Cardboard

I've had many a thing to ponder on quite recently. I've also had so much to talk about here. A while back, I came across some work of Salvador Dali (my all-time favorite surrealist artist) which was based on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland! He did one for every chapter! It made me so happy. I think that my favorite of the set was Chapter 4: The Rabbit Sends in a Little Bill. I'm uploading the picture as I type, so everyone shall get a chance to see it. Here it is...

Oh, also, I came upon this web page in which the creator of it posts cardboard images with cute little love notes to his girlfriend on it. I thought that it was one of the cutest things I've seen. This is one of my many favorites:

End.

Post Script: Remember that somebody loves you more than you will ever know, even when you don't think so. And perhaps the moon has aged; perhaps witnessing the flightlessness of a single decade is as if tumbling down the darkest of rabbit holes.

Rabbird

Love is the best thing that two people can possibly ever make (besides a baby, though sex is vital in doing that anyway). The infinite feeling that one feels while in the throws of passion is quite breathtaking. It's a wondrous feeling of which few other things can even begin to compare. I think we need a new word. "Love" is thrown around so often that few even know what it means, or rather even have a clue about it. We need a word that's stronger than saying "love." I wish words like that weren't thrown around as often as they are. It's quite heartbreaking.

So earlier today, as I sat at the dead fountain at the shopping center, I noticed that not only was the water completely gone, but all the coins as well. It was really saddening. It reminded me of a scene from The Goonies where they were all at the bottom of the wishing well, and while nearly all of them wanted to take the money, the main character (I forget his name, it's been years since I've watched it) wanted to leave them because they are people's wishes and taking the coins would be taking their wishes. I hope I've made sense in what I've tried to explain. Basically, I felt as if all the wishes were stolen away and would never come true.

Post Script: I get really irritated with shitty covers/remakes/remixes of classics. Mostly sad actually, not so much irritated.

Without

I am a bird with a french fry, an obscure bird with the desire to starve, starve, starve, starve and become but bones and feathers, feathers and bones and nothing more, nothing more, nothing more. That is precisely how I would love to live my life. Of course, I would have my dear darling love by my side. I can never leave him, no matter what. He can break my heart into a million pieces and more, and I'd still love him, despite how hurt I would be.

Et cetera.

Post Script: I want me s'more lovin' pronto.
Post Script Script: Good morning, starshine, the Earth says, "Hello!" (though it's quite the opposite).

Late night edit: Go fuck yourself. You disgust me. I'm done playing your childish games. Grow the fuck up.

Sunday

The first thing I used my I.D. on to purchase was a pack of cigarettes for my mother. What a shame. I could've sworn that I blogged just yesterday, but I suppose it was just a dream. Anyway, I'm quite dissapointed with myself and my recent eating habits... meaning I've been eating and eating and eating and eating. What a dissapointment on my part. I hope I'm not gaining. I'm sure that I am, though I pray I'm not. I need a scale. I should've asked that for a birthday present. I think I'll start sharing more photos in my blog other than a PostSecret (not that I don't love PostSecrets). Perhaps I'll just add photos on and be sure to keep the secrets. I hate the way all of these words are looking as I type. I feel as if all of my thoughts are just cluttered sentences that are all irrelevant to one another. Something not so new: I'm s-s-stressing. I always get myself into such shitty situations and very, very, very seldom follow my own advice which would most likely help me. I always fuck myself over like this. I've been hating myself much more lately.

One

And in the saddest voice, he said, "Please don't be mad," and I guess I just stopped.

My temperature is still very fucked up. My throat is itchy, my head is throbbing, etc., etc., etc. To top that off, I'm still stressing, yet I still don't do shit about it. I'm a fucking failure. I'm going nowhere fast. God.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Two

If you are the clock, then I am the time. I'm patiently waiting...

I'm horribly, terribly, under such disastrous weather conditions. Today was an okay day, despite my illness. I don't much feel like discussing it though. Carry on.


