shriek in surprise. I couldn't focus on reality. And I would awake as if from a dream and have a mild inkling that every answer to every problem I've ever had had just been revealed to me, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. It was like I was literally leaving this reality. I would have no idea how long I was "gone" for. Minutes? More? I've lost whole sections of my life, like I was knocked unconscious, and I can't remember who was there to wake me up on the other side. But I get the feeling that all is not well in my other world, and that whatever I saw when I left this earth and went away for those infinite periods of time will be the solution to everything I am troubled with in my dream world at the moment, if I'm ever granted the serenity to rediscover them. I can't concentrate on anything until I do. I can't keep myself fixed in my body without inadvertently wandering away. And on top of that, there's all the insanity. The headaches, the shaking, the shortness of breath, the random outbursts of manic laughter, the sullen silences, the exhaustion, the nervous twitching---It's so hard to mask these things. To pretend I'm not any different than normal, just a little tired from lack of sleep is all. It's just a caffeine rush is all, I'm really OK, honestly. Nothing's wrong. Nothing's different. I've just lost all compulsion to hide myself away like I normally do; I just don't care enough to be what you want me to be. What you think I am. What I should have been, had I not been hurt by them. Touched by them. Cursed by them.
And suddenly I'm haunted by memories that come at me out of nowhere, attack me at odd times, and make my whole body go rigid and my back lock up in pain. And I see my brother, and them I'm flying, and he's pinning me to the ground again, spitting in my face, hurting my wrists, and he hisses at me that I am worthless, that I'm not his sister, that I'm good for nothing, and my head spins.
It's such a strange phrase. "I love you." It still confuses me sometimes. If I hadn't met her, if she hadn't come bounding into my life the way only she could do a year ago and decide for some uncanny reason that I was her soul mate and attach herself to me so fixedly, demanding that I am her best friend, it would still be a phrase somewhat foreign to my ears. I wonder if she knows she's the only person who ever says that to me? "I love you." It will forever be linked to the tone of her voice in my head, because I only hear it directed to me from her lips. None of my other friends ever utter it. My family rarely does. And sometimes I hate her for it, because her loving me so assuredly now just means it's going to hurt worse when she leaves me later. I'm so attached to all of them now, I don't know how to handle it. I wonder if they know that when I'm not with them, I'm not with anyone at all? When I'm not talking to one of them, there's no one there for me to talk to? I wonder how long it will be before they become like everyone else from my past. Before they discover that thing, that undefinable thing inside of me that makes people hate me, that makes people look at me like human waste, that makes them leave me eventually after heated words and angry curses. I wish I knew what it was about me that drives people away. I wish I knew what was so terribly loathsome, so evil, so putrid that people can't stand to be near me. What causes them to vomit words of hate in my face, as though I actually might think that I am really worth something, and it's their solemn duty to snuff out that ridiculous idea. It's been so long since I've had anyone that cared about me and that I cared about in return so purely, that I forgot what it was like to be scared to lose something. And I'm petrified, absolutely terrified that I'm going to f it all up again, and they're going to hate me for it, and then that will be it. They'll be gone just like the rest.
Even as I'm driving home, music blaring in my plugged ears, wind and rain whipping in my car windows at 65 miles per hour, numb and glassy-eyed, seeing deaths from my past, deaths from my dreams, and my own possible deaths of the future playing out before my eyes, I'm asking myself if anyone would care should I leave this mortal realm tomorrow. And to my utter shock I see their face, every time. And it's not who you might expect. But they're there, in my minds eye, like a photograph, questioning me further. Would they care? Would they notice? And I shock myself. And I wonder why they're there. Have I really let myself love them? Have I really let my guard down? Can I really be that utterly stupid?
