November 14th, 2005

feet on the floor

the real dj dan OR the real don steele

i'm thinking about driving up to chicago to see dj dan and paul anthony at smartbar on friday. there's a possibility of getting in free, plus it would then be convenient for me to stop off to buy some records off a friend of a friend. i dunno... it's just something i'm kicking around.

i think i'm just going to go ahead and get a third shift job again. i was up 'til 5 this morning trying to make myself sleepy by reading in dim light. no dice. finally feel asleep watching old school at dawn, only to be awoken by that god damned title screen noise. i would seriously like to punch whoever it was that thought that was a good idea.

anyway, i've been trying to exercise when i get up and stay out of bed when i'm not sleeping, but my sleep cycle seems to have a mind of it's own; it's pulling me back to a nocturnal lifestyle whether i want it to or not. i figure there's no use in fighting it. and no point either. i mean i don't do anything during the day except go to school--and i barely do that as it is. so, fuck it.
she doesn't

no need for boyfriends OR sex with robots

i found some batteries in a random box of stuff i never unpacked from carmel. i had to test to see if the were still good, so i put them into the only battery operated device i own.

yeah. they're still good. real good.

[she says, "DAMN... those beats are fresh!"]

nothin' like some fresh double a's to perk up an evening alone at home.

sneaky sneaky

paging thoughtlessly through picture albums. it's only when i see him that i know that was my only purpose.

and i wonder why it should make me so mad to see him and why would seek that torture out.

you never forget.
as the crow flies

i don't know where this is coming from

[note: this is the kind of thing that would have gone in the other journal. it's a rant. it's raw. and this is the extent of all the talking about it i care to do.]

what the fuck is my fucking problem? why is he even a blip on my radar when i have completely fallen off the face of his earth? this seriously makes me sick. i have a boy desperate to spend time with me. i have a boy who can't go a day without trying to talk to me. i have a boy who brings me pizza whenever i want it. i have a boy who considers me unattainable perfection and only wants to understand me.

and i have a boy (in the most childish sense of the word) who doesn't even want to communicate with me, whose last communication was all about how i was all he wanted, all he needed, all he thought about.

i am
so easy
to forget.

i tell myself i only want to yell at him for lying again. i want him to learn, to be better, to grow, to change. but i would never do it. he would call on me and i would thank him.

i hope he never calls again.

why the fuck do i need his fucking validation when i can't fucking stand the person he's become!?

why do i need to know he is alright? why do i need to help him? why him at all, when he so obviously doesn't need me or want me?

words on the screen, behind this machine, in this room, i am fearless. i am clear-headed. i say what i mean and i know i have to say it here, because i haven't got the stones to confront it in real life. my god, i would deny it. i know i would. i would railroad every ideal i've ever held with that nervous contraption called a mouth, fueled by 23 years of pent up anxiety and fear. out there i am weak, crippled by that desperate desire to be loved, conditioned by the twisted moral code of thieves and robbers who believe they can wrench love from you in the form of pity--only they choose not to acknowledge it's any less of an appreciation.

i wish he'd give me what i really deserve--a savage beating and a miserable existence indebted to his benevolence. ha.