I Want.

I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want. I want.I want.I want. I want.Iwant.IwantIwantIwantIwant.

I want someone to love me. I'm tired of feeling so unloved and unwanted. I clearly want to be with someone that I love. And I do love someone. And I want him to love me. But he doesn't. And I don't know why. I only know he doesn't. And that I want. I obviously don't know what to do about it. And I obviously don't understand why I'm so unlovable. It makes no sense.

I'm a good person. Maybe I'm not perfect. But I want someone to tell me I am. Because they love me. I don't want to be unlovable. But I can't figure out what makes me this way. I don't know if it's my glasses, or my wine fixation, or my weird eating habits, strange fashion sense, or goofy sense of humor. Or maybe my odd listening skills. And talking skills. Or maybe a combination of everything. Or something I haven't thought of yet.

But I do know I'm tired of aching for someone (in particular) to touch me tenderly and look at me in that way that I like. That way that makes me melt. The way I ache for him; that's how I wish he would ache for me. And it hurts to know he doesn't. And to know he probably never did. But that doesn't mean I still can't want it.

Going Away

I don't know what to say (but as always, I'll think of something). I'm nervous about my trip, and stressed about my film, and sad about everything else. I'm lonely because it will be an alone trip with no one to share it with when I get back. Or no one who will be interested in hearing every single banal detail. No one who will be able to laugh with me about something funny that happened at that one cafe.

Everything seems so dismally blase. Like this will be what the rest of my life will be like. Living from this day to the next with nothing new and cheerful to report. And no one to report it to. No one that gives a damn what I'm thinking or what I'm going through. I know I should just get used to it, but I'm having a hard time doing that. It just seems so unfair that this is what I got dealt when I expected so much more. when I deserved so much more. And have been so disappointed.

I'm hoping this feeling will go away, just like every man I've ever dated.

Envy

This morning I woke up with the final remains of my dream still swirling around in my head. I was driving with two other people (I think one of them was my mom) to Boston to pick up some stuff for a banquet. We got to a building, and took the stairs to go to the floor we needed. It was a high floor, and by the time I woke up I was up to the 50th or 81st or something like that. Getting up the stairs became an obstacle course of sorts; going down, then up, with little puzzles and tests to get to the next floor. Then there was a dinosaur that I had to kill to get to the next level. Anyway, long and nonsensical story short, The dragon was Envy and I had to kill it, which was extremely difficult. I think I finally woke up because I gave up (although I think I was winning, truth be told).

I wonder if my brain is trying to tell me something. Am I envious? Of what? Of whom? I suppose there are plenty of people I would be willing to trade places with, but I wouldn't say I'm all that envious (the monster in my dream at only point morphed into a flourescent green Linda Blair-ish woman with flourescent pink eyes, lips, and finger nails) of anyone in particular.

Perhaps it comes from the envy I feel towards the life I thought I would have. I would say I am jealous of that other version of me the I thought I would become. All the things I would have. All the people that would love me. All the places I would go. All the things I would accomplish. That version of me is probably wandering around out there instead of being here in me where she is supposed to be. Stupid girl.

The Hair

He came over for cheeseburgers and a movie and for some reason I feel like a whore. Like he's doing the same thing with countless other women. And it doesn't really matter if he is or if he isn't. I was hoping that I would be able to tell him what I've been thinking for the past few days and that I would be able to put my foot down once and for all. I failed. He was in such a good mood, and I was loathe to ruin it. Because that's what I usually do anyway. And I suppose this is partly why I've never broken up with anyone. I can't stand to hurt people. Even if they deserve it.

So now the question is, when do I do it? Do I wait until he's low and then kick him when he's down? In retrospect, he kicked me when I was feeling pretty good, and it didn't seem to phase him too much. All in a day's work, I suppose.

About halfway through the movie I started thinking about my hair. I had it up and the barette was starting to irritate my head. I wanted to take it out and let my hair down. But I made a deal with myself a while ago to not do that around him. Stupid, perhaps, but so far effective. I keep my hair up around him so I can be reminded that I need to keep my guard up as well. I can't let my hair down while he's looking, both figuratively and literally. It seems like the only defense that works against his glib comments and quirky blonde friends. I don't know what else to do.

