| (no subject) |
[Jul. 24th, 2006|01:59 am] |
| [ | *drama queen?* |
| | Frustrated. Pt. II | ] |
| [ | \m/ white noise \m/ |
| | Cake- Jolene | ] |
Well, Jolene unlocked the thick breezeway door like she'd done one hundred times before. Jolene smoothed her dark hair in the mirror; she folded the towel carefully and put it back in place.
Everything is way to routine. I'm still in Florida, which both sucks and kicks ass for multiple reasons on each side. It sucks because here I am. Period. I wanted a normal summer, I wanted to party and work and make money and go to Six Flags and concerts and enjoy being seventeen. This is the summer before senior year. This is so called one of the best years of my life. This is being wasted and will never come again. Sucks. However, if kicks ass because I am both with and meeting each day good people. I adore A. Slater, Zu, Roxanne, Alpha Golf (even if he did turn out to be an asshole), my Father, (both) Sara(s). I like partying with adults as opposed to Marengo parties. (I prefer Muppet and Spoon time, though.) I like getting away from the bullshit webs I've made with the boys in Illinois. Kicks ass.
I miss Mom. Sucks.
I love my Dad. Kicks ass.
It keeps going back and forth and I'm getting sick of it.
I know exactly (kinda) what I want. Buuut, I'm scared, and don't know how to get there.
It's 2:00 ey-em.
I have no plans to sleep.
My creativity has been dead to fall lately. It's sucked. I can't write and I don't understand why. I've tried. I don't want to puch something nonexistant, though. I don't want to push too hard and wind up with shit.
I love Cake. The band, dumbass. John McCrea is absolutely amazing. Excuse me while I go have his babies.
G'Night.
<3 |
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| I added the italics. Cool, huh? |
[Jul. 2nd, 2006|05:21 pm] |
Month One
Mommy,
I am only 8 inches long
but I have all my organs.
I love the sound of your voice.
Every time I hear it
I wave my arms and legs.
The sound of your heart beat
is my favorite lullaby.
At one month, the fetus is the size of a raspberry (NOT 8 inches long), and the only organ that is "fully developed" is the heart. Arms and legs aren't fully formed yet, so no waving is happening. There is no evidence that thinking is possible. And, it is impossible for the fetus to survive outside the womb.
Month Two
Mommy,
today I learned how to suck my thumb.
If you could see me
you could definitely tell that I am a baby.
I'm not big enough to survive outside my home though.
It is so nice and warm in here.
Now the fetus is about the size of a kidney bean. Thumb sucking is impossible considering that the arms, let alone hands and fingers, aren't fully developed.
Month Three
You know what Mommy,
I'm a boy!!
I hope that makes you happy.
I always want you to be happy.
I don't like it when you cry.
You sound so sad.
It makes me sad too
and I cry with you even though
you can't hear me.
How is crying possible if the eyes, tear ducts included, aren't fully formed until six months? At this point, the lime size, transparent fetus barely looks human. Also, gender is determined at conception.
Month Four
Mommy,
my hair is starting to grow.
It is very short and fine
but I will have a lot of it.
I spend a lot of my time exercising.
I can turn my head and curl my fingers and toes
and stretch my arms and legs.
I am becoming quite good at it too.
Bullllshit. Anyway, fetus still can't survive outside the womb, and if kicking occasionally means exersising, then I suppose this month is fairly accurate.
Month Five
You went to the doctor today.
Mommy, he lied to you.
He said that I'm not a baby.
I am a baby Mommy, your baby.
I think and feel.
Mommy, what's abortion?
Think? Maybe. Evidence suggests that the rapid linking of neurons could mean the ability to think. Unfortunately for this pile of dribble, that doesn't happen until six or seven months. Which means, more factual inaccuracies! Surprise, surprise.
Month Six
I can hear that doctor again.
I don't like him.
He seems cold and heartless.
Something is intruding my home.
The doctor called it a needle.
Mommy what is it? It burns!
Please make him stop!
I can't get away from it!
Mommy! HELP me!
Most D&C's (the "needle" abortions) are performed wayyy before six months. Generally, between 7 weeks and four months. The fetus, lacking the ability to think and process pain would not likely be able to come up with a soliloquy this heart wrenching.
