backwards

i fell in love with a notebook:

i know. it's silly. how can i fall in love with an inanimate object? it can hardly begin to love me back. it doesn't live or breathe or do anything for me unless i do something to it first. but i fell in love with a notebook a few days ago. i was heartbroken when i arrived in my hometown without it... i left it on the coffee table back in my apartment in seattle.
how can i fall in love with a piece of secondhand something else? it was in the "various silverware" bin at the overly trendy hipster hangout of value village on capitol hill. it was already written in- really, we're talking secondhand. there were drunken scrawls of love lost and dreams of moving to seattle. some of the writing was hardly legible. there was a "stalking list" with phone numbers in the back. it's already half used, and what's worse... there's a $1.99 green-tag sticker on the back that i'm sure will never come off entirely.
but i really had to have it.
i have my barnes and noble discount- i could have bought the same thing for a decent price free of drunken lamentations... but... i felt for the lonesome writer with dreams of leaving california for seattle.

it took me a whole two days to realize my best friend has the exact same journal somewhere. one of the few things she takes with her wherever she moves to... i guess i've been holding it so close to my heart because it reminds me of her-- something we share... something like how i wish i could hold her hand wherever she goes.

sometimes there's nothing at all you can do about the little losses in life.
i can't explain it much better than that.

procrastination's a work of art

and i'm the artist by no stretch of the imagination.

three things:

-world religion

-maine

-ugh.  coffee. procrastination.

this post will definitely be embellished when i get home.

home

this quarter's been killing me... but sometimes a trip back home to edgewood fixes everything.  i wish the city was like edgewood.... or.... i don't know what i wish for.  the wide open spaces do something for me... the same thing that sitting on top of buildings and driving down long stretches of highway do when i'm looking for something and feeling absolutely lost.

sometimes you don't need to look further than your own backyard..
sometimes i miss walking fifteen minutes to the gas station to buy an ice cream in the summer..
and all the space the wind has to move the dirt beneath the trees...
and the mountain.  lord... there's nothing like sitting in front of the mountain without anything between you and it and all the things you begin to imagine being just as beautiful.

because when you're here...

you're home.

word vomit

word vomit---- bulimia of the text.  no, better:

bulimia of the remarks.

it's not like it's even a big deal, but it hit me today, when i've generally been great at letting the curiosity pass without much thought.  what happened today?  it's not like anything bad would happen if (or when) i meet her.  she's just an ex girlfriend.  you know... the one right before me.

i was invited out to meet all his friends this weekend in lakewood (lakewood.  oh.  god.  let's talk about an entire novel one of these days...), and i could feel the question crawling up my legs.  i didn't want to ask it.  but i could feel the words sticking to my stomach and stewing into a mess of something completely different: the kind of something that i'm usually good at letting pass but forgot how this time around.

it was like the fucking grand coulee damn couldn't stop it.

why the hell would it matter if she was there or not?

because i've learned from many experiences that girls judge i guess.

maybe some girls don't though.  maybe his kind of girl doesn't judge.  maybe his kind of girl is tall and athletic and with perfect straight brown hair.  older.. you know... his age.  maybe his kind of girl doesn't go to her parent's house over a few weekends here and there... maybe his kind of girl doesn't miss living in a small town in the middle of nowhere.  maybe his kind of girl is super independent and knows what she wants to do with her life?

let's get this straight out: i'm terrified that one day we'll both be in the same room and he'll size us up (because he loved her for four years, and the sizing will happen naturally whether positive or negative, superficial or deep, meaningful or meaningless, consciously or subconsciously... i swear to jesus christ it will happen if we're both in the same room).  i'm terrified that we'll be compared and he'll realize i was the wrong choice.

falling in love is pretty fucking terrifying if you ask me.

and it's only because i'm in too deep to turn around now (not that i want to, but it's not less terrifying).

so out it came.

it boiled up through my throat, onto my tongue, and out my mouth, and i asked him if she would be there.  he paused.  he weighed out his words... maybe wondered himself, i don't know.  i wished i had more self control.

it really doesn't matter.

i get paid to be pleasant to people.

i avoid drama at all costs.

why did i have to ask?

and he kindly entertained my question with an explanation of why she would most likely not be there.

and then he asked why i asked.... and the bulimia of remarks began.  i couldn't tell him the entire thing.  i don't know why, it's not like we're on 'keeping secrets' terms or anything.  but all these idiot reasons came out- one right on top of the other: 'girls judge iguess', 'it will probably influence what i wear', 'she's your ex-girlfriend'.... they seemed to go on for ever.  i couldn't stop myself after the first five or ten. what was unfortunate was that most of them were pretty true, but all still danced around the reason that justified their stupidity.

fear justifies a lot of fucking idiot reasoning.

let's put that one on the record.

so i guess i'll just say it:

i'm terrified that he found his love long before he found me, and i'm just the interim girl.

junebuggy

i have so much to say

but everything's bogged down with this life i've tied myself to.

because really

i'm just trying to figure out where i'm supposed to be.

every time i catch a glimpse of it, i try and run after it the best i know how.  but i've lost it again.

i can't forget (to begin to explain

sun, moon, stars, rain)

to write about all the pieces of the puzzle i'm putting together.

i have nine months to pull it together again.

this post is so sporadic.  it will probably make less than no sense when i roll out of bed and review it the day after tomorrow (because i won't be sleeping tonight).

there is so much going on and i don't have the energy to write it all down in one cohesive block.  buti have nine months to pull it together.  i've been in classes all year... a solid nine months now, and i don't feel like i've got a damn thing figured out anymore.  if anything, i feel like i've lost a solid few things that had held me together this whole time:  i've dropped him and i've dropped her and i've left the home i built over the last eleven years... a home that was never actually my physical home, but the home and the hubbub and the community of people i surrounded myself with.  i've managed to dig out the thing that i was certain were bringing me down (and admittedly, i let them).  i left the old adage at the door... the one that says "keep your friends close but your enemies closer".  i don't have any more enemies... i think i'm my biggest one if anything... i don't know.

sporadic post.

nothing's making sense.

i've got a total of four hours of sleep over the last forty hours and i've downed damn near ten cups of coffee to keep me going.  i won't be sleeping for the next.... fifteen.  shit.

what has happened to me.

when i used to pull all nighters, it used to be fun.

and now the blogging will begin.

because i've got to find some sort of way to keep track of what i'm figuring out... right?

because yelling at dead people is generally regarded as going insane.