emptychalice

My beloved brother of the rave, Benny is coming to see me today I think. It's a pity these things couldn't happen under more favorable circumstances. Yesterday I was supposed to call him and he never answered, only to return my call hours later whispering incoherently. I later found out (about an hour ago actually) that he was paranoid that the cops were tapping his phone, and so he wouldn't really send me text messages longer than three or four words, and nothing that made any kind of sense whatsoever.

A mysterious benefactor called me earlier.
Benny rented a car and he's coming to see me.
He broke his phone.
The benefactor pleaded with me to dissuade him from coming.
I don't know if I can get a hold of him to convince him not to.
Fuck I want to see him though...

Peace and Joy.

I love being overwhelmed with my own love life. I like it to be overly complicated with WAY too many main characters like a really bad Lifetime movie, or Pirates of the Caribbean.

Adrian is awesome in a macho way, Sean is clingy but devoted, Nick is the most amazing bar of chocolate I've ever devoured, Derek is easy to manipulate but gorgeous, JoHo is that old flame I would love to respark and I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do about this Jake character... Meh.. We'll get to him...

Actually, all of this STARTED as being a distraction from Johann. Then it was retaliation from Sean forcing me into a box. It quickly turned into nothing more than a game until I went to Ogden and spent a weekend with Nick. It would seem that I've now gone full circle searching for distractions (JoHo among them, ironically.)

Aside from that brief stint of considering to marry Adrian, I'm really not taking any of this seriously. Meh. I'm young. Fight me.

Today was long. The entire thing was sharply punctuated by extremely annoying facts.

Fact: I got home at 2am.
Fact: I woke up at 7 to pick mom up from the auto body place.
Fact: After taking a shower, doing my hair, and putting on makeup, daddy calls to say HE'LL be picking her up.
Fact: After going back to bed, daddy wakes me up every half hour to ask me retarded questions.

Given that I didn't kill anyone after my rough morning, I was actually pretty proud of myself, and put on the stilts to go play in the yard. Daddy insisted I walk back and forth on a slack line he's set up, however, I didn't pay $400 to pace in the yard. I ditched, and picked up Berlyn. We went to Tautphaus and ran around the park a few times.

Fact: I was fucking exhausted.
Fact: I had two brownies, and candy.
Fact: I feel like a complete failure.
Fact: Those are some heavy mother fuckers, and my ass hurts like hell.

Last night was some of the best sex I've had in a very long time. (Actually, also some of the only sex I've had in a long time... I've only gotten laid three times since new years... Boo... -though I acknowledge that I'm a slut, I'm not upset about it. I don't have a clearly defined path of right and wrong. Anything is possible at this point.)
I keep practicing stripping for him. I must do it even better than I already can. This requires research and patience. I cannot take any "practice" moves to the bedroom. I'm not thin enough to get away with that shit. He picks me up, throws me around, and says things like "You're a sexy little thing...!" but I wonder if he's just pitying me? Consoling my ego a bit, maybe? The harder I try the more frustrated I get. Bah.

The wind is blowing outside, and hail is coming down with a vengeance. I'm sure the tulips and daffodils in the garden wish they had hoodies to pull over their little blooms to protect them from the downpour. Though I'm inside the house, dry and somewhat cozy, I can relate. Standing there, stoic, desperate, and a bit in shock, I feel for those brightly colored plants.

I calmly take another large gulp of water. My goal for the day is five liters. This bottle will round off number three, and it's only 2pm. I feel horrible, but I'm smiling, gushing actually. I'm getting married.

The ring on my finger is a complete farce. This isn't the lucre everyone thinks it is, actually, this ring isn't even from my "fiance". It's from my ex, but I needed a real diamond to console myself.

He's not particularly affectionate. He's not exceptionally kind. He isn't breathtakingly handsome. He's one of my best friends. I resign myself to duty taking another long pull on my canteen. Women are famous in history for doing difficult things in order to insure the betterment of someone else's life. I'm doing this now. Domestic bliss is not my idea of happiness. It seems to rape my purpose, but in an odd twist of irony, this action supports my purpose. It is belligerent, it is fierce and daring, and completely insane. I love it's edginess. Avant Garde. I feel trapped.