I could leave the country for a month. Check.
I could stop calling him. Check.

There are other things I could do, but right now I don't know if I can. I'm working on it. But for now I'll stick with the hair.

Moving On, Moving Out

The sun is shining. But the clouds are rolling in. My body tried to repeat getting up early like it did yesterday, so I ended up just laying in bed trying to go back to sleep for a while this morning. I eventually made it. But of course, while I lay there in the half-light of morning, there was only one person I could think about. So I did.

And I thought about the things I need to say and how to say them because I haven't been able to but I really should. And I know he'll be upset and try to talk me out of it, and he's really good at that sort of thing. But then, if he agrees with me, he'll just say ok and walk away and that's almost worse. But I'm starting to feel like I'm not even mad anymore. I'm not fighting with him. I'm just realizing that he needs for me to let go. He needs to get on with his life without me. He seems to make progress when I'm not around stifling it.

Progress can be frightening. Because progress means I'll come back on the day to remember and I'll remember and he won't. He'll have someone else by then. If I could, I'd put a bet down on who it's going to be, but I digress. And I realize that if I'm talking to him and he's with someone else, I will have no other choice than to pack up and leave town forever. I am clearly not going to be able to move on, but I suppose I can try moving out. First I have to get down the not talking thing.

How do you not talk to the person who knows you better than anyone else? Maybe he doesn't always understand me, but at least he always listens. Or tries to. Or thinks he understands. The only person who allows my weirdness the majority of the time without complaint.

But as they say at work: Nothing is forever.

100 Miles Away

Today I drove/waded up north 100 miles to the city that never sweeps. Gross. But that's where all the stuff happens. So that's where you have to go. Even in the pouring rain. Leaving everything behind. Or so I thought. I thought he might call. I thought he might miss me. I thought he might at least be wondering about me. I thought wrong. Again.

I fought off the urge to call him all morning and half of the afternoon and some of the night. And then I figured out it didn't matter at all. Because he has replaced me with someone else who will always be able to entertain him with her self-absorbed bitching and her svelte figure writhing under funkadelic outfits that I could never dream up.

Oddly enough, I'm not angry. Irritated. Hurt. Not angry. They can have each other if I am always going to have to play second fiddle to her. I am tired of the lines and trying to pretend that those glib comments don't hurt. It's exhausting work, and I am giving up. I lost.

I think if he called right now I might actually have the wherewithall to tell him to not talk to me anymore. To leave me in peace. Or at least leave me to try and find it, since I haven't been able to find it in my forever broken heart. To call me when he wants to ask me for a date. When he's actually interested in hanging out with me. When I can ask him to do things without the near certainty that he'll make up some excuse as to why it is impossible. "In for the evening" is an excuse he reserves for me and his couple friends that are currently on the verge of breaking up. I don't want to hear these confessions when he forgets he said the same thing to me two days earlier. I am tired of feeling like a problem.

So the solution is possibly this: to go 100 miles away every day. Even if I can only do it in my head. In a week I'll be a million miles away anyway. Praying that I'll actually be able to leave him behind once and for all. Of course he won't like it, but after all, it's what he wanted in the first place.

Lines

The line used to be: "Give me your number. I'll call you." Over the years, I have learned that this means "You are an ugly girl and I don't want to sleep with you, so I'm trying to end this conversation and never speak to you again." So, I can plan accordingly and not expect anything at all. I know it's a line. I know it's a lie. I don't worry about it.

But it seems the lines have changed. The new line: "We'll talk tomorrow." I am learning that this translates to: "I am going to try not to talk to you until it's absolutely necessary because you are a serious downer and I don't like you or give a shit about you." This is becoming a habit with him. He'll say it and I assume it means he wants to talk to me the next day, but then he doesn't call. And I realize he never really meant it to begin with. Stupid me. He's now just that guy that gives me the brush off with a line that I will buy. Damn I feel stupid.

Break (Out, Up, Apart, Off)

I've been getting this strange sensation lately. It's like I'm floating just a couple of inches above my body. It's almost like being drunk or dizzy, but without the spinning. Just a back and forth feather-like motion and I settle back into myself. Maybe it's my soul finally jumping ship. Because I am definitely sinking.

