Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?
trainspotting

whatever crisis i am going through, mental break-downs, panic attacks, anxiety attacks, self-loathing whatever it is, i need to get out of it. but i have decided that if i was ever to write a fictional novel loosely based off of my life it would all begin with my teeth. and how they don't shut completely. it's not like i have an overbite or an underbite, oh no they are slanted teeth that are too short to shut on their own. yes, then i would go into how difficult and awkward not being able to bite down with the front teeth. oh yes, then it would go into who had first presented this fact about my mouth and how i was completely unaware of my methods of eating until just then. that is when character development would start.
i suppose this novel would need a purpose, over-stimulation perhaps. the dynamics of a woman on the side of an egotistical philosophical wanna-be movement group.

sounds a little cliche but i've never been able to enjoy corn on the cob.

peaces

It's 6 pm and I'm already tipsy. Stumble upstairs toward my shitty laptop i write my thoughts upon and complain. As i finally get to this point of writing i realize, perhaps drinking isn't the best for me due to it's depressing attributes it gives so freely. But I like to be loose. I like to "loose" myself. And while I have this small opportunity I will take it with open arms and wish i had a cigarette not a guilt trip. But unfortunately i have the latter of the two. Thank goodness for spell check, otherwise this would be impossible to read. I'm too busy sipping from my drink rather checking errors on this blank page.
Where shall life take this world of mine. I'm already bitter and the evening hasn't even begun! I just want my own place. Not our's but mine. I want mine. Set me into the wild and see branch off on my own. I will climb to where ever life will open it's path. I guess I'm doing that.
I'm so limited. I will lack stories to tell the little ones, and who knows if they will even ask. I am unable to let go and be free. I cannot allow myself to draw freely, paint freely, write freely. I must censor. I want to be so many things, and there are so many details to each person to be I can't keep track, and I cannot decide on who to be. SO unfortunately I am all and I am nothing. I am an anything everything nothing mess to be had. So if you would like to pick up the pieces and finish this piece I am trying to piece together please find me, because there is no way i can piece myself together.

rain is too much compared with bad luck or a sign of something terrible to come. i see this rain giving vitality to the parched earth, and like me i need vitality and the opportunity to grow.

this weekend went over a friends house and received unexpected flattery and attention. it felt so good to be wanted. desired. and even though it felt good, i felt guilty when i left. guilty over the pleasure of being wanted. eyes watching me, i can't help but give a flirtatious smile. i didn't want it to stop. my vanity was parched so they watered the plant that can take over my thoughts.

yesterday i rearranged my room in order to feel at peace. joe made me a table for my birthday and it has finally made it's way to my room. situated between two windows i feel like it might make me motivated to do something creative. at one time or another. as i moved furniture around i stopped at to peak at old journals from 6th grade. I didn't want to open it knowing i would roll my eyes and be sickened by the former youth. Instead i noticed that as a young girl even in the private journal i was in denial. I remember my feelings during certain times and yet this person who wrote those words put on a face. I have never been more self aware to the extent of looking back. The denial of feelings just spread throughout the entries, I tried to sound like the girl i wanted to be but not the girl i actually was. Perhaps it was a safety measure of sanity for a young girl who had no idea how to handle her emotions.

interview today. bleh. i am not nervous yet, nor excited, just neutral due to the many rejections in the past few months.

if no one can win or lose, is it still a game?

my thoughts drift so easily into my mind in the mornings it's hard to grab at them and put them here. especially when i've had so many thoughts in the past few days.

i woke up this morning to an empty house which was slightly startling due to the fact that this is the day everyone's home. not today though. so i sit here and recall the latest days. i'm not a duty, or an obligation. women are second in this group. i walk into the room i receive a nod, as the men come in one by one a huge smile breaks open and it's hugs for all. i've never been able to put my finger on why i felt treated differently but it's in all the looks, the fake laughter, the empty eyes. it's the lack of trying to see me as an equal. drink up, make it icy cold. liquor burns my throat and upsets my stomach, but i'd rather get through the night intoxicated then have to sit there painfully sober and aware of my surroundings. i think i said fuck you 7 times in the game. and even though their sailor mouths kept moving thick with curses, at my fuck you they were offended. it's all in the game darling. this game here and the real game we're playing. so fuck you and your friends don't be shocked, you were the one who opened this can. every drink was for chicago. three months away from here, and the chance to pay off some debt. a baby step before i can break off with my mistress ohio. they drank to some unknown ideals, reaching for a thought felt meaningful between the notes of their hallucinations and drunken realities. slurred thoughts of bullshit kept running through my mind. if there is anything learned from the past two years, it's better to just keep your mouth shut. no one listens anyways.

besides all the negativity, it's a beautiful morning, puffy clouds dotting the clouds and a slight breeze brushing the grounds. i'm calm again.