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...because i'm going back to writing awesome entries about my life.

Today was really awful. I got out of bed because I had to throw up. I'm really sick. I mean REALLY sick. I feel sad, because Valz and Laurenbob are complete bitches. They told everyone I have an STD.

I'm so hardcore. Me and Morgs went to the mall today, and I stole a whole heap of stuff. I got a Kenny Chesney CD, a couple of DVDs and some new boots. Morgs got caught, but she fought her way out, and then we stole some lady's car and smashed it into a phone booth.

Last night I had to masturbate twenty times. I'm so horny. Click here to see my website. And I had to shave my entire body. Apparently, the lice that I caught from Jess's friend are really hard to get rid of. I look quite strange with no hair and eyebrows. I'd post pictures, but my webcam is broken.

I want to tell the world to get fucked.

I am really annoyed with those assholes at _are_you_hotter_than_us_?, because I am so much cuter than them, and those photos don't do me justice. They can't reject me, so I'm starting my own rating community. Click here to join (the first five applicants are automatically accepted).

Today I got a digital camera! Yes! Here's ten thousand photographs of my cat.

I want to say thanks to Babybob556 for making the background and icons for my journal. Thanks hon, ur super special!

I went to the doctor yesterday, and he said I have bipolar disorder, and should stop smoking drugs.

You should all do this quiz! It's amazingly accurate. You just put your name and birthdate in and it will tell you you're a moron.

That's enough for now, but I'll leave you with this poem I wrote. It's about my friend Jeff, who has bipolar disorder. Just like me. And Brittany.

clickie

not being needed

is to me one of the worst feelings in the world. i guess what i'm saying is, i miss certain things more than others and the way he held me at night is one of those things i don't think i'll ever forget. you know the way certain artists take the words right out of your soul and put them to music? every word he spoke was kind of like that.

"you're perfect."

no, you don't understand, that is what you are to me. and i have to let it go. but not because it's something you want, because it's something i want, maybe even need. and in that statement i betray myself. i never needed to let anyone go, i never used to, but i feel like it's different now, necessary. i try talking to him and there is only silence on the other side. do you understand how much i've cried because of this?

"in the end, there are always going to be things you think about, and regret doing."

most of all i regret betraying myself. i lost sight of my life principle, made things all about me, and now they won't come back. i used to pride myself on being a giving person... giving until the last second, until it wasn't possible to give any longer because they weren't around. this time, i took it away.

"i'm listening to the mix you made me."

so am i, and i'm still feeling the way i felt when i made it, but you've moved on and found someone else because i couldn't remember who i was before everything happened.

how do you capture a feeling with words? a moment in time with such a mood that can't be described by any stretch of the english language? i'd bottle it up and send it to you if it could make you remember what things were like, how i felt, how i still feel. letting go is something i'm not used to. and now that i've regressed back to who i was, who i am comfortable with being, it makes it worse.

oh, come back to me.

hello

to a broken world that has gone on without you.

to a new moon addled by regrets and self-denial.

to my old friends i deserted in favor of a heart.

to this gaping vacuum of a soul that can't operate
without your color.

i was supposed to hold you all winter.

all i'm clutching at now are my memories.

strong woman

i'm going to write a story about her. while i realize most of you don't even know who she is, she is hard to explain. she is an extension of me...

one i'm working on incorporating into myself. in a sense, it's me growing up, becoming stronger, becoming different. so the story will be of

an emotional battle.

because i am not strong woman yet, because i am not my mother
and i cannot say no to boys like the rest of the world.

make for an interesting story?

i don't.

know what my deal is
where i'm going with any of this;
it's just,
sometimes that pain
is way too hard to handle
and that needle can be your best friend,
and that liquid swirling in and out of your blood
can be your mother.

my little white angel,
pony,

maybe knives aren't the vice
and maybe the virtue is patience,
waiting for that juxtaposition of time and
the beast
colliding,
my world is shattering to pieces
and he lays there on the floor.

no more
waiting up late while the moon waxes and wanes
and my expiration is like the stars';
yours, like thousands before you
is in the wave of a hand.
now sleep tight, my little king,
rx might help you this time

and i will wrap you in my eyes,
fixated on the future
as you feel colder than yesterday
from degradations past, worn, gone,
like your decay.

...just wrote this about a number of things pulled into one. if you haven't noticed there are a lot of drug references. hence death of a friend today from a heroin overdose. the drug references were, in part, pulled from the deftones' album, white pony. a lot of this also stems from my relationship with someone in my life. my biggest fear in regards to this person is summed up in this poem.

goodnight, moon.