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ThatJustBogglesMyMind
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Name: Kelly
Country: United States
State: Ohio
Metro: Fremont
Birthday: 2/22/1988
Gender: Female
Interests: Tennis, Cheerleading, me gusta tu madre tambien
Message: message me
Member Since:
4/24/2003
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| Life's a lot to think about sometimes when you keep it all between the lines.One solid month living in an apartment with five girls, and I'm surprised at my resilience. Aren't you?
Drama. Break ups. Dirty Dishes. Sarcasm. Crying. Groceries. Stress outs.
And an odd sense of loneliness which seems impossible since I can't even take a nap because someone always seems to be SCREAMING. And most of the time it's the Jewish boys next door.
Spending my "maturing" years with boys brainwashed me, durh. I don't know how to handle the recurring breakups and relapsing problems. I just want to say "stop whining. quit being needy. just get over it." because that's what I've had to do all these years myself. I don't like having this male attitude. But does it make me a better person for it? I don't dwell. Well, I dwell, but I do it inwardly so no one knows.
I need a break. Too much estrogen.
Too many options.
So let's go over everything that's happened in a month:
Covered Joe Biden and Hillary Clinton on two separate occasions. I dressed "professionally" and more than likely looked like a douche.
I threw up all over the toliet and bathroom floor and cleaned it up while I was puking because I knew if I didn't, it would never be cleaned.
Broke two boys' hearts. As if that's a personal best record or something. Actually, I think the number is three.
Witnessed two and two halfs breakups. So three if you smoosh them.
Toured the Jewish fraternity drunker than a skunk so probably making rude jabs the whole time.
Walked around the backyard of the Rugby house's party, solely because I live on their street and use my 317 card to my advantage, screaming about sausage fests and sucky parties.
Had an opening party with the only negative aspects being David getting kicked out of my OWN house and someone breaking our bathroom door. And our pantry door.
Fell in love with iTunes Genius.
Found no freshmen boys to prey on.
Slept through a couch being burnt in the middle of our street while fire trucks came for assistance.
We haven't even had any of our electric/gas/water/trash/cable/internet bills yet. So, we're effed.
I hate xanga. And myself.
kp
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| And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
What a joke my life is. Work seven days a week, have
absolutely no fun, and the week I have off of work leading up to school,
somehow contract mono again. Life is fab.
I’ve come to many realizations this summer. One may be that
maturity trumps ‘length of friendship’ completely. I don’t care if we’ve been
friends since we were two; if you’re stupid and can’t grow up, that doesn’t
matter. I knew this summer was kind of make or break for me, and I’ve noticed a
dividing line through a group of friends. And I know I say this all the time,
but I think I’ve drawn a dividing line in my life, and I’m ready to stick to
it.
There’s really no reason to hang on to certain things
anymore. Maturity and respect trumps all.
There’s so much that I feel the need to write about, but I
can’t really bring myself to.
Maybe I’m losing my touch after all.
So on Friday, five girls will be forced to hang out with me
every day, and I’m ecstatic. Moving in for a full year. Won’t be back for ya
next summer, Fremont. I know you’re bummed.
I’m OK. I kind of enjoy feeling nothing more than feeling
hurt.
KP
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| I was working on my magazine project for school and was kicked off facebook for apparently "spamming" people with messages. Being a journalist is tough work.
Hi xanga.
I'm not emotional enough to write a post.
GIMME A WEEK OR TWO.
"Lata"
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| I've figured it outI'm a pessimist who can't live in the moment; it's either the past or the future.
The past -- good or bad -- is always where I'd rather be, and the future never looks promising.
I'm used to crying at every major social event that suggests of the past or offers a glimpse of the future.
Although lately I've been less tearful, which either proves me heartless or acknowledges the fact that I've given my heart away too many times.
I live for the day when the present allows me to assume the future will be better than the past and it will be okay.
That's really it.
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And I know it's for me
That I'm out on these streets
Bleeding nightly for these people I meet
But it's you who I long for when I cannot sleep
It's enough, it could drive me to drink
And I, I am almost nowhere
And I'm getting there fast
And you, you're the hope in my cold stare
You're the drink in my hand
Lullz, alcoholism.
So I just spent two hours cleaning out this box of shit under my bed. In it I found every single poster of O-town that had ever graced my walls, pokemon cards, every single birthday card I received ages 1-16, my planners from middle school, drawings from when I was four, EVERY SINGLE note I ever received throughout middle school, and a ridiculous amount of nascar trivia.
Why.
I threw most of it away, but not all of it. Why. Because there's a part of me that thinks I'll need this later in life, and there's a part of me that won't let go.
I threw away all of the notes, except for a certain few from a certain people. The notes themselves don't really say much, I just want to prove to myself twenty years from now, that YES, I actually did have girlfriends when I was younger! But I still threw a lot of them away, still trying to push my past further into the past.
I don't get it.
I wish I had something of substance to write about, but my days consist of working, driving, biking, and eating. And there's no substance in that.
Until something tragic happens,
KP
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