conversations with ghosts.
i'm not sure you always appreciated the little things i tried to do to be sexy. i think that maybe you were just happy to have me there, naked, in your bed. and maybe you didn't notice the little things. or didn't realize how i was trying. i didn't need to try. you didn't need me to try. i was always good enough. just on my own. so maybe the reality is... sometimes i didn't try.

never tell the one you love
that you do
save it for the deathbed
- the nationals

i'm tangled in lace. drowning in the sink. its strange how the most stressful and pressing times... only motivate me to go out to the bar.

let's make a list of bad ideas
- stuffing your face with thanksgiving food when its not even your thanksgiving
- saying yes to that 3rd piece of pie
- saying yes to everyone who offers to refill your wine glass
- realizing that it is 7 pm and you are trashed
- coming home and trying to sleep it off because you have a paper to write tonight
- promising you will go out when you wake up from your nap
- waking up groggy as hell and being unsure of state of sobriety
- yet, still thinking about going out later
- blogging instead of paper writing

hello angel.
school is almost over. i can kind of taste it. if i ignore the bitterness that my last 3 papers leave in my mouth. all i really want to do is get dressed up all purdy and go dancing or something. i know its one in the afternoon. but so what. my internal clock has no grounding anymore. nothing makes sense and my eyes are all red. someone motivate me please.

yesterday jeanette and i went lingerie shopping. i love pretty things. im just clearly not smooth enough to pull them off usually... without feeling dorky at least. like i could never pull the ol' "just let me slip into something more comfortable"... but believe me, one day i will do it. and die of laughter. and i want the boy to be laughing too. but at the same time be dying to get in my pants. lol. this is why i am so particular with boys. because i am a goof and i am serious. i am deep and i am shallow. i want to be sexy but usually i will feel better in a tshirt and some boyshort undies. and i want someone to understand everything the same way that i do. to understand me. but be different enough to keep me interested. but i can wait. meanwhile, i will just have to wear my new lacy camisole secretly under my clothes... so only i will know it. and prance around my room in it just for me. and hey, its a nice camisole... so i'll deal. lol.

let's have some fun with random ideas
martha stewart - i am going to tell my children stories about her to scare them at night. around the campfire. she is the perfect horror story. i cant wait.

jesus - i am convinced he is in tokyo. some might say mexico. but i am absolutely sure that its tokyo. in a karaoke bar. in the corner. laughing. then flying around over all the lights and inbetween the skyscrapers. riding ontop of buses. somehow my jesus is turning into spiderman. all stealth and such. who knew.

lindsay lohan - i think i would like to be her for a day. SO I COULD KILL MYSELF. but really... i think, despite my hatred for pretty people that are "triple threats" (o gawd that phrase makes me want to blow chunks), ms lohan does seem to be living the life right now.

mom - she always told me to take off my make-up before bed. i think it was her one beauty tip. i prefer to sleep with my make-up on. and look at the pretty art it makes on my pillow the next morning.

coffee - my new best friend. lattes are the bitches of the coffee world. they are so bitch. i buy one every now and then. and i act a little more snooty. its fun. try it. i highly recommend it.

rest in my arms. sleep in my bed.
sometimes i think that my menstrual blood gives me extra clarity in life. it always seems like the day that i start bleeding, sometimes even the actual moment i feel blood trickling into my panties... i get this revelation. this instant of clarity. where everything falls into place and makes sense. like somehow my body and mind connect and my future and my past align themselves. all making a very warm and inviting picture. like vermeer.

anyways. tonight it happened while i was sitting outside on the porch. i watched as the rain started to fall on the sidewalk. i had to do a double take because at first it just looked like the sidewalk was sparkling. then i figured out it was the rain. but i tried to go back and convince myself that i was right the first time. it was sparkling. i thought about school and about life. and i decided that i am going to stop putting pressure on myself. and i've thought this before. but this time, i believed it. it made sense. i am here for experiences and a degree. i do not need to be at the top of my class to get either of those things. this is not the rest of my life. my life is the rest of my life. i was so content that i went inside and sat in the bath for an hour. soaking it up.

