black tipped nails, 2 bottles, and the money happiness equation

itll be short.

today. what is there to say about today besides the fact that im sleep deprived?
well im out early for one. maybe the night wont have to be so draining with the prospect of an evening before hand. i worked my ass off these past few weeks. nothing but work. getting out and mindlessly remembering every call. getting out and into the arms of midnight. oy.
today was lovely though. made it somehow worth it.
-manicure
-coffee pot
-good cigarettes not made by hopi indians.
-clothes from target
-rum
-friends at work with their excitement/defensive words/generosity.
-rent paid
-art supplies
-money to spare

whoever said that money has no value and that it makes man empty and cold, well sweethearts, im happy as shit right now. that may sound completely horrible and vain, but im fucking sorry if im tired of trying to act humble at every outing and having thank and thank and thank for everything charity-like i have to endure throughout the last grueling week of being broke. the whole thing gets to me in a way. how weird people get over money. im sure it has to do with the big poverty is rampant thing or something but fuck. its just nice to say here you go have this or hey i need this ill get it or to have some new colors to wear or to have new nails to click impatiently. its just nice. i feel accomplished.
so yay me.

that last paragraph was horrible of me to write as the "self proclaimed down to earth whatever" but fuck it. its my fucking blog. ill do as i please here.

i need to see 300 again. soon.
i need to see about a car soon.
i need to dance to the strokes soon. prefferably at a painful volume and with no audience but my reflection.

ive had some very good compnay this past week or so. hopefully i wont be the end of them with the insomnia and bipolar thinking.

'gravity plays favorites i know it cause i saw... honest to god officer its awful.....
down at work im getting to familiar with the floor...trading in my talents by the mouthful......'

the last blog was a little rough for some people. im sorry for the worry of the semantics, but i found it very entertaining. the goings on of certain people have been irking me and i found it necessary to mind vomit about it. i may have gotten a few lashings but they were worth the sarcasm i was playing at and the anger it caused in return. heh.



this is really all ive got for now. later though, once drunk. i may return to the lowly myspace blog scene.

maybe with something interesting yea?

we'll see.

early release, miss wanda franklin, and hot dog skin

i typed furiously and i may have fucked up. i dont care.
theres no easy way to start any type of writing.
[topic bingo and whatnot]
[b3?]
whatever. i got this call today. yes i get many calls, and yes i feel the absurd urge to talk about them. fuck you if you dont want to hear about my boring telephone work. anyway. shes rifling through her purse, this 80 year old woman, cursing like a sailor trying to find her "cunt" of a credit card. i sat there, drawing, waiting for her to finally come back on and say "ok honey, you there, heres the fucking card number" as i finished up her reservation she went into this story of her younger years, and the casinos and the pot and the men. she told me that men are basically "retarded dicks" and never find a "nigga that holds you down for money". she then went into full detail her exploits and runs against the young men of her time. how she would sashay and dupe, get the money and run without so much as a fuck to sate the desires the boys thought they were paying for. i just listened, my labor efficiency forgotten my troubles forgotten. miss wanda franklin had my full attention. she told me that life is too short to do anything but fuck live or die. she told me not to be without money. "go out and get yourself that goddamn money" she told me to be happy. and to excuse her language. her mother didnt bring up no fool and she didnt teach her any manners either. and as i told that beautiful southern accent goodbye i almost felt a sense of loss. in the whole thirty minute of the call, i was so in it. so lost in the imagery. and wishing to be one hell of an old broad like that. good stuff. day to day is nothing if you have the tiny strands of malevolent stranger memory sessions in between.
have you ever notice that hot dogs can be peeled? just sayin.
[sweet transition stephanie]
we had a client in today at work. i was made an example of. i walk in and sit down, only to be immediatly asked "for a moment of my time, please log into 1764". word of cigarette talks outside and my poor sense of female dress code were brought up. i stared at the woman wearing the lime fucking green skirt suit walking by and in my head i was puking all over it, while at the same time trying to stabilize my dizzy eyes. [that part was embellished to create interest in the subject matter] i almost laughed, but seeing how i need this money i just looked shameful instead. told them i was sorry and yes im sure it is offensive to wear a guiness shirt to work when people wear whatver the fuck they want to all the fucking time around here. and yes i should respect myself more than to wear an alchohol shirt. ok sign this? ok im out. fuck fuck fuck FUCK. i was pissed. but thats ok. im no snitch. [thats not how i roll, mutha] i can deal with the oocasional corporate ball licking. neah.
other than the weird mixed emotions im getting from the newest additions to the ball o' life that is me. im pretty on top of it. friday is payday. steph day. money box is my god day. sushi day. coffee day. and many people will be in my house [hopefully] for me to charm and walk amongst. maybe a little buffy too.
what else could a girl ask for but some crucial answers to questions that are better unasked?