I miss the protection of innocence. I miss the shelter of my girlhood making it OK to hang out in a group of boys without it being tabu. Without it being some sort of scandal. I miss feeling protected by a group of people that understood me. I think it's utterly ridiculous that now that years have passed and certain organs have grown that suddenly it's not okay to be friends anymore. Sometimes I think life would be so much easier if I just had a dick instead of these damn ovaries. I HATE being a "girl" and not just "one of the guys" or ideally "my best friend." I hate being tainted by this difference in gender, like I have some horrible disease now that they're terrified to contract. I hate being away from Christopher, or Gerren, or David, or even Anthony. That was the last time I felt protected. That was the last time I felt sheltered. That was the last time I felt comfortable in my skin. And all I want, ALL I WANT is for one of my guy friends to have the balls not to be scared s***less by the words "I love you" or by any simple action of physical contact. But no, I'm some sort of creature-thing and god forbid they get too close. I don't fit anymore. I haven't fit since I hit 13 and the world decided for me that I could no longer be with those who made me feel normal and accepted. I haven't BEEN accepted since, not until her, not until she came around. She's the only one who hasn't slandered me, or hated me, or lied to or about me, or tried in some insidious way to hurt me... yet. She is the only woman that's ever wanted to be close to me. She's the first friend I've had in 7 years. But even so, I'm so spoiled from years of hatred directed at my own gender, at my own self even, that I'll never fully be able to accept her the way I did my boys. She will never be one of my "Boys." And I may love her, up until the very end, and even beyond the point when she leaves me in her dust, but it will never be the same. I can never be myself, I can never be whole, when it comes to female friends. I have nothing in common with them. I have nothing to say to them. So I will never feel safe again. I will never feel accepted. I will never feel protected. I will never feel like I belong. Because I never will, because none of my guy friends anymore have the balls to put his arms around me the way Chris used to do when I needed some reassurance, and put his chin on my head, or put my face at the crook of his neck, and whisper in my ear, "They can't hurt you as long as I am here," without freaking out or thinking I'll get the wrong impression or worrying I'll fall madly in love with them. I'm no stranger to rejection. And I am not naive, nor am I stupid. I know I'm not any man's dream girl, I've resigned myself to that fact, and I wont follow you around like a little puppy dog begging you to love me. All I want is your friendship. All I want is to feel that, just one more time. All I want is to experience that one more time without some moron f*cking it up by throwing sex into the mix. All I want is for someone to see me here, going out of my mind, going stark raving mad, having trouble keeping it all together, all bottled up, and reassure me that no matter what happens they can never hurt me as long as he is with me. All I want is to remember what it feels like being protected by the arms of a man who is not trying to hurt you in some insidious way. All I want is for time to rewind, and Chris to be here, and it be okay for him to just hold me while I keep myself from crying.
But no one has the balls to do that because who knows, I could get impregnated from a hug and one reassuring sentence, and then where would I be? No, who would love me or respect me enough to give me that one simple gift? I'm on my own here. For forever more. That's the end of my sanity. I can't fit in, I am an outcast. And now we've circled back to the beginning: My life is pointless.
Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt myself. There's too much at stake to risk that. I'm just adding to the rumors that livejournal is the "angst capital of the internet". Sometimes, when you have no one to talk to, when it's been seven years since your last best friend, and no one is there to tell you "they can't hurt you as long as I am here," you just need to vent. And this is where I go, because It's practically like talking to myself, now isn't it? Without the more heavy crazy undertones. Hoping that writing something, ANYTHING, will get me writing everything else in my head. Putting all my hopes and dreams in one tangible location. Trying to rid the chill from my body, and the horrifying images from my head. Trying to forget all the things that hurt, and remember all the things that don't. Trying not to need that friend to put his arms around me, but knowing that cure-alls from your childhood are the only ones that ever work to fix a problem, and there will never be another solution to match it. Feeling sorry for myself. Wanting to die, but leaving that up to someone who is greater than I am. And still keeping all the scary things, all the bad memories, and all the images that make me afraid to go to bed at night for fear I dream them in my head, without feeling like I only typed totally pointless things. So on the off-chance anyone did read this, they don't have to be haunted like me, and I still feel like I got something off my chest and onto paper (er... computer?) instead, so that it's not weighing me down anymore.
But I'm still crazy, and I don't know how to fix it. But I'm going to go crawl in bed now that it's five-thirty in the morning, and tomorrow I'll go to the meeting and smile and laugh and make small talk with people and pretend like I'm not dying inside. And no one will be the wiser. And my costume will still hold.
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I'm not much help, sorry. Just want you to know you're loved.
Kevin Richardson is the HOTT!!no subject
I'm glad you're around, Miss LudaKRIS. ;) I just need to write. Bleh.
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So's Johnny Depp, he should do a BSB music video so we can see the two of them several times within the same 3-4 minutes.no subject
Maybe we can throw Billy Boyd in there too. WHOOP! *THUD* Oh man, hotness overload.no subject
*brain fries* Mmmmm hotnesses!!!no subject
*big huge dom/sean hug* love ya bunches!
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You mean like THIS?? *points to icon* :) Thanks sammi. Love your icon. ;) Love you, too (of course!).
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and my mom says 'hi'. haha random.
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It was good seeing you yesterday (at the assembly). I've missed ya'll too. I haven't really hung out with any of the "Concord crowd," as the usual list of people have come to be called, lately. I've mostly just been hanging with Em Petit and some kids down in Mass. But anyhoo, we should change all that, you and I... ;) Give me a call sometime, hopefully you still have my number.
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tell Em petit hey from me.
and perhaps I shall slay said beast and give ya a ring.
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Em says Hey back. :)