Several things:

I wish there was a place to post poetry and short shorts online, but I fear not getting published, or getting plagarized.

I am in quite a pickle.

Also, I wish you had told me. And I'm gonna get it out of you one way or another. Because as of right now, it looks like you were lying. And I don't stand for lying.

032. Get a library card.

Tooooday. Today, I procrastinated on a lot of stuff and I woke up late because I fell asleep late and (yeah I'm gonna run-on sentence this suckah) I didn't do any of my paper or even think about it and I didn't study so I didn't remember when Nintendo was founded and I drove at night and that weird flashy thing happened again where I thought a red light camera was catching me even though I wasn't running a red light, but it's just my tear film being bad (that's what the doctor said, he said, "oh that is bad") and I went to the grocery store to get my schedule and bought Greg a box of chocolates because people only ever go visit him to get their paystubs, so I bought him chocolate, but I couldn't just buy him chocolate, so I bought conditioner and Aquaphor, and my birthday champagne (which is really sparkling wine, but it's imported from Italy, FROM ITALY), and I really don't know why I'm writing all this, but it's happier than last night and I'm putting off going back to my paper that's due tomorrow, but really today in around 14 hours.

And tomorrow I have to work. Ew.

Tonight turned into a crying night.

But it's okay.

Because now I know.

And with knowing, I can move past it.


Ps. I know you never found this blog because you didn't care enough, but here's your secret message. You're not getting your mixtape. You're not getting me. You're not getting anymore of my time. Congrats. The friendship. That's gonna take time to heal. And work on your part. But I wish you luck.

Haven't felt much like laughing lately anyway.

That could change.



I know what you're doing and I hope that's not what you're doing.


My brain is a mess. My heart is a mess.

Ups and downs.


I want to write something again. Not these meaningless things I jot in my phone at 3am, or when something strikes me while driving.

I just found a suicide poem I wrote in the early hours of the morning.
It's striking. And heart breaking. And I don't remember writing it.



Most days I feel beautiful and happy.

Some days I feel like staying in bed.
Forcing tears.
Any reaction.

Today was a good day.

Explain to me why now that my heart has finally slowed, it feels so strange. Swollen, achey, jumpy, and heavy.

I've been having lots of thoughts lately. I've been writing them down in different places. I need to put them all in one place. I don't know if this is the place. I don't know if there is a place.

I'm unhappy, but I'm working on it.

Haven't been sleeping well. And I wasn't thinking. But maybe drinking half a bottle of moet and then taking a klonipin wasn't the best idea.

Night.