who knows.

sorry mister

but it looks like i made you take me to work just to have me come right back home. ive set up my easel in the back room. ive downloaded a few songs. ive got 6 cigarettes left. ive got a can of cold ravioli. im fucking set to have a fucking day.
its all ive got right now. thom yorke and a fucking dead brain. its all ive got to work with at this lovely moment in time. here in this back room. with its filtered light and shitty fan. im blogging now but in a minute im gona fucking dive headfirst into some pastel dust and maybe try a new take on my art. havent done a collage in a while. havent done very much of anything in a while. my thoughts walk like the lame when i just come from cubicle land, though, and i feel my fingers already, lost in their own lack of practice.
god. there is alot pushing back there. in that happy space behind the eyes. so much to say, and no where to start.
i want it all to come out right fucking now!
[instant gratification for 1, table for 2, please]
i hear voices behind doors, i feel the explanations evading, heres me misinformed.
fuck.
this is too much for me to think about. too much to fret over. drama and all its fucked glory can suck a cock today. im going to draw and dance to the strokes/the new young pony club/against me!.

i think it only fitting that i be happy today. i want to be.

lets see what i can create.

the unholy evil of the human frustration.

somehwere someone is waking up, rolling over, taking a look at the person next to them and thinking.... fuck. this person has been in my bed for ten years. this person has screwed up my coffee every morning for ten years. this person fucks the paperboy. this person drinks too much. this person. i chose this person. i think i just may kill her/him. after the blood is washed away from panelled walls and the body safely discarded, once the suicide note is written and the police have left cold footprints everywhere along with cigarette butts and breathy jokes on the tasteless art on the walls someone else will move into that place, with the person they chose. they will go to bed and kiss them goodnight. for the first ten and three quarter years. until the chills come and the anger rises.
something is wrong here.
[my short stories kind of suck]
but whatev.
maybe its just my lack of belief in the institution known as love/marriage. maybe its the conversation i just had with a friend about the failure of the chase. maybe it was the fact that im the bright eyed bushy tailed idiot standing in traffic when it comes to this kind of stuff. whatever it is, im feeling a little jet laggy at catching up to all the newfangled ideas and realizations that everyone but me is having. fuck people youve got it all worked into a nice little powerpoint presentation of "real life" matters. who the fuck knows. dont worry folks its just me again with stephanie-ism. its just. when all you find anywhere is wall after wall. when all you do is turn into the same bar that was right in front of you before. when all you feel is the eyes of strangers at your back and never really hear the words that mean the most. when sleepy mumblings kill you. when your friends tell you exactly "how you think" when everyone has you all figured the fuck out. what the hell is there left to do or say? living used to be just that. my kingdom for some late seventies revolutionary thinking here. gold pieces for someone who hasnt been scorned or turned to ash. it baffles me when people pass things off as "just what they thought would happen". im forever confused with humans.
the things that come to you when the time clicks over to 2:47 am.
and here i am.
where else would i be?
i could think of many things to say here. some funny. some sad. some romantic. i have several ideas waiting to be shot down on what i want to be doing right now.
i could......
not finish that
i could.......
stop feeling like this.
i could....
take everyones word. but fuck that. it wouldnt be very fun now would it.
i could.........
just let them have their power point essay.
i was always more for swiping on paint or pinning seams. never one for business or striped suits.
whenever i get here, in the lovely land of stephanie- thought whore/senseless ranter the little things have everything.