I almost cried in class today. I almost told someone off in class today. I almost ran out of the room. It sounds dramatic. It wasn't. I was just me being paranoid and emotional. Which seems to be my forte lately.

I did cry in the car on the way home. And not just a little. Pathetic, full on sobbing. There was a wail and a scream in there too. I don't know how I didn't wreck (although I do have a strong urge to jerk the car down the nearest embankment).

I am filled with the ominous and terrible feeling that I have to do something and I really don't want to do it. Like putting down a horse or dog or cat that is writhing in misery. I can't go on feeling yucky all the time and I need to take the desparate measures because I am clearly a desparate person. And I'm floating above myself to boot.

I don't know how I am going to do this. It's like I'm finally breaking up, even though that actually happened over a year ago. The overwhelming urgent fear that breaking up actually necessitates breaking off and breaking apart. Friendship feels too painful to really be what it should be. I have been trying to hang on and act like an adult and move on and be normal, but it isn't happening. I can't do anything. I am stuck in a state of suspended animation. Like the hamster in the wheel, I keep running and getting nowhere; following the exact same path with the exact same footfalls. I fear that I am dangerously close to complete exhaustion and my heart is about to give out under me. It has definitely been taxed to the limit already.

I don't want to break off. I don't want to break apart. What else is left? The only solution is total reconciliation, which is pure fantasy. I have painted myself into a corner. I have to break out somehow.

Chemicals

I'd rather stay in today. I'd rather go back to bed. I'd rather not go to school. Or class. I'd rather not see him. He'll probably be with her anyway, now that they're bosom buddies again. A friend of mine called me yesterday and told me how unhappy she is right now. And it wasn't just school, but it was her birthday and her homesickness and her loneliness and everything else. I knew exactly what she was saying, but I couldn't say anything to help her. She turned to tranquilizers and sleep and I was jealous. Wish I had some tranquilizers. I've come to the conclusion that the easiest and fastest way to deal with pain and heartbreak is to turn to chemicals. They don't beat around the bush. The just do their job. They just take you out. Simple.

Ghost

He went out with her last night. Dinner and a movie and art. Things I would've liked to do, if I were ever asked. But I'm not. I have to do the asking and risk the rejection, which is inevitable these days. I thought he might call afterward, but he didn't. I thought he might call today, but he didn't. I get angrier and more bitter and more hurt with every second that ticks tocks by. I can start to feel the flutter of my heart in pre-panic attack mode. I can feel my hands starting their nervous tremors. My jaw is clenching.

I am the forgotten. The mere mention of his name brings heat to my face when I think of this neglect. It comes from nowhere. The man who used to want to talk every day has started the twelve step removal of me program. Almost complete. Especially now that he has that substitute that is able to repel me like pesticide. Me-icide. I would rather eat glass than have a conversation with her, especially one where I had to pretend I don't mind her. I think how selfish he is. How he doesn't think of anyone except himself. But then I realize how wrong I am. It's not that he doesn't think of anyone, he just doesn't think of me. My heart leaps as the thought exits my head. He, this man that I love, cares nothing for me.

I realize this repeatedly. I wonder how I keep forgetting. It is so painful to remember all the time. Or be reminded. Especially when some quirky blonde waltzes back after three months of utterly childish bitchiness and he is so excited he just has to ask her out. As if nothing ever happened. She is forgiven, while I am constantly berated by mini mistakes. I hate her. She is the golden child that can do no wrong, and she thinks of no one but herself. She is rewarded; I am sequestered. She occupies his time, his thoughts, his words. I am a ghost that is unable to haunt. Because no one remembers who or what I am.

In the Nap

Today is a day for me. I don't have anywhere to go. If the clouds disperse, I might even wander over to the beach. I always seem to find myself there when I have spare moments. Not that I have a bunch to spare, but I feel like I'm going crazy in this life. I have been doing work for school for the past couple of hours, and I feel like I'm getting nowhere. Render, render, render. Surrender.