Maybe I'll do a photographic project about this topic. The emotion is some heavy shit. I imagine someone like me, at home, sitting alone in a dim kitchen, worry lines prematurely drawn across a twenty-something face. It would be heartwrenching. "Pull the trigger and the nightmare stops." If you do though, everything you've worked for falls apart. I don't want family precisely because my need to escape shouldn't have this effect on people... Fuck.

I can't touch the people around me, or influence the world in the way that I want to. I feel isolated. I'm watching over-rehearsed scenes carry on around me from the crystalline walls of a glass box. I can't be reached. The walls aren't sound proof, but muffle the words of people around me. "Are you ok?" "What's wrong?" "I miss you." I can't feel it. I see them speaking, but hardly understand. At work, someone complains about something trivial. Spoiled housewives get upset about their seating, elderly people insist on the most outrageous things. Why am I not livid? These people are, by all available logic, completely unrealistic; they can't reach me. I'm not pretending to be happy, or plaster on a fake smile, and I oblige them. Whatever their decision, it will be MY hell or heaven to live through. I have to keep walking either way, and if they are kind, chances are the next will be cruel. There is no middle ground.

The numbness of my emotions should be matched by numbness of body, and numbness of mind. I don't want to think. I don't want to conjure up logic to justify my self loathing. I've made mistakes. I've tried to atone for them. I make more mistakes, and burry them.

Miserably closing at work, I contemplate the combination of drink and pills it will take to render me peaceful tonight. My fingers linger a little too longingly over the rest of the sleeping pills. Will this be the night I finally do it? Tomorrow? The next? I wonder about those who have been kind to me, about the friends that I can't feel passion for and I cannot imagine them sad. I cannot imagine strong emotion for anyone, no emotion that is, except apathy.

I was thinking about this and I'm pretty badass. I have all of these really neat off-the-wall hobbies! Let's make a quick list, shall we?!

-Glowsticking
-Ripsticking
-Power Bocking
-Photography
-Dancing
-Graphic Design
-Fourwheeling
-Reiki
-Graph Art
-Yoga
-Poetry
-Painting
-Minor Hacking
-Speaks French

Yup. I'm the shit. That's my list of reasons I should be happy today.

Here I sit with my beloved Jager and an empty wallet. Why? Perhaps my drinking habits of late have impaired my good judgement. I decided it would be an excellent Idea to purchase some bionic stilts. They're these awesome stilt-kangaroo hybrids that can launch a person 7 feet into the air, and propel them at around 20 mph at a full run. (They're awesome. Check them out at: http://www.getjumpingstilts.com/ ) The ones I've purchased ended up costing me around... $400. I could have put that money towards a new iPad, but I decided these were much cooler, no contest. They should be here Friday.

Also, I had an completely successful shoot with "Mikey Bikey" today. (Some random student I met at university last year doing some sick stunts on his BMX in the parking lot.) I have been completely stoked to do this shoot since then, but the weather was always crappy, or I was busy with work and other even less important things. If the whole restaurant thing is my "bullshit job", then my work behind the camera is clearly my soul's calling.

Vika went with me to the skate park as my lackey, and she was bored as hell. She commented, however, that I've been depressed lately, and that the shoot was the first time in over a month she's seen me smile. It's one thing if a doctor tells you you're depressed and offers you a prescription. They're in bed with the pharmecutical companies, and it wouldn't surprise me if they got a commission too; but when your best friend tells you you've been sad for ages, that's something legit to consider.

I want to go to NWC, but I'm scared. I'll be entirely alone. It will be cold as hell. I'm sure my only solace will be in my invigorating studies and the sacred space that is my Mac. (I swear, it's like my own perfect, unadulterated world in there.)