i find myself thinking of the anger i saw today. how confused and misplaced my own became. i could never understand it when someone gets angry over the want of the other to offer care. but then again hello miss naive 2007 here. with my compassion and lusts, romance and anime eyes. harumph. heres me trying to play concerned friend but losing the oscar to someone with bigger tits and a straighter sense of humor. maybe i need to open my mouth for other things. may get me stronger liqour and a different more beneficial kind of respect. fuck that. what the hell ami supposed to do? if everyone could write it up when a freindship starts and put it in black and white i would be fucking thrilled. that way i wont be getting the snap when i ask things, wont get the door slammings and the sighs, that way i wont have to be the fucking asshole in my blog later on that night, and that fucking way i wont have to be so goddamn frustrated. hey. im just fucking saying.

what a night.

at least today started off very nice. if it wasnt for that i may have been a little bitter. hah.

my fingers itch

they never stop moving.
they never touch appropriately.
they go places you cant imagine.
they leave me behind most of the time.
they can be bought.
their quite gullible you see.
they can tell you to fuck off.
they can hurt me.


do i enjoy this that much? or do i just have nothing better to do. maybe the last one eh? all i know is that right now im all examples and points. im sitting here waiting for my father. hes late once again. times like these. i tell ya. times like these just makes me want to play this keyboard for all the life and effort she has in her. makes me just want to keep it going until i can stop and feel that slight pain in my mower arms and stiff fingers. just to go back over everything and edit. just to feel like somewhere someone will read this and maybe have some sort of opinion if not some sort of pity. hrm. maybe too much to expect or too much to put into something as inanimate as an online journal. it doesnt matter to me. your not the one typing here, your not the one grinding her teeth in absence of a cigarette. your just the reader, this is effortless for you.
arg.

dear _____.
your a real ______. sometimes i just want to ______ you until the _______ cracks a little and the ___________ falls over in a huge __________. ____________is never going to _________ until _______ realizes thats ___________. im gonna __________ to try to _____ the workings of the _____________.


friends dont waste wine when theres words to sell.

scrabble, eggs, and the unexpected squeal and splash

tonight i got out of the house for a few hours. rode with a strange boy from work. scrabble at dennys. strange conversations about eggs and the fact that no, no they werent going to be baby chicks, after all they were unfertilized. jaunty waitresses and decaff [ugh].
i couldnt stop thinking about the conversation i had had with this boy, ian, i met last night. about other countries and mainly the way compassion/freedom/humanity is failing/taking liberties in some places of our world. not so much in the stupid we're gonna burn our bras way but in the selfish/take everyone for everything/every man for his fucking self kind of way. the whole time i was thinking why dont they do something... why do people let themselves become this way.
[these clawing angry animals of society or lack thereof]
and somewhere something whispered back well sweetheart, that just shows how naive you really are. get on the political trainwreck. its the cool thing. maybe i am naive. i sound like a femenist vegan punk. enough of this.
[revolucion?]
we went to a park afterwards. a place i never even knew existed. a lake, a pier, the ground so dark and soft. ive been inside for far too long. go to work, come home, go to sleep, wake up, everyday seeing the same walls and feeling the same distrust at all the same expression of all the same people. going through the motions as it were. and at that moment i found myself face to face with the sound of water and endless sky... cold air and the occasional animal chatter. it was absolutely what i needed after feeling so .. well.. inanimate. i stood out on that slight peninsula of earth and leaning trees, skin confused by the chill combined with strange ever present texas humidity, i stood there. i never wanted to leave. i just started thinking- in that second everything came. every thing fell. work was gone. the whistle of every ignorant thing i heard today was gone. for a moment i wasnt anything.
[the stars hid, and i waited]
and i felt....
i felt very alone.
its just that at that moment i would have killed to have someone there. fleeting touches and slight intakes of breath. a connection. but even internet conections seem to fail nowadays eh? and bloggin about being horny is so much more interesting than bloggin about the proverbial "romance". ask tila tequila.
still.
tonight was me and nature. and we had it out right there on that tiny stretch of land peircing the water. we had a talk. we had a moment. we knew that we both were pretty much forgotten in the great big scheme of things. we both tried to lean on each others shoulders and only left bruises. we came away from the whole thing in the same place. and im sure shes as lost as i am right now. except she can always make pretty flowers to cheer herself up in the spring.

me.... i just have to worry about getting to work.


fantastic.