Post Script:
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you're at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle—

Three

I'm actually feeling very sick right now. It's mild at the moment, but I know it'll get worse. Sniffles, constant sneezing, itchy throat, watery eyes, red nose, frequent coughing, weak body, mild head pains, etc. Ugh, the brightness of the screen is only worsening things. Au revoir.

Four

I think I've had less and less things to write about. I want someone to write me looking-glass poetry.

*Cough*


The most powerful force on earth is the human soul on fire.

Five

Joel: [voice over] Random thoughts for Valentine's day, 2004. Today is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.

Honestly, I've backspaced my entire entry just now. I was speaking nonsense anyway. On a lighter note, today was a pretty good day.

Post Script: Love every day. Not just because it's expected, but because you truly feel the need and desire to love.

Six

Half an hour until midnight and here I am awaiting my love to return to me. I feel my eyes growing heavier and heavier with each key I press my finger onto. All that I gaze at seems to be floating further and further away, blurrier and blurrier yet. Hmm. I'm looking for some good music to play in my head. I'm looking for something, anything right now really to occupy my mind and time. My love bought me The Wizard of Oz today. We have about a billion books at his house, some of which we've never even read, but I needed a classic, easy, interesting (or semi-interesting) book to read so I can get English work done. I've missed reading. I've missed writing. I've missed drawing. I've missed painting. I've missed making things. I found the purse I made in 2006 and put watercolor, a couple brushes, my candy container, and my Alice in Wonderland journal in it. I don't take it here with me, for fear of it reaking of cigarette smoke.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I will be sure to of course blog about it, though I doubt I'm going anywhere. I know why the caged bird sings. I'm right there singing my own sad song with it, losing more and more hope as each day passes. Today was pretty nice. My boyfriend is so sweet. He surprised me with a couple gifts that I love. Tomorrow we might go out somewhere, though I prefer we stay home and do all our missing class/home work assignments. We need to get stepping on college and living arrangements. That's another notch added to my stress belt. I really should stop worrying so much (not that it'll help solve anything). I end up crying everyday though, and it's quite frustrating. I shall await for my Valentine to return to me.

Seven

I've had a lot on my mind lately. Not just the normal stresses and whatnot, but I've really been thinking. I've been thinking about so many things, I can barely even comprehend my thoughts anymore. I doubt that I can even word my thoughts well enough so that everyone else can comprehend them.

Anyway, I've been thinking a lot about songs and lyrics and lyricists and song meanings. I've also had much thought on perception and how different people perceive things. There are certain songs that make me cry, make me happy, make me angry, etc., and I was thinking if the lyricist put much thought into how a listener would feel, if the lyricist thought about it at all. I was wondering if the lyricist wrote the song to express his/her feelings, or just for fun. I was wondering if the meaning of the song (if the lyricist intended for one) related at all to what the listener thought the meaning was. I just thought it was pretty interesting and I dwell upon it quite often, it's almost unbearable.

Sometimes I prefer the lyrics over the song in it's entirety, just because I feel more connected to the words rather than the way it was sung and everything else that completes the song. I kind of feel guilty about that though. I'm sorry.

...I was also wondering about people and their general perceptions. And then I wondered if anyone really knew who they were, what they are doing, and if they are really going to be okay in the end. Does anyone ever feel like they've got it all good? I've never felt that, so I can't say. Can we really just be ourselves? I doubt it. I know I'm not original either (if that even exists anymore).

