but kid it's always still me...

Being home all this time has made me realize that you're never doing anybody any favors by staying someplace you are not happy. I don't know why I'm letting all these people tell me I won't be okay, because all anyone can ever be is okay. Right?
The only thing to do is be independent? People measure their worth in money and it's something I'm still not used to. My sister got her paychecks today and said i'm soo...good. Is this what makes you good? I don't know. I'm clearly lacking.

It's january, and usually I take this time to look back on the year before me and write up my regrets or my achievements and I don't think I have many of either. I screwed up a few things, I did okay in school. I realized over and over that I had to leave, I just had nowhere to go.

The New Pornographers' cd Challengers is amazing. It's one of those cds that I am in love with the first four songs and can't stop listening to them long enough to hear the rest of the cd, though from my preliminary examination they seemed equally delicious.

because it was snowing, and they were bored

I want to throw this paper out, and curl up in a ball, and watch bad t.v. with my roommates. What do people talk about anymore? I cannot seem to remember. I wish they would talk about feeling strange and lonely, but they mostly talk about bad t.v. A suitable substitute, i think. There is only a week left in the semester, and by week I mean three days of finals for me, and then I am going home. I am half filled with excitement and half with dread. This paper is killing me slowly with a hundred tiny paper cuts.
I feel like I'm in a very large office. It's really just a big room on the second floor of the gsu. just hear this and then I'll go. Once a boy sang this song to me, when I was a senior in high school. I'd broken his heart, and he couldn't stop playing it over. And I just didn't care.
It's not that I didn't care. It's that I couldn't. I think. My heart is filling up with snow.
This is a nice place I've landed in, I just don't know why I could never bring myself to stay.

i was there for you when you were lonely, i was there when you were bad

I was there when you were sad.... This morning I woke up at 8 a.m. to write my paper. By ten I needed to take a nap, so I did, and now it's 1130 and I'm trying to understand why it is that I always make things difficult for myself. I think i'm mildly addicted to a drug, which worries me kind of to a large extent, but at the same time all I am thinking about is passing school and getting away away away from here, so it's like the life I'm making here doesn't even matter. I think it's healthy to be ready to build something up and then give it all away, I just can't bring myself to build it properly since the thing I'm building is only going away to people who absolutely don't care. I'd like for this to make sense to at least one person, just one person, and that would mean the world to me.

I'd like to see you but really I should stay away
And let you settle down, I've got no claims to your crown
I was the boss of you
And I loved you, you know I loved you...it's all over now...

And I was there for you when you were lonely
I was there when you were bad,
I was there when you were sad.
Now it's my time of need
I'm thinking, do I have to plead to get you by my side?


I'm going to make a list of good ideas and write them down as I go along, because it seems to me that I never have them when I'm supposed to.

your teeth are white stones in a river bed

Don't sit down and have lunch with strangers, or near-strangers, when you're feeling blue. Just don't do it. This will only exacerbate your sadnesses, make them seem out of hand, so that your blues will seem so blue there is nothing you can do about it.
I woke up and I was looking for you. I was looking for you all day and there was nothing I could find that seemed even remotely like you. But I'm blue so what can you do? Wait for it to pass.
Sitting near acquaintances whom I wish were my friends makes these blues worse. I thought...we could...and then? Nothing. There is no you and I, there is not an us as in friendship. It's all pieces that once were there and no longer fit and I might just leave because of it.

we're kings among runaways...

This is where I was when I listened to this song:
in the rain, in barcelona, as seen from a bus at forty miles an hour on too little sleep and too little coffee. We were homeless, and it was always you and I, huddled in door frames and waiting at the bus stops for someone to pick us up. How is it so easy for me to imagine us as children? Why do I dream you, as I know you, through the phone? As if telephone wires, as if internet photos will ever make up for a real person.
So, how do I miss you?
I couldn't really tell you how. It's like there are no words. Our brains have taken over, taken to each other, and convinced us into love like it's air or like it's water. It's strange, really, to think that this toxic mix of chemistry and convincing evidence could really make for a strong relationship. And yet...and yet... I have to believe that it has. I don't know what else to make of this, then, if it weren't for you, and your face, and everything that I could say I love you about without feeling the slightest hesitation or anxiety about what would come next. Weird.

if i could be sweet

Kailee and I are going for a walk. This isn't significant. This happens almost every day. but I'm trying to walk the line between daily writings and things that make sense and mean something to me, and it's kind of hard place to fit between. This week has felt like a century. Partly because of feeling alone, partly because of living under siege, partly because uninterrupted anger for three weeks is bound to get someone down eventually. I lose my anger very quickly, and my memory is so short. This has enabled my survival and yet also hinders my productivity for the future. Please, I'll never tell you why you're wrong. There are so many reasons. I don't think I have it in me to change people, that's not my job, and has never been.
There's just a feeling in my stomach that things still aren't right here, maybe this is mostly because I miss sophie, or maybe this is just me being unable to speak up yet again. I don't know. I wouldn't publish this post, except it's been over half the month without a word from me, and i thought maybe this blog was getting lonely.

since you've been gone

I haven't worn my ring in two days. It's not like I am married, it's not like this ring means anything to anyone but me. But i was looking for it so many times, i kept going to pull it off to flip it around and turn it over, and I couldn't.
I keep thinking about becoming a teacher. I don't know if this is me, chickening out, signing off from the world of things that make no sense to me or if this is really what I want to do. I'd like to go someplace small, with a few close friends maybe, in the woods in the middle of nowhere and be able to figure it out.

For now, though, i am waiting. I am waiting for the right thing to jump at me and scream for me to notice it.
I am vaguely sure this is not the way to go about doing things.

People can stand outside all they want, looking in, telling me what's wrong. That's not going to do a thing to change me.

Our apartment is approximately seventy five degrees and sunny all day and night long. You think i might welcome this in the early winter months of boston. It's awful. I fall asleep lightly, uncomfortably, sweating with chills from the freezing breeze of my window. I hardly sleep, I have crazy dreams, too much is happening and I am always anxious. I don't know if this is just me, missing deadlines, failing at all sides of every equation or if I am just reacting to the heat. It must be...

I just finished reading Margaret Atwood's The Tent. I am not sure if it was academically well received or even noticed by any community other than the one inside my head, but it sounded a lot like something written close to my heart. Kyle asked me to read to him from my journal, and I refused. I think it's strange that nobody keeps journals. Why is that? How do people go for so long without keeping documents of their daily inquiries? All of my favorite journals have been chronicle books. They did give me a dud once, for which I wholly blame the journal.Though my grandmother died at the beginning of last year, and I am vaguely sure she is responsible for the many strange events that occurred thereafter.
Here is a list of the number of things I lost this year:
a room key
a student id
about six assorted socks from different pairs, creating about six pairs of unsightly un-matching socks
a digital camera
some lofty air-headed goals
my best friend, for a while
my roommates
concentration, sight, vision, direction

Or maybe this is all just the city, this black wormhole of a city. I still think it was the ghost of my dead grandmother, and I'm somehow sure this is all a strange sort of retribution.

Today I watched the boys next door clean their t.v. Well it was one boy. He was very avid about it. Neat lines.

Do you see what this city is doing to me? But where else is there to go? College is the one choice you get with no strings attached. And now it's all me, and there are a million strings, and I can't even open my eyes to decide.