fake nails tapping, i start my day complaining

and i did them myself. hah!
waking up. i hate it. wont lie. i fucking hate it. i get in the warm fuzzy comfort of a good position or the thrill of a colorful dream and my alarm starts screaming for me to pay attention! real life beckons! oy. because oh its fantastic to drag up and into the bathroom to find that your hair wants to wrestle and the water is taking forever to heat up. lets hear it for mornings people. [more like early afternoons for me but oh well]
on sleeping, i could not sleep for shit last night. i stayed here. on teh myspace. lurking as some would say. ive never lurked. thought i would try it. wasnt so bad. did feel the need for a stiff drink and a shower afterwards but otherwise ok. the results werent as good as the experience itself though. i tried to find interesting people and came away from 35 pages of people with one old high school friend and maybe two other people who even piqued interest at all. maybe im being selective but if i see one more pit bull or girls ass i may just do away with the whole myspace thing again. just sayin.
my mind has been on my show lately. ive been drawing out alot of stuff out but now am caught wondering if i will be able to do this on my own. my designs are getting couture kinda interesting, and that means more details, less seams and tricky constructiuon. trouble is i dont anybody who sews spare my lovely mexicana tias who were born with the ability. they have such busy lives. and i cant see myself doing all those high necks and long sleeves alone. shaky ground ahead. and probably alot of nights to come with me at the machine, cursing my passion. but we all knew that was coming. stephanie plans to do something and its getting bumpy, pssh, normal stuff child. no worries. we shall see how this folds out.


now excuse me while i go and do that hair wrestling thing i mentioned earlier.

nothing to read here

FUCK.

a nice list.
by me.


.i am.

-not good at abandoning my friends. ask the ones i have now. just dont ask the ones in the grey area. they may say im selfish, blind and lacking short term memory.
-not an asshole. despite what my mother says every time i see her. despite mixed views on people, i can be very patient.
-a fucking hard worker. to get where i plan to be. where im going to be. i have to be.
-deserving of only so much. and ok with this.
-sick. sick sick. fucking sick. sick of the human condition. sick of the anachronisms and alllll the fucking wayward thinking.
-pissed the fuck off while doing ballet type evasive maneuvers around eggshells and sensitive types. fuck you. deal with shit. ask henry rollins. hell tell you to buck the fuck up and get on the fix your shit boat.
-laughing at the last line. funy stuff. [and yes i am ego-much hardcore, if you were wondering] heh.
-almost ready to get rid of the myspace. [but my cult following would be crushed]
-missing the fucking ocean.
-suddenly wondering if i am a monster.
-worn out. carrying needle and thread everywhere. safety pins and super glue. never getting the chance to use them much. people like broken things it seems. this frustrates me beyond any type of repair item i have. lucky me.
-in need. i am.
-wondering how many times ive contradicted myself in the past, and how many people have blogged like this about me.
-finished here.

here again

the stephanie always feels most at ease when shes type type typing away at her lovely blog screen. she always feels most uncomfortable when at work, locked in a box, saying too many ma'ams and thank yous to people who dont give a shit. ahhh the telephone business type work. gotta love. so why complain.

wheres my burrito?!

ah there.