You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everyone else, and we are all part of the same compost pile.
~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club, Chapter 17

Eight

My stress level is equivalent to a roller coaster. When I say roller coaster, I don't mean the kiddy ones here on Guam that are about as scary as canned milk. I'm talking about the ones with the constant hills, mountains, turns, and drops that literally scare the fuck out of people. I'm talking about the absolute shittiest and most unstable roller coaster you can find. The kind where your heart begins pumping harder, faster, faster, harder as you sit your ass on the seat and wait to be fastened in. The kind where despite the screaming of others, yourself, and the thoughts in your mind, you can hear the wheels screeching against the metal frame, you can hear the squeaking of the unkept parts, you can feel yourself and your seat slip, slip, slipping off. You know you'll be flying off soon, only to hit the ground. You know that within a matter of minutes, you'll be head-first into the first thing you come falling at. You know that you were in deep shit the moment you sat your ass down into that seat. You knew this was coming all along. During the entire ride, up to right before you hit the ground, the only question going through your mind was, "What the fuck is wrong with me?" over and over and over again.

I'm still on the ride.

Nine

I need to get away. Far, far, far fucking away. Where? I don't even care at this point. I feel like I'm going to have the worst mental breakdown of my life. I wish I had someone to talk to. I'm so stressed. I just want to start walking and not look back, ever. I'm never going to make it in life. I have so much to do, not enough ambition, and no sense of direction. More and more, I'm finding a thousand reasons all over the place to hate myself.

I started on this post over fifteen minutes ago, and I've only gotten this far. Backspace, backspace, delete, delete, backspace. I'm falling, falling, falling down and I can't get back up anymore. I'm barely holding on here. I've lost my balance one too many times.

"What did Roberta Sparrow say to you?"
"She said, ' Every living creature on earth dies alone.'"

Ten

Ten fucking days. Fuck. You know, I'm not even in college yet and I feel like I'm already drowning in the stress of it. I'm so fucking stressed. I doubt I'll receive any financial aid or any scholarships to help with college. I'm pretty much fucked for life as of today. I'm such a fucking failure. I fail at fucking everything. I have no future set for me. I envy those who claim they have theirs set. Where did I go wrong? The clock is tick, tick, ticking away and here I am blogging. I could be doing more productive things, though it is about 11 at night. I don't need the sleep. I need to pull my life together. I'm constantly falling apart and barely pulling myself together. These days I'm rarely fully put together. I'm a failure at life and everything I hope to achieve. Sometimes I wish I could just blow a bullet in my skull. It's so useless. It's supporting such a useless organ to me. These are the days where I would just love to drop everything and jump off a fucking cliff. The very thought makes my heart beat with joy and anticipation. I'm really not cut out for life. I never asked to be here. I'm sure I wasn't asked to be here anyway. I just really need to get away from the world. Anywhere.

Afraid

I hope to God that I'll be alright. I have this sinking feeling in my gut that I won't be. I'm afraid of everything. I think the only real issue for me is money (or lack thereof, as always). So anyway, eleven days left. Staying here isn't an option no matter how badly I need money. I can't take it here anymore. I can barely think clearly anymore. I have to constantly control myself from having impulsive urges to yell or physically hurt anyone here. It's frustrating to have to live in this house.

I hope I'll be alright. I pray that I'll be alright. I'm not going to fuck this up. I seriously need to get my shit together and fucking prioritize. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. I know I don't have it as bad as some other people may, but I don't think that it's right for me to have to go through all this shit at my age. Have I done anything wrong to deserve all the shit I go through? I lost out on my entire childhood. I had to grow up before I even had a chance to know what being a kid felt like. I swear to God, if I ever get out of this mess and have children of my own, they will NEVER have to go through what I have to endure. This is going to stop soon, one way or another. If I have to give up everything I have, I'm leaving here. The only person I know for sure that I can always depend on is Raini. I can't even be sure that I can depend on myself. I have no family and true friends are scarce. What the fuck has this world come to? Is this just the reality of life? Why am I only learning things now?

I really wish I had a fucking pause button. I'd give my left leg for a pause button.

Feelings

I dread the next two weeks leading up to my birthday. I need help. I hate asking for help. I hate feeling like a charity case. I hate feeling so vulnerable to rejection. I hate, hate, hate everything right now. I'm so afraid of change despite how much I hate everything. I know I can't make it on my own. Even with a little help, I know I'll fail at life. I'm an utter fucking failure.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?!"
"Everything."
"..."

