Untitled

She was sitting in her car. It’s kind of beat up now after drunkenly trying to maneuver her way into the garage overly served one night. That old Elvis Costello song blaring out of already abused speakers. “I want you…the thought of him undressing you, or you undressing”. There’s a runner on her Camel as she stares straight ahead, lifelessly at the red light on 38th and Lamar. Her eyes are watering. Watering? Or tearing? She’s not sure. Everything is still. Everything is out of control. She loves this song. Sad songs…always the best. She fantasizes about the car racing toward her ramming into the front of hers. Shakes her head a few times to remove herself from this bitter real thought. She doesn't want to leave just yet.

It’s 5:15am on Friday morning. She stands naked in the bathroom looking at her reflection. She doesn’t hate it. She really doesn’t. Well, maybe a little from the rear view, but with a little back lighting you never see all the imperfection on her skin. She takes a deep, long breath and steps on the scale. God dammit. Start eating! This is ridiculous. Just MAKE yourself freaking eat. 3 lbs in one week. And not because she’s trying.

A break. One tiny week with nothing to think about. Warmth. Love. Realizations of a good kind. Nothingness. Nothingness of the good kind.

Smiles. She’s all smiles and charm. People love her. Well, most people. “How can you say you’re so sad? You laugh a lot?” And “are you trying to fucking piss me off by not eating?!?!” Yeah…she is. She loves the fact that she doesn’t enjoy food anymore. It’s fantastic. Really.

She is sad. Nothing is good enough. Nothing works out.

God, just say what you fucking want to say. She can’t. She’s too afraid. Afraid of loss. Afraid of love. Afraid of life. Stop being so afraid. Stop. Just stop.

Fuck Life

I have so much I want to say. But unfortunately none of it can be said in a public blog. I feel like talking in lyrics. Living a 'sad sad song tuned to chords'. The ones I always like the best. Holding on to a string of life through 'Radio Cures'. 'Cheer up, honey, I hope you can'. I'm both honey and narrator in this song. I'm not apologizing for being a little musically obsessive.

I don't want to go home. I hate home. That place is toxic.

I hate the chemistry in my brain. I hate this unquenchable hope.

I took my last two Advil PM's. I slept till 1pm. I love to sleep.

I am so jacked up. Sometimes I wonder if I like feeling jacked up. I dunno. I really liked the feelings early this morning...and that wasn't a jacked up feeling. But. Feelings are terribly deceitful. And at the end of the day...they mean very little. At least that's what I'm supposed to believe.

I'm just....lost. Disoriented. Alone. Again. As much of a loner as I can be...I don't want to be alone. I'm tired of it. As it is...I'm just fucking tired. I'm so tired. I can feel it in my skin.