now. lets talk people. ive been drawing. alot. designing. some new things from the brain trash pile that is my creativity. ive had this thing come to me, er, motivation as it were, and im quite settled here in its lovely warmth. time to sew. time to make it all real. and now i have the resources. excellent. i just hope i have what it taks to make it in the wacky world o' fashion design. some points: ive come to realize that fashion is dying. people are creating things that are made to be ugly, "thus beautiful". it doesnt work for me. why cant people just run with new ideas and not destroy the old ones in the name of some random form of art? bah. frumpy bag like coats and a-lines mix with the color purple and im sick to my stomach of it. i cant follow that.
great my burrito just expelled its guts on my jeans. i got carried away.
another thing. most of fashion is recieved byt the public with the name in the front, actual clothes in the rear. my name is boooring. what to do here? i cant be some eccentric old woman with electric blue hair, wearing her pearls with everything, cigarette at the ready with a name like stephanie barron. geez. more on this later.
i dont know. my mind is flying. the lines are pouring from my pen and my fingers are twitching to hold pins and latex. im excited.
[you know you could change the world by opening your legs? well it isnt very hard, try kicking them instead.]
sigh.
ive been burned out by the way. just like they said. it happened. but im ok now. with the money and whatnot coming this friday im sure ill forget every minute i said how many adults in a fucking second. but goddamn im tired. and people at work are starting to blur together and people outside are starting to get fed up and im just there hearing beeps and waking up late. its worth it. right?
whatev.
oooh arent i trendy.
you know you think of alot of things when your forced to be stationary for more than 8 hours a day, without friends or liquor. you think about the things that have happened to you. the way the last cigarette you had tasted like shit. the time back in elementary when that boy tried to jump the fence and gashed his hand open instead. things. you know? you try to write but it all sounds the same. you figure youll be able to rememeber it when you come home but you cant, you just blog about thoughts instead. hmm. bastard.
oye.
today was of no use. i came in on a conversation about boys town, talked to a girl who scares me for the simple fact that im in lust with her, made a few of those paper thingys you use to make in middle school with the colors and the numbers and the messages inside, and succeeded in skinning my fingers with my teeth.
the girl is one of the ones ive recruited to wear my creations for the shoot. shes interesting and gorgeous. black hair and skinny pants. the whole bit. she bummed a cigarette and i fell into panic mode. no wonder people dont talk to me. i get all sighy and i look at my feet alot. its not that i want her. its just that shes a tier above me you see. the kind who goes to parties and even if she doesnt it wont matter. i mean i go to parties, but ususally because i butt in and ask where its at. god. what the hell was the point. ah yes. well anyway. im debating on whether or not its time to branch out and get to know people. i do i mean i really do, but not in the way thats anything meaningful, i mean, goddamnit its so fucking frusterating, what the hell im all awkward here. fuck. i just dont fucking fit in you know? people group naturally. and im a floater. i fly by and say hello, all pleasant waves and smiles, but i usually dont hang around long. maybe its all self sabatoge. probably. fuck it. i give up i dont know what to do with the past 30 lines. bah!

now i feel like erasing all the junk i just wrote. feelin a little pathetic here. heh.

moving on.

.......


and i used to be so interesting.

fuck your daylight savings time

it didnt save me shit.

i was late to work today.

babel, me crying AGAIN, and day 4 headache coverage.

little bugs are skittering over my skin. thats the only explanation i have for this rising-arm-hair-troublesome-feeling. last night i cried the shit out of myself. and realized several things. yes ladies and gents its that time again.
i realized:
-i am very lonely. and although, yea sure, some of it is that depressive "i just want something" kind of lonely, but its also that " i dont seem to connect with anyone/anything" kind of lonely. bah.
-i am very tired.
-i have very few friends. somehow this matters little when they mean so much.
-babel was a pretty fucking boring movie. even the beaver flashing asian who happened to be deaf and dumb couldnt save it. brad pitt is a hot old man though, ill give him that.
-i need to work. i need to keep busy. its all i can do right now besides wait.

people have to know how petty and ridiculous things are dont they? they just seem so attached to the junk thats floating in orbit around them.
im disgusted at everything lately. even me. thats going to rreeeaaallly hurt me in the end. am i the condescending one? am i the asshole? fuck.
come on there mister. my inner woman is angry and she wants some fucking answers. shes sitting at the desk pencil at the ready back straight and brain empty in anticipation. fucking feed her.

[oy remember the pony in a tutu analogy]

sometimes i feel like im nothing more than theatrics. all this for the show. all the walks out on the stage and all the bows. is it in any way fulfilling? well .... fuck no but it sure is fun.

theres lunch again. another day. same old kind. im fighting the sweet call of nicotine. shes lusting after me bad. goddamnit. it would be so easy you see. to walk out hold out my hand ask for my addiction back.
[please ma'am i was a fool to think i could overcome.......]
why the hell did i wirite that just now. doesnt matter anyway, duane came out and we went out and has a fucking cigarette.

good for us.


day 4 coverage of headache stephanie: there is no news. the fuckers gone.

how does that work?

ah well fuck it.

this was written at work. on the boringest day of my life.

hee.