So I've pretty much fucked myself and the future of my being. I have no sense of anything. I'm all talk and no fucking action. Honestly, what is wrong with me? Someone, anyone, tell me. Be as blunt as you can possibly be. My feelings mean nothing at this point. I just need to know. I need some fucking truth spoken to me for once in my life.

"Why do I always feel like I'm talking to myself?"
"Because you are."
"So why don't I stop?"
"Why don't you?"
"I don't know."

Homeless

So I turn eighteen in fourteen days. I need a place to stay other than here. I fucking hate this house. This house is not a home. I need a job because I need money because I need a place to stay. I could care less about myself eating or living comfortably, I just need a roof over my head that doesn't feel as if it'll collapse and kill me. I have no home, no family, and no money for anything... not even college. God. I'm not even there and college is already killing me. I have no one to blame but myself really. I constantly find myself hating myself for all the shit I get myself into. I don't mean to, but I often do anyway. I'm by far the stupidest person I have ever met. I hate myself more than I've ever hated anyone. God. What the fuck is wrong with me? What, what, what? Shoot me. Someone. Anyone. Now. Please.

9:41 P.M. Edit//
I want to fucking kill her. I want to make sure that she does not have a single breath left in her aging body. I want to make sure that she is cold, lifeless, and unable to bother me or anyone else anymore. I want to bury her body where it cannot be found ever again, not even by me. I want her words to seep back into her cold, dead, blue lips, as I do cartwheels around her and show everyone that she was nothing but wrong, wrong, wrong as she always was and will always be.

Crash

Flying would be much better than driving. I feel I would have less a chance of crashing, or at least I hope I would. I'm a horrible driver, even with my honey at my side holding the wheel and guiding me. Driving turns me into a literal wreck. I had a near panic attack as I even got into the driver's seat.

Excerpt from today's Melodramatic blog:

I was driving on the road today for the very first time. My love was holding on to the wheel as my security blanket. About 10 minutes into driving, I started crying and couldn't stop. I pulled over and let him finish driving. He said he was proud of me and that I did really good. I feel like I was going to kill everyone in the vehicle. I shouldn't drive. As a child, I had numerous nightmares of crashing in vehicles when I was behind the wheel, even if the car wasn't running. I even once dreamt that the car I was in started reversing out of control.

I think I have problems. Also, I miss clear vision like no other. As I cried, my glasses got all smudged with make-up and tears, it was unbearable.

I really shouldn't be procrastinating like this, you know. Motivate me, please. I've been stressing to the maximum level for quite some time now. I have bursts of crying every now and then from the stress build up. My stressing interferes with many key concepts of my daily routines. I'm a fucking wreck. I also think I'm gaining weight. I'm actually pretty sure that I am. Ugh.

It's days like this where I just want to jump off a cliff and take flight.

Fake

One of my biggest pet peeves would be fake fucking smiles. I hate seeing every one of your MySpace pictures with those same seemingly forced smiles. I can see it in your eyes. I can see how tense your face is. I know how straining it is for you. STOP. It makes me cringe and knots my stomach into the worst tangles I've felt. It's just so... irritating. I mean, show some other emotion. Ugh. I just hate MySpace. I do have one, and I hate that I do. It's the only way I know to communicate with most people I know. Facebook doesn't have many friends, Xanga is dead, etc. As a person, I have the need to socialize. I hate MySpace because you can be so judging of a person by every little detail they put into it. Then everyone turns their profile into something they're not. Why can't we all just be ourselves for once? Is it pressure? Insecurity? ...Anything? I think that if we all stopped caring about what the entire world thinks, then we can each truly be ourselves. Amen.

Edit//
I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going with my life. I turn 18 in 18 days. I'm not ready for anything. I feel like I've already failed at my life entirely. I have no sense of direction whatsoever. I'm an utter failure at everything I do/everything I attempt/desire to do.