I bought some Noni for Prowlie-Malice. I hope the infection subsides soon.

I miss Zane. Boo this Halo character.

Ok, let's make sure I'm absolutely clear on one thing: I FUCKING HATE CHILDREN. If anything I ever say or do seems to indicate the contrary, please, refer back to this.

My wonderful parents decided it would be brilliant if they had my nieces and another little girl stay over last night. I don't really care, they're asleep before I come home. Grand. This morning, mum and dad decide they're going to the hot springs and need me to take them home. Not my kids, not my problem. I helped them out anyway, but on the way home I couldn't stop stewing about what a horrible inconvenience children are.

You have to move the car seat back an forth between cars, while carrying an heavy purse because you can't leave it in the car for fear it will be stolen while your back is turned, then you have to carry kid, purse, and car seat into the house. When you finally get the circus inside, you realize that kid has kicked its shoes off in the car, and now you have to dig in your purse and find the keys, and hobble back outside in your heels in the rain to unlock the car and find the damn shoes. Really? It doesn't help the children don't understand the intricacies of life either. They cannot appreciate that I used a half a tank of gas to drive them home (which is in another city), and insist on throwing a fit because I wouldn't stop and buy them happy meals. Their little attitudes can get stuffed.

Why do people think I would ever change my mind and want to have children?! The pleasurable bits for me are when they're unconscious.

Fuck this.

Zane is with some girl named Halo.

Vika and Brandon are unquestionably soulmates.

Eric has at long last dropped his barriers and is devoting all of his spare time to some chick.

JD is finally proposing to my sister.

When I heard the news, I started crying, and saying "I'm so happy! I'm so so happy!" But you know something? I'm bitter as hell. I just want someone to care. Everyone is too busy for me, and I just really want to connect with someone, and be important, and attention worthy. Vika is my best friend, but she can't connect to my issues or my heartache because of her insistent mantra "I love Brandon! Brandon is so amazing!" Jasmine doesn't even pretend to care unless she's hurt me. Yes, I'm fucking bitter that my sister can find someone to give a shit twice and that I can't get over myself long enough to open up to anyone.

I'm going to go take a pregnancy test in a Wal Mart bathroom today; alone.

If it comes up positive, I'm going to go get an abortion; alone.

Bring it.

I'm still the strongest person I know, this is just a temporary moment of weakness.

I always knew my life would turn out something like this.

I was hopeful, to say the least, that my birthday would lift my spirits a bit so that I could escape this horrible depression. Nope. I did not. Here I am, again looking up suicide statistics for my state, and common household poisons. Blah.

On top of all of , I may or may not be pregnant. (God, I fucking hope not. I can't really afford an abortion right now...) I really wish I could just sit down, and talk to my mom and cry. I cannot however, because this is a topic that is far to often swept under the rug. Let's be fucking realistic here, it's not as if it's any big news that I'm sexually active. I was raped when I was 15, went on to be engaged to a total asshole, and have had a series of horrible relationships since. This is not an unusual story. I don't want any help because even if I was not pregnant, I would still have my suicidal tendencies to contend with, so, I really can't fucking win. The whole college thing, yeah, probably is not going to happen. I refuse to live with my parents when I'm twenty. I don't have any skills to offer anyone, including IC, and I'm miserable. I'm done. (But what does that really mean? After all, if I can't grow the balls to actually off myself, then what exactly do I think I'm going to do? I guess I could quit my job, and drive my car to the river and read all of my books over and over, only stopping to piss and sleep, and eventually I would starve to death. Hmm... I'm sure that will be quite effective... Fuck me.)

God, if you exist, send some crazy man to my house with an AK47, and have the bitch shoot me down with more bullets than necessary. Fuck, why can't suicide be legal? I could saunter into a hospital in my nicest shoes, pay then a one time fee of $300, and just be done. they could give me an IV with a drip of something deadly, and I could just expire in peace. Instead, however, I have to sneak around to attempt to gather enough pills to get this done.