.................................................

im in a bad mood. cynical and being slightly stalked by the throbbing pain of a persistant headache. three days, eh dear? well throb away. im a strong one. ill fight ya. i just realized how much i take feeling ok for granted. this'll do it to me i guess. i repeat. fuck it. i might be thinking too much here. too many minutes between calls and too many old haunts to re-explore. i feel the black slipping from me to everyone else. ugh, do you see how easy it is to slip into bad goth poetry writing? ive been working hard here people. in the plastic over sized toy that is my life. with its dull edges and child safe colors. but the years have been hard, and the faded tired look it has now has me worried. its at the point where nicks and missing crucial pieces are becoming a bit problematic. maybe time to replace? i almost like the familiar roughness the plastic has taken on, and the fact that i know every inch of it, but would i rather have the inexplicable joy of something new to feel up and wander around? [i felted her up good har har, aaahhh text twist] you always love the old things you have lying around. their aesthetic value and whatnot. but the pressure to evolve and fix has me ... well ... pressured. hah. its inevitable that one day i take the old girl in and get a new reformed version, one with all the provervial bells and whistles. [sad that im talking about my whole life like its a fisher price just my size kitchen.] ay. balls to the way of the world. she'll do for now. so just stop it stephanie. things are too temporary now a days. but we know better dont we. hmm.
the system at work is down right now. everywhere in the US people are sobbing and getting all chaotic from their inability to book a fucking hotel room so they can come and get drunk, come and gamble, come and leave the kids at home to stumble up to the formentioned room to fuck like they used to back in high school. unabashed and worry free, lighter pockets and a tingle in their heads. i guess in a way i can understand. i made it sound real fun just now. inside i laugh cause im bitter. outside i write this cause im bored.
so enjoy gentle readers. [heh]
but really a downed system or "temporary system upgrade", whichever you prefer, isnt so bad. you can pretend your cubicle is a fort and that the people around you are on fire. kinda like what im doing right now.
my dream last night was so strange. i cant possibly fit it all here so in light of my baddish list-y mood, some points:
-the new stars wars movie, with me behind the man, behind the scenes, behind the wheel.
-us frantically trying to ste up a shoot. a borrowed mansion and testy parents are our obstacles and a dusty parlor smell everywhere.
-hay and dirt all over, and me the useless girl with a broom.
-the feast. the horrible colors of the food and the bones coming out of the meat like reaching arms, with their cartilage fireworks at the end. me biting one and finally seeing the maggott inching toward me, as i gag and freak i see the colors of it change to brilliant blue and watch as spikes grow fom its body.
-him. walking me through the park. us laughing. me feeling the air and smelling his cologne. flashes of sex, long long cloves and the final kiss before i woke up.

what the hell eh? where do these things come from. every REM session i remember. something. your not supposed to. your supposed to wake up like the people in the commercial and stretch and run out of bed to meet the world halfway. right. i guess their why i have bags under my eyes and a sick sense of humor. my dreams you know.

[please no food items and no non-spillproof containers on the floor]
[technically thats a step one]

oh the zombie mind fucking horror. i cant wait to get home and "start my day".
i think i may be waning on this job. maybe i need uber hours to boost my morale. yep. thats what it is. i need less me time and more money makin time. w00t.

[headset button - login button - id# - auto in]
[do it damn you]

bad mood are you still there? what good are you to me? why are you here? how will you be helping me through my day whern your so busy biting at me and scratching the chalkboard ive hidden in the attic in my mind. i didnt know you go up there. curious bastard.

sometimes i just dont know about me. i seem to be a lost cause one moment, and the next the smiling face among millions following the same facade/dream/pounding brainwash. hopeful and stupid. thats me sometimes. sometimes.

speaking of which.

sometimes:
-i find myself alone. and i can hardly bear it.
-i agree to stay at work two extra hours. and instantly regret it.
-i think about sex too much. [meh its not THAT bad i guess]
-i have so many ideas but when faced with a blank page i imitate it rather than fill it.
-i wish i had an everlasting cigarette [like the gobstopper]. and that it was stitched to my lips.
-i want it to rain for real.
-i want someone to ask me if i ve ever been in a mud fight.
-i wish i was in florida. on that beach. during red tide. with a trashbag.
-i wish i had an image to ride.

i wonder why i blog so much. is it because i never really feel safe just talking?
[or that i have no faith in my words]

shhh. ive got my head phones on. im wily like that. when are we going to be free? no calls now but stragglers unprepared for the bad news.

i am going to buuuurn out everyone says. my confidence is fucking flying.

yes its long. but you read it didnt you.

hmm.

