| After I was Dumb 2005-11-25 02:06:50 ET |
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Because no holiday is REALLY a holiday unless there's some serious illness involved.
On the other hand, we managed to miss the ER tonight, because I am stubborn.
Almost died (again, so we can be laissez-faire about it, it's not really special anymore), but got better. Would have much rather been turned into a newt, particularly if it's Claw's newt, who is adorable and gets to swim and uproot plants all day. Fire-bellies are also apparently inherently "goth" due to coloring, so yes.
The lack of clothing is another big draw.
Death, on the other hand, has none of these, save perhaps gothiness, and clothing tends to be required. Also embalming, which does not look comfortable, but is still preferable to mummification in terms of "Eww" factor with the whole internal organs dealie. Because yes, the Egyptians either took your brain out your nose and THEN left you to rot in the sun for 3 days, or vice versa. Can't remember the order, either way it's a bit unappetizing.
(Mmmm...mummies.)
In other news, I have chemical burn on my lips and inside my mouth, which will hopefully quiet down by tomorrow, and my throat feels like I went through a pack of cloves in less than an hour, which is oog. But I get to see my boy this weekend, because he's fantabulous, and I am far gone on benadryl, so sleep will be easy.
And the holiday is OVER. Finally.
On To Christmas! ....T_T
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| Obligatory Holiday Saccharine...before I Was Dumb. 2005-11-25 02:06:21 ET |
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So this is the place where my list of "thankful fors" goes. I think this list dates back to kindergarten for all of us, and those goddamn little hand-tracing turkeys with the construction paper feathers that we all did to accompany said list. It's one little part of the collective psyche that was supposed to make us feel better about our lot in life by reducing things to the basics, and we all dutifully churned them out. Many of us still do.
Thus, to fulfill the sense of propriety instilled in me by Mrs. Kaufmann and to avoid having to sit in the little weird box by which we were all punished at that age:
Things I am Thankful For:
1. Happy family, drama filled and insane though they were (if you saw the webcam, you understand.)
2. Beautiful friends, whom I love dearly and who put up with SOOOO much from me. Up to and including nurturing my insecure self with my phone phobia and my incapability to figure out what to do in relationships.
3. My beautiful, challenging, massively confusing and intense boyfriend. Whom I love. And yes, TWO MONTHS...FUCK YOU, BITCHES. I win.
4. The strength I have had so far to be here. I need more, but this is a start. so yeah.
5. NEW COMPUTERRRRRRR....ALSO: TEH WoWz. Weep for me, tho I give thanks.
Back to family, revelry and friends go I.
But first: daily dose of pessimism.
-holidays alone suck, especially in the face of people in loving relationships.
-idiots who don't understand the "he can't come" sentence and persist in asking SUCK. All you do is make me feel worse. Thanx. IF I CAN UNDERSTAND HIS REASONS, YOU SHOULD TOO. Or not care. or whatever.
-Watching my father be sad and being unable to fix it: also sucks.
-Being drooled on by my brother in front of a webcam purely so he can torture me and amuse himself: I need a new word. Synonym for "sucks"? On the other hand, I'd have done the same...so not HORRIBLY critical. ^ ^
That is all.
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| So: Things I Hate (A Gawth Rant) 2005-11-23 11:16:14 ET |
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1. People who change their names on sites because they found something "kewler" than 2goth4u. Choose one. Stick with it. Live with the shame of your lack of creativity.
2. The U.S. Postal service.
3. Fuckin' USMC mothafuckas who want me to enlist still. Somehow THEIR mail gets here, while my PVC corset is nowhere to be seen, goddamit. And please allow me to elucidate: ONE WEEKEND A MONTH MY ~*ASS*~. If you join the Corps and don't realize there's a war on, you deserve it, but really...
4. Ricers. This is a whiny thing, because my neighborhood is full of them, and they all choose Civics and dear sweet god there was one Cavalier that needed to be shot to put it out of its 6" wheel misery...but today was the worst. This brings us to:
5. ANYONE WHO WOULD PUT A FLOWMASTER SUPER 40 ON A FUCKING FORD F-250.I mean, really, what the hell. So now it sounds like it has a hemi with a deep-seated phlegm problem, and pulls like a VW Bug because the 2-chamber does NOT have the airflow for a freakin' pickup truck, having been really made to handle some of the better stuff on...i don't know...a MUSTANG?!?!
Seriously. People. Hemi and a glasspack. If your truck goes down my street and I think "damn, pretty truck, too bad it's got an inline six imbalan-WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT FOLGERS CAN ON THE TAILPIPE" we have a problem.
I want my pickup, dammit, so I can show you dumbasses how it works. Also: the rusty Mustang WILL be mine. Oh yes. It will be mine.
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| What if I sit in vain? 2005-11-19 01:53:36 ET |
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Tonight is just melancholy, and since this is the page I whine on, here we go.
I miss my mother. It's the holidays, and everywhere is Christmas crap, commercialized and bastardized, and all I can think of is that she's not going to be here this Christmas, or any Christmas, ever again. Never again will I watch her haul out of bed at 6am to laugh at us as we try to pry the stupid cats away from the tree. Never again will she help me stuff stockings, or wrap gifts.
I'm on her computer, trying to find out why it's so damn slow, and I decide to search the downloads.
"Finale_MyWill.zip"
Fuck.
I open it, not knowing what to expect, and find myself laughing in relief when I see it's an Inuyasha video for the closing theme. I'm laughing, laughing so hard that I don't have to read her will, to see that somehow she knew she was dying.
I laughed till I cried.
I can't stop crying.
I'm forcing myself to be alone, here. I'm refusing help for the good of the people I love.
I'm refusing help for the sake of never being dependent on anyone's guidance again...because she left me, when I needed her the most, and I'm lost without my mother, my best friend, and all her guidance.
So I don't need help. Really. I don't.
I just have to ignore the empty feeling in my chest, and I'll be fine.
I can do this.
I can do this.
Right?
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| Eh, what the fuck 2005-11-16 19:40:15 ET |
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So rather than go to class today, I went to see Jarhead, which was fantabular, and managed to somehow get sick during the movie due to eating chocolate and a bosc pear.
I do not know how this worked. My tummy hates me.
To add insult to injury, after seeing off the amazing and illustrious D-Bag, who convinced me to ditch, I went to Clarke's on Belmont, and ate chicken-tacos.
Needless to say, I have been trying to remove my guts via my mouth for the rest of the evening, particularly after a quasi-fight with the guy I love, which I still don't understand. Unfortunately, after he stormed off because I told him I was hurt in a not-nice manner, I realized that I couldn't stand up due to being too damn nauseous. Couldn't yell for him, either, without throwing up, which made me feel entirely powerless and incredibly scared, because I was sitting in a back alley trying not to empty myself into the snow.
After like 2 minutes, a security gent asked me to leave, worrying that I was drunk, and I managed to try to walk to the train to find my angel-boy...he'd already left. Damn.
So, yes. Walked in spurts to the nearest warm place I could and called the only ex I know who lives in the area and could get me somewhere safe, which was the Slayer boy, whom I don't like much, but who was kind enough to take me to his house, let me throw up until I was done, cleaned me up, and drove me home, much to my dad's surprise and curiosity.
This is how dad found out I skipped class, and everything else spilled out too, and he wants to know where angel-boy was, and I said "On the train home." This turned out to be a mistake.
Fuck.
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