The Trivial Pursuit of Happiness

stop being fair

i wish some one were on line.

*sigh*

i am not proud of myself that i do not have this paper done. i am not giong to clas tomorrow until i have it done. i am so not happy with my self.

parker, if i am going to stay there somenights, does your mom care?

i need something to be proud of. well, #1, i am proud of my monologue. i have been told many times that it made people think, and that was the point. i think i proved to myself and others that i am not as bad as i think i am. i think it bothers some people though that i did not seem to work very hard on it. to them: i understand. just know i feed off your outer stenghth – i wish i could give you some of my inner as payment.

oh, and #2, i have been so damn honest lately.

i ahve been happy, if a little off my rocker
going togo see my shrink tomorrow. if you need to guess what i plan to talk about, you are not mising out on much.

wrote an email. i never do that. thinking about it, i wish i had just wrote it on here.

feeling that russle in my gut, that insistant need to say things, to yell things i wouldn’t say out of fear, or discomfort. but since i have become brutally honest as of late, i will rant and say those things.

some nights after i log off and lay wrapped up in blankets i have made out of hopes and wispers to myself… i wonder what the hell i am doing.
i am swinging my legs, sitting on the edge of the hole, watching the stars in the night, dreaming… but still sitting. waiting. letting the night turn into day, the day into night, not letting myself fall asleep for fear that it will all stop…

and if it did? i would live. if i awoke and i found myself drifting again, lost in the woods, my candle blinding me from what is in the shadow: i would live.

but what do i want. do i want to fall into the hole? yes. is it smart, is it going to happen while i wait here, dreaming. No.
am i expecting something. not at all.

Damn me and my honesty.

monologues in the morn. oh my oh my

Your Feet
pablo neruda

When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your sweet weight
rises upon them.
Your waist
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.

SEEMS LIKE IT

parker, i have a plan for next week. maybe.
depends on the car.

what am i doing this weekend?? meeting on sunday night @ mr. j’s……
uhhhhhh

working friday night

any ideas?

wednesday we are going to go help out. rod (the guy from the salvation army) is going to give me a call back either tonight or tomorrow, and tell me when and exsactly where. we may end up working at an elderly home, a battered womens shelter, a home for tenage mothers, ect. i told him we’d accept whatever needs us.

i love it when someone says than you and means it. and i love it more when i can say my pleasure and mean it.

I deserve a kiss for this!

just talked to a person i used to never forget, but have lost since we let our hormones rule the world. i miss him.
we talked about life in gerneral.
it was almost like before, until we hugged and we held on for that moment.

holes are easy to see in hindsite. the edges are defined.

going to go ‘help’ on wednesday.

a part of me was shocked when it came up in class, this helping thing i want to do. But i am glad it is being encouraged by someone i respect.
so come one, come all, to givespot.com. volenteer your little hearts out.

*thinking*

i wish you were here angie for so many reasons. (not a guilt trip, i want you to get better, i just miss you)

we read more of le mis. think it will be okay, but not excited about it in the least.
ms. knowls hates me when your not here
i find myself looking desparetly for you to ask silly questions, things i do not EVEN want to think about with other people, and alas, i am lost.

so i miss you and if i had a car would skip this class and come an gossip about our silly lives.

on another note, creeped out by a report a girl in this class is doing. it’s anti abotion (won’t go into my thoughts there) but for her visual she has alot of photo’s of aborted babies. creeped out creeped out creeped out creeped out creeped out creeped out

oh hell.

gonna go make tea and try to forget this converation they are having ( “they sell aborted babys to shampoo people. ” ” i have babies in my hair” “maybe” )

sgksuhrgkushrguihriuhgirhgiyrgg