the sick mind, fun at work, and failed poetry

its something like laying pennies on the railroad tracks behind your high school. just before you follow the older kids down and smoke your first cigarette [well not really your just kind of puffing] but the smoke if fragrant and they laugh deep within the aqauducts at your efforts. feet wet. wlls painted. calling you in. its something like that when the memory is buried but not covered. accesible at all times. in the roledex of your mind. a random flip will always bring you back to the dank smell and breath on your back. you always forget that theres not much holding that little slip in. holes. but youll never pull it out anyway. so just go on. sit alone at the restaurant shine your eyes at the bar. your roledex is flipping again and the hair of the woman in front of you is moving ever so slightly. shes licking her glass and making eyes- and all you see is grafitti behind her. the cold chill of vodka and a trigger. some days you wake up and feel the covers, tangled at your legs, see the outline of your body on your bed and wonder why the strange position. rest is only for the delusional after all. you just cant forget. here and now your only wires. what is this. a world of mouths and her begging you to stop. hide it well. the roledex keeps flipping.

cold showers

Writing is such a fucking process. And heres the fucking deal. I can't do it. When it comes to stacking the words just right or clicking slot A into slot B- I'm just no good. Stories?! Hah! Me and stories could have a child if I fucked authors and had coffee with literature professors while reading. I've been sitting here writing for two days and everything I've done is now gone. Like the easiest thing to do to kill my pain was right click a few times and let the white screen have its moment again. Aaaah.

It's Saturday and what have we done people? Coming on to 4:30 now and what? You're sitting here at your computer blogging?! [scoffs] well it's a way of life I suppose. It's something. I guess in the end I don't give a shit. I will never be one to wake up early, I will never be one to have a list of things to do, and even if I did my list would be wrong in a few ways I think. I like sleeping anyway, and my chaotic logic isn't so bad at times either.

The water heater keeps going out. This makes me not so happy, as you can imagine. We cant figure out what the hell is wrong with it. Maybe today ill find the number and call the guy over and dump ice cold water on his head then tell him where the water heater is. Hmm. I think I'll skip one of those steps.

I had a strange dream last night. Read closely. I'm only going to give you one part. And it's a very interesting one.

-theres a room at the top of the tower attached to the school. Can you see it from here? i walk through the halls, I can barely see. The windows have been painted over. I spiral up stairs and push through a door. Such a small room. Round with a single corner. There's a large bed taking up most of the room and on it are three people. Two boys. One girl. They stare at me over filthy sheets and laugh under their breath. The walls are dingy and boarded in places. All around are animal cages. I spot a bright plastic, tall rectangular cage and walk over to it. Its filled with mice. Some are dead, some are sick and some are healthy. there are three levels to the cage. I look into the top level and see a group of fat mice huddled together outside of their wooden home. They look cold so I put a sock next to them and they run in and go to sleep. I move to the second level and look in. there is one single living mouse in here, she looks old and frail and she's struggling to keep warm, huddled up next to the skeleton of a dead mouse. She's a pretty gray color. I put a sock into the cage where she is and she limps inside. Looking back at the skeleton. The bottom level is the weirdest. I look in and don't see much. But I do see scattered bodies in varying shades of decomposition all around the ground. Skeletons, shriveled leathery bodies and soft sweet smelling gently rotting mice. As I put a sock in a whole bunch of naked baby mice come running out of the house pilling everywhere and going into the sock. The mother comes out after, a warm cream color and follows. I look around the room and see a square shelf high up in the corner. I decide right then that that's where I will put the cage, so that they will be safe. As I think this and image tears through my brain. Two steel cages coming together with rats inside. As the cages touch the rats start spilling into each others cages. Intertwining and tumbling together, like some sick dance or embrace. I shake my head and its gone.

After that one I had a dream of the Philippines. Im not going to go into it. But I will say:

-that was one of the most beautiful oceans I have ever seen and such a green color.

-The hole I fell into full of religious trinkets covered in gold was making me claustrophobic. Tiny little clay men and phantom candle light.

-The backyard…I had almost forgotten how it looked when the rain was sheeting like that.

-And the phone telling me it was collect from Hong Kong to Japan. Please be aware of policy 22.

I need to eat.