and the countdowns begin
- 5 more papers
- 2 more weeks of class
- 3 exams
- 1 month until the semester is over
- X amount of money to survive

i dont think i have ever craved a warm bed as much as i did last night at 4am in the corner all night coffee shop.

fade into you
so i drink coffee to stay awake. and then i decide that i am done working for the night, but i am too hyped up on muddy, muddy coffee that i can barely control my fingers on this keyboard. so what will i do... drink bailey's. i am feeling like those pill poppers. balancing uppers and downers just to feel normal. coffee... bailey's... awake... asleep... bodies just need buttons. maybe under an armpit or something. yes... yes. the button under the right armpit makes you stay awake. whenever you need to stay awake... just press the button. and under the left armpit? you guessed it. a sleep button. how easy life would be then. how easy. you know what else would be nice? a boat. and an ocean. to sail on. mmmmmm. and maybe a nice balmy breeze. that would be nice.

it's just a ride
to all of us: who are stressing. who are doubting. who are lost. who need to be reminded every second of every day for the next couple of weeks... that this. this is all... just a ride. go on, listen to this song. trust me.
love, me.

it’s too much to take
don’t like to feel out of control
so we make our plans
ten times a day
and when they don’t go
our way we

breakdown
yeah we breakdown
well don’t you breakdown
listen to me
because

it’s just a ride, it’s just a ride
no need to run, no need to hide
it’ll take you round and round
sometimes you’re up
sometimes you’re down
it’s just a ride, it’s just a ride
don’t be scared
don’t hide your eyes
it may feel so real inside
but don’t forget it’s just a ride
- jem, "just a ride"

everybodys swimming in the water
the potential answers to these questions scare me.

1. do i really need to be in love in order to feel motivated?
2. can i not feel good about myself unless someone is constantly there telling me how amazing i am?
3. does this "someone" always have to be male?

my stupid tricks
im waiting for the grocery delivery so i can eat some lunch before my study date with myself. well, i guess you could say its my essay writing date with shakespeare and milton... two foxy old men. i am a lucky broad.

ps. i am quitting being weak. that is all.

and it was gone and that was that

it was gone

and that was that.

and we left the piano in the truck
i am thinking about you. i know you're not thinking about me. i want someone else to think about. you didnt mean anything. i guess thats why its easy to think about you.

i want to be a marla. but i will forever be someone else. someone not half as cool. someone more real. reality. a marla in real life would face a lot more ridicule and mocking. in movies she's cool... but in real life, she just wouldnt have the same lighting. the right scenes. it would never work. trust me.

its all about the right scenes. im missing them. do they exist? the scenes i want to act in? i doubt it. and you tried to play the part... on the day that broke your heart

you oughtta know by now

that was so real.
i met a boy tonight that gets turned on by andrea dworkin's writing. it was... nice.

simple things
i had one of those flashbacks last night. one of the ones i expected to have a couple of months ago. the ones i was terrified of not being able to get away from. but the imprints you left just didnt appear everywhere like i thought they would. at least not like last night.

i was washing the dishes... it was late... jeanette and stephen were in the living room trying to finish risk, the game that never ends. i dont really remember being too deep in thought. just focusing on the repetitive motions of scrubbing and rinsing... more soap... scrub. rinse. and thats when i felt a shadow over my shoulder. like someone was coming to encircle me in their arms. it was warm and nice and familiar. and it was you. i turned around, knowing that there was no way you were there. i put my head down and kept scrubbing... wondering why you came.

it’s funny how some things do remain

there's a whole in my crotch
so im starting to wonder. every pair of american eagle jeans i buy... inevitably get a hole in the crotch after about a year and a half of intense wear. is it me? or is it the brand? its sad because these are the only brand/style of jeans that i genuinely love. how do i love thee... let me count the ways:

1. they are ridiculously comfy
2. they are the perfect length (the long size, at least)... so i can dry them in the dryer and even after the shrinkage, they still wont be too short
3. they make my ass look spiffy... and they keep it in the pants when i sit down (why buy jeans you cant sit in?)
3. and the added bonus... they constantly get more and more comfy with each wash

they are everything i look for in a jean. but i am starting to lose faith. always crotch holes. not even "hip" knee or ass holes. always crotch. do i sit weird or something? is my crotch extra wide? i just dont get it. and because of where it is/the dynamics of the crotch hole... it is almost impossible to make a patch-up job work/look good. BAH. im doomed to get crotch draft for the rest of my life. damn montreal air. damn crotch.

ps. jeans are so rock'n'roll. come on. think of one thing more rock'n'roll. and drugs dont count. neither do groupies. nope. not that either. just jeans.

i never expect to learn something from a quiz
so i took some stupid quiz that told me i was an indie girl. i think it was only because i answered that i could quote the velvet underground. and that i like boys that can play the guitar... which, in my defense, i only chose because the other options were shite. but moving along... this is an exerpt from what it said i was all about...

"Indie Girls consider themselves actresses in the movie of life. Your meal needs to be constructed like an independent film. If you're bringing her over for a date, you are playing a character in her movie. If you create a setting, props, and a soundtrack that are good enough to avoid the cutting-room floor, she's yours."

and as i was reading it... i realized how right it was. and how sad it sounded. i dont want someone to love... i want someone to fill the roll in my life movie. i just want a quirky character to make a guest appearance for a little while. someone to make my movie more interesting.

i am incredibly selfish.

roseability
and my existential dilemma right now... what's the point. ok, but seriously. here i am studying oppression. lets face it. women's studies is the study of oppression. its my window that is opening me up to all the oppression that is going on everywhere. not just to women. to everyone and everything. and its damn depressing. and im thinking that maybe i dont want to delve into this. maybe i want to live my life without constantly being reminded of all the oppression. cant we just forget about it? by continually pointing it out... are we actually doing any good? cant it just be possible to decide to live in my own world... where there is no oppression. wouldnt i be happier? what am i actually going to do about the situation anyways. i almost feel like it would be more pro-active to just decide that i am not going to live oppressed. and maybe stop thinking about the world in these depressing terms. i feel like lots of people do it. im not making sense. but what im trying to say is on the tip of my tongue. i feel it. its in everyone's eyes when i tell them what im studying. its in everyones eyes when i try to convince them of all the badness. its everyone trying to avoid it. and its rubbing off. i dont want to have to feel like i should be opening everyone's eyes. like i have this higher conscience. because i dont. and im becoming someone who thinks she does. and i hate it. i dont. i dont. im no better. i want to close my eyes. i dont want to be angry with everything.

i dont.

you've got off with too much now
you're getting off with too much now
stop looking through scrapbooks and photograph albums
because i know
they don't teach you what you don't already know
you've always been
dissatisfied.

i dont know if i could drive a car
fast enough to get to where you are

the bird that you can't see
i am waking up before my alarm. not because i'm well-rested... but because i'm stressed. i'm making lists of my days. i check them off. i complete one task, move to the next... i smile inbetween sometimes. but only quickly. i drink coffee. i stare at the calendar. wondering how i will finish everything. i stare at my incomplete painting. wondering if i will every finish that. my ta for women's studies has made me doubt my writing skills. so much so that I find myself paralyzed when I am trying to start that paper. nothing is good enough for her. i wonder if its really ever been good enough for anyone. i don't think i can write the paper she wants me to. i can't write her paper. i can only write mine. but i don't think she's going to be happy with it. is she too demanding, or am i just not good enough? this is the line i am wrestling on.

when you wake up feeling old.
i dreamt that some strange girl thought i was thirty. she would not let me convince her otherwise. she didn't believe i was twenty. so i looked in the mirror in my dream. and i smooshed my face around... trying to figure out if i really looked thirty. i wasn't convinced.

halloween was loverly. and now november is on me like a fat lion out of his cave. he's a little lazy and he's weighing me down. november is a nice word. i think november will be good. stressful... but good. i just need to keep the focus. and not lose myself.

ps. i am scared for the election.