Month Seven
Mommy,
I am okay.
I am in Jesus's arms.
He is holding me.
He told me about abortion.
Why didn't you want me Mommy?
Christianity believes in original sin. That unless baptized and forgiven a soul goes straight to hell. Sooo, actually, this fetus would not be in Jesus' arms, rather, it would be in hell enduring a life of fire and brimstone. Nice try at a happy ending, though.
Every Abortion Is Just . . .
one more heart that was stopped.
two more eyes that will never see.
two more hands that will never touch.
two more legs that will never run.
one more mouth that will never speak.
OR
Every Abortion Is Just . . .
a woman's right to choose.
another crack baby saved from a horrible life.
the prevention of pain and suffering for both mother and child.
the end of a rape or case of incest.
Repost if you hate being force fed lies, inaccuracies, and more and more Christian Pro-Life Bullshit. Keep you rosaries of my ovaries, and keep abortion an individual choice! |
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| Teen angst served daily. |
[Jun. 18th, 2006|03:48 am] |
| [ | *drama queen?* |
| | Tired. Horny. Pissed. Angsty. | ] |
| [ | \m/ white noise \m/ |
| | Desaparecidos and Bush. Mellow Mix. | ] |
I go up and up but don't ever reach the top.
And when you're standing on top of the world you watch it all fall away anyway.
And my equilibrium is completely fucked.
And everything is wrong.
And I have absolutely no control.
And I hate feeling powerless.
And I miss my job.
And I miss things being okay.
And I fucking hate relapses of any sort.
And I hate the fact that I keep regressing, keep sliding back.
It's like I've never made progress anywhere.
And it's all come full circle.
And there are only about three (3) things left to do.
And I need to set my shit in order before I can move on.
And Ocean Eyes will never come save me- so much for believing in phantoms.
And I'm drowning, drowning... falling... faster.
God, I need it faster.
And Jesus Christ, I just want to know what's going on.
And someone get me the fuck away from this.
And someone throw me a fucking rope.
(God, I'm an emo child.)
Just a bill you pay, a contract you can't break.
And I know I need to save myself.
But its not easy when I'm powerless to start.
A lifetime chalked up to being out of control.
A lifetime chalked up to failure.
I need the fuck out.
I need a new start.
I need some reason to keep doing this shit... or to stop.
I need... to stop bitching.
Things are going to fast, and my thoughts are ping-ponging, and I don't know what my point is here. And, no, this isn't about a male. At least, now immediately. There are a few who by third or fourth division have something to do with the equation, but the heart of the matter is not about a guy.
And everything is fucked up, that's not an exageration. I honestly don't know where I'll be in a week. It's 3:30am and this is not where I want to be right now. I mean, yes here in this house. But mentally, this isn't the state I would've predicted for myself a month ago. And the worst part, of all of this, is I knew it was coming. A few months ago-ish, I posted something about how trouble was coming and I was headed for a fall. I didn't think I'd run head first off of a fucking cliff, for Christ sakes, though.
Annnd, I don't see a way out. The ultimatum is always Florida. The rules to stay are fluid, though, and keep changing everyday. And even when I am really fucking trying to make things work, I fuck 'em up.
Some new realizations:
1) Obviously, I shouldn't have run off. However, it's not like I left for months and called from halfway across the country. I was unheard of for three days. I was a) figuring shit out and b) didn't have computer access, and limited phone access. Annnyway, I didn't call anyone. I did call a few days later. And, I came home. Which was a fucking problem. The emails told me to fucking come home. But that was a problem, numero uno. Apparently I should have asked. Well, she asked me to come home.
2) I am seriously trying to follow the rules. When Wanny came over last week, it was a problem. I didn't do anything for a week then. I asked to have Mark over, but that's another fucking problem. Because I needed some moral support on my side for once, and didn't want another drunken kitchen pow-wow. And God fucking forbid I express anything. Because it ended in another fucking fight.
3) I didn't go out tonight because I didn't get the curfew I wanted. That was cool. What wasn't cool was the realization of everything I'm missing out on because I don't have a job and a means to make money. It pisses me off. I wanted some time alone, but FUCK THAT. LET'S HAVE ANOTHER FUCKING FIGHT!