And turn the water heater back on.

thats what i get

this is my last blog of the day swear.
not that you mind.
youre here arent you?

i tried to do something helpful today and failed. im very i dont know, sad? about this. people ask me why i always ask for help with things. they say do things for yourself stephanie. you can your an a-dult now missy. good for you. now go on.
sigh. ive never been one to listen.
[i wonder if he was just having a really good dream.]
bah.
there was woman in dennys tonight. she was fucking talking and talking. jeezus. i know everything about her alchoholic sister, her fucked up nephew and the fact that she paid an unholy price for them to fly down for her grandfathers funeral or SOME shit. ah well some people you know and so on.
i didnt get to see dawnelle today. this makes me feel tired and weary. shes like my little battery charger, and im the sick little double A in the fridge desperately hanging on after years of use.
[just cause you feel it doesnt mean its there.]
[i must keep reminding myself of this i must]
oops mixed my lyrics. shame shame.
haha.
im supposed to go see people tonight. but im going to stay in. im sorry everyone. im not in a very social mood. im in a dark room mood. a cigarette mood. a nothing much mood. dont take it personally folks, its just. well its just. i seem to hate going outside and contact today.
[there there]
what the hell? where is all this coming from. i need to write a short story soon, i have several ideas. most of them could pan into something good. maybe ill start work on that tonight. or maybe tomorrow. im off tomorrow. yea. then.

look for it.

take the money and run

i roll out of bed onto a cold tile floor into an arguement with one of my best friends. happens. dont feel bad. we fight all the time.
now i have idioteque blaring and my hair is sticking straight up, hes in the living room waiting and im purposefully taking my time.
we're spiteful little beasties, people.
i have to go get ready i suppose.

[i laugh until my head comes off]
[swallow until i burst]

blue glittery eyes, the question, and male insecurity.

dont be confused by the title, they usually dont mean much.
last night i found myself here again. trying not to constantly write. i wanted to. i yearned to. to get it out let it flow let it come out and through and through and through. but you see its taboo to write more than two blogs a night. or i dont know isnt it? ay. i was here in front of this lovely screen staring and wondering where all these friends i have are. i talk to people. i mean i read their voices more than anything but the lack of physicality in most of my friendships is getting to me. i see maybe two people. most days its just the one. maybe its the car thing. maybe its the time thing. maybe its my hangup thing. i sat here. typed. searched. watched. and listened to trent tell me that i dont need anybody but him.
[kinda believed him, he has a way, is all]
who knows.
tomorrow is the start of a pretty nice little weekend. paid bills. sushi with the missus, the old man and the rican. pet supplies. clothes. when did i turn into something stable and happy? here it is. in front of me and its all i can do not to cringe and step back, so used to being in the hole, so used to being the same old shit. me. a new sound in my parents voices. is this really all i had to do? get 40 hours? get the time of day? get home at ten tired and useful? interesting. take notes children.
a man made me cry at work today. i waited till i got outside then i let the tears come. he was such an asshole. [what you dont undertsand me? dont you speak english stupid?] my shaking hands pressing keys and trying to get this fucker a room, him not hearing me or letting me finish my sentences. fuck that.
i dont know why i let them get to me. but i guess even with all i know and realize ill never escape the current all the little fishies are fighting in todays society. i just better watch out for the bear with the sharp eyes down river.
[see the "friends" paragraph]
i got hit in the leg today with something blue and vibrating.
funny stuff.
stories that people tell other people are so very .. i dont know. weird. not in a bad way. theres just so few words to put how i feel into them. its just funny. stories. and how much thought and emotion and power people give them. they let them define the way they are. but i mean arent you who you are- now? what happened to that person? and you know. when it comes to stories a line from chuck gets me. when people speak. the other person waits. for their turn to speak. you see it the way they pick their nails and start right in when they sense a comma in your sentences. makes you wonder what the hell the point is. of telling stories, you know. another unfinished thought.
you can only say things so many times.
come now, keep reading.
[i just have to say it. im fucking EXCITED about the new NIN album. god]
duane is rocking the chair while i type this. mother fucker. im gonna go kick him in the butt.
i failed.
ay good moods! love it!
people watching is fun. even when your sitting across a table from them. protective eyelashes and the the way they lean down while their on their cellphones as if to hide their conversations. nice. all the while little sparrows play in the dust around our caged tree and titter about.

ive been here long enough.