|Sunday, May 19th, 2002|
11:44a - Fine Day Tomorrow
Sweet Jesus, I have been suffocating in lust and clouded thoughts of things I shouldn't think.
Word. I haven't done anything about it. And I really don't intend to. I got this idea that if I'm all lusty and frustrated all the time, and I do absolutely nothing about it, I will have so much energy and get so much more done. Like Disneyland, for example.
No sleep. Bad thoughts. Extreme energy.
I still need to document my trip. It was far too amusing to let the details slip away. And I wrote this whole weird rant in the complete darkness on the way home, and when I read it, I felt crazy. The hand-writing looks all serial-killer because I couldn't see where the lines were, and feeling what a letter looks like rather than seeing it does not make for good penmanship.
My dad bought me a new phone cord. This is me rejoicing!
I tried to dye my hair last night, and behold. I have auburn roots and the rest is still black & the white streaks that were developing are auburn. I look like a strange bird indeed. I also have a sun-burn because of Disneyland. I am all rosy. Only in the face though, my appendages were mostly covered.
What really bothers me is how such stupid people can have such wonderful self-esteem and be completely confident of themselves and the brilliant ones are tortured by the knowledge that they know nothing and the idea that self-hatred is a good thing.
I hate the idea of pacing yourself. If you're going to get something done, do it in one go, that's the only way to do it. Pacing yourself is only required after the large task has been completed. Improvements on large, spectacular feats come slowly.
I often wonder how much my nonsense means to other people. It's always been in me to write for an audience and relate to people, but since when do I give such a fuck what they think?
I think the above was in reference to publishing houses, and how I want to write something truly me, but I am afraid they will reject it.
A friend once told me that one of my best qualities was making people feel comfortable and at ease. It's times like these, when I am on the verge of tears, on a bus full of best friends and strangers, yet still completely alone, [I wonder] whether it comes at a cost to me.
It's been of my concern lately that I talk too much about things regarding myself. Is that so wrong?
I'm sure by now it's pretty clear that the road is bumpy and this random drivel is taking place in the darkness. A meager blue light is guiding my pen, and that's all I know.
I have no concept of time on this bus, and I find myself wanting to be more and more. Superstar writer, center stage singer in some smoky jazz bar where, occasionally, people hoot and holler to hear me sing the blues, make-up artist extraordinaire. I want it all, but I want it to take its own steps to meet me halfway.
Is this incredible insight, or sleep deprivation? This trip, as well as my mind, has been a whirlwind. Mr. Palous is snoring comfortably a seat over, and in a way, it's comforting to know that our 'leader' feels safe and comfortable, but in another, less endearing, way, it makes him seem old.
With age comes wisdom, but also terror. Here I am 18 years old, and I just discovered what honour was last night.
Sweet Jesus, I don't want to cry, but nothing is stopping me. I think I'll steal away under the shelter of sleep until this can be pacified.
I went to the movies last night and saw Spider Man, which was overall good, but the story had some major discrepancies which I won't go into. Plus, I didn't like the ending, or how it was pouring down rain and Kirsten Dunst's nipples were poking out like a curious child under her scant, drenched shirt, center screen. Can we say gratuitous? Anything to generate a few dollars, I suppose.
So far, for my birthday, I've gotten 9 shotglasses. Rock on.
1 green one from Jesse that says Idaho on it that rocks hardcore.
3 from dear Lola. One is a frosted glass one that is yellow on the bottom and clear on the top, and it's one of those tall 2.5 shot ones, and in yellow it says "West Point" on it, cos she got it from a military academy and thought it was amusing, another frosted 2.5 shotglass that has a deep fuschia on the bottom and goes up to clear, with 'New Jersey' printed in black on it in the 'Friends' font, and a normal one that says 'New York' on it, and has all of New York's star attractions.
5 from Stefan, in some of which he put some glitter candles and an '18' candle. There was a stainless steel 2.5 shotglass that said Circus Circus on it, a pink metallic one that said Circus Circus on it, a Cobalt blue one that says Reno on it and has some dice, one that says 'Reno' and has a picture of the archway that says 'biggest little city', and a chrome-looking one that says, 'Member, Reno Gaming Club'.
Tizzight. I bought a Tinkerbell one in Disneyland and a black one from Medieval Times. Who gots da glasses? I gots da glasses.
I have new red lipstick and I feel saucy. Someone come here so I can kiss you!
Jessica got so pissed off because I left a big lipstick mark on her cheek and it wouldn't come off.
Cherry lips, and I'm hot for ya, baby!
I curl my hand around your wrist
And hope that you would like a kiss
You're there at night, and in my dreams
I've fallen deep, or so it seems
I'll kiss you 'til my lips are sore
And cherish you forevermore.
Yep, yep. That sums it up. That's exactly how I feel.
current mood: kiss me
(4 comments |BUH)