... I don't want that. Despite accusations that I live for the "spotlight" and the "negative attention" that's not what I fucking want. I want a few fucking hours to clean my room, to organize things and to gather my thoughts. I want time the fuck alone. I am not the one starting shit. When I get called down three (3) or four (4) times a night, that isn't my fucking fault.
I've been back for almost two weeks and my room still isn't clean. Just the chaos of that is enough to drive me fucking insane. Add to it all the other bullshit, and it's enough to make prostituting myself for a place to sleep look excellent. I wouldn't make a good prostitute, though, despite other accusations, I'm wayyy to picky. Not the point, but a fun digression.
Apparently I'm going to Florida. Fine, -because you know sending a kid across the country to finish her senior year in another high school, if that even happens, has never fucked them up.- (Note the use of sarcasm, ie "-" "-".)
Whatthefuckever.
I need both a bottle of vodka and a bottle of Vicodin.
Haha, just kidding. I would never kill myself, I need to stay and piss people off and be an ungrateful bitch. Apparently it's what I do best.
I do, however, need some sleep. I need to be back in the ring bright and early.
<3 |
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| An Open Letter to Ocean Eyes. |
[May. 1st, 2006|10:47 pm] |
| [ | *drama queen?* |
| | Optimistic. | ] |
| [ | \m/ white noise \m/ |
| | Seven Mary Three | ] |
Ocean Eyes,
I miss you. Whoever you are, whatever you are. I can't completely place you, probably because you are a composite of the too many I have loved, but I miss you.
I wish you were here to smile with me, kiss me and laugh with me about the state things are in. Ocean Eyes, if you read this, and feel it is you I am addressing, then come see me. Come smile with me, kiss me and laugh with me about the state of things. You would have had the foresight to see this all coming, but you weren't here. I took the reigns and have messed it all up. Not irrevocably, just made many an inconvenience that I don't have the tolerance for. Ocean Eyes, please understand where I'm coming from.
Ocean Eyes, I am going to bed soon. Tomorrow is a new day for me to fuck it all up. Tomorrow is another day for me to skip school (or not), to sleep around (or not), to get another ticket (or not), to quit smoking (or not), to pour my heart out to someone else who isn't you (or not). Tomorrow is another day to fuck it all up (or not).
I don't want to leave in the morning, but I have to. I don't want to let go, say goodbye, or accept the truth. I will however, wind up doing all of the above. There are somethings I cannot stand to let go. So, Ocean Eyes, smoke another cigarette with me and listen a few more minutes until this little girl says it's bedtime. (I am almost out of cigarettes.)
Ocean Eyes, I admire you for many things. I already mentioned your foresight, which will keep me out of trouble. I admire your height, your thinness, your perfect smile, and, above all, your Ocean Eyes. But that's just physical. If we're talking physical, I could also accredit the way you kiss, the way you touch and the way you breathe. I could tell the world about how perfect your back looks when you sit up in bed to think and I stay, lying down and curled up, to tired and worn down to move. It's not just physical, though...
I like the way you think everything out, weigh all options and then proceed. You lack the impulsiveness that completes my own personality. You're careful, but not predictable. You're cautious, but never boring. Often you take the less traveled road, but somehow, it always turns out to be the right decision. You live in a state of contradictions that fascinates me.
You amuse me endlessly, with your stories, good humor and ability to just let me take the mile resulting in the original foot. You let me wander, but always reel me back in, holding me close. You wordlessly mark your territory for all to see. You're possessive in an underhanded sort of way that never annoys me, and leaves me feeling safe.
You yourself don't wander. You refuse to. Not because of me, and the fact that I can't handle it, but because you have no interest in doing so. You chased your fair share of tail back in the day, but now you're content being mine. You have a complete lack of objections to my own claims on you; though mine are not as underhanded and quiet as your own.
Ocean Eyes, I adore you. I do not think I love you, not yet, maybe not ever. I do adore you, though, which is stronger than love. Love is cheap, overrated, and so breakable. Adoration is something different. It blends love and fascination and many other emotions I don't know how to express. Ocean Eyes, you are not one of the Spring String, and not one of the many I am juggling right now. You are simply my Ocean Eyes.
Jump with me?
<3 |
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