I want to go to sleep and never wake up. Stay huddled in my bed until the apocalypse. It wouldn't be so bad. At least I wouldn't be sleepy then. I don't really understand why I am now, but I feel like I could sleep for eight more hours just fine. Sometimes I marvel at how diffiicult it is to be a normal person. I try to read something, and I can't, because it causes my mind to jump in a hundred directions at once. I try to relax, and I end up stewing. I try to enjoy a movie, and I end up scrutinizing. I start school work, and I end up realizing I had more than I thought and making no progress. I go for a drive, and end up reminiscing. Or fantasizing about driving far far away where no one knows me. I hear people talking, I assume they are talking about me. Where does it all end? In the nap, perhaps.

Persona Control

I'm thinking about going to a movie tonight. Part of me doesn't want to, because staying in bed is so much easier than making an effort. But at the same time, I don't want to let anyone beat me. I'm stubborn that way. I can't say I'm angry, but I can't say I'm not hurt.

I keep thinking about him with her at their art thing and I want to puke. That knot in my stomach won't go away. It's sitting there like radioactive waste eating away at my bones.

I wonder if he'll call me when he gets home. Chances are he won't. Because he doesn't ever think of me. Unless he's looking at the moon. What the moon and I have in common, I'll never know. But in the end, it doesn't matter. I don't want him to call me and tell me what a wonderful time he had with that girl I can't stand. I don't want to make small talk and cry after I hang up. In fact, I don't think I want to talk to him at all.

Maybe never again. Extreme and stupid, but I don't like the way my life is good or bad depending on whether or not he takes yoga classes or sees a sunset or hangs out with that girl I loathe. I really need my life to be under my control, and right now, it isn't. And maybe silence is the only control I actually have. The only persona that isn't some sort of lie.

Her

Work sent me home unexpectedly. It was somewhat bittersweet. On one hand, I didn't have to work. On the other hand, my wallet will suffer. I've decided not to sweat it and just roll with it. So on my way home I called him because I thought it would be nice if we could have dinner at the place we've sort of been talking about going for over a month now. I was being spontaneous. I should have known better.

Turns out, he's hanging out with the quirky blonde tonight. Because he thought I was going to be at work. The two of them haven't been in contact since before January. But it's funny how old things come back as if they've never skipped a beat. Like that knot that forms in my stomach every time he mentions her name. Like that cold chill that settles over my shoulders and the flutter in my voice when I try to pretend it doesn't bother me. But this is the cold truth: I hate her. I hate everything about her. Her quirky self-absorbed conversation, her blunt jokes, her funky clothes and loud voice. Her various disorders and dependencies and quirks that make her oh so unique and oh so endearing. I hate her. I can't seem to say it enough. She's not even really a part of my life and she's able to ruin my day. I hate her for it.

Why can't she go out and get her own friends? Why does she have to take mine? Why does he have to be so enamored of her? I can't say that the last three months without her were happy ones, but I can say that it was nice to not have to deal with her. Nice to not have to don the fake smile and say 'and how are you?' when I really just want her to disappear. Nice to not have to hear about what a great time the two of them had without me. Nice to not have to be afraid that when I went to visit him, she would be there. Nice to not have to compete for attention and get blown out of the water.

I really don't know if I will be able to handle it if they start hanging out again. I have so many fears connected to the two of them. I will be out of the country for nearly a month, and it promises to be a time that they will be having days together and sleepovers and dinners with champagne and all kinds of stuff he refuses to do with me. My prediction may even come true. He may actually turn out to be in love with her once I am on the other side of the world and can't make him see what a hypocrite this would make him out to be. I sound crazy. I know I am. I can't help it. Jealousy is an ugly monster that I can't control. Although I do try.

I've never been one for ultimatums, but here is my unofficial secret one: if he is going to hang out with her, I can't hang out with him. I am in enough pain already. I don't need her adding to it.

No Choice

Sometimes I don't like watching movies. They always seem to remind me of how miserable my own life is. Of how far behind I am. And when I'm watching Woody Allen and thinking, man, that guy always gets the girl, I clearly am in trouble. So I'm sitting here wishing that I could be so lucky and feeling sorry for myself. As always. There really is no rationale as to why my heart will not give up on this one person. I make a list every day of why we shouldn't be together, why it's better this way, and my heart says no to all of it. None of the logic matters. I hate that I can't reason my way out of this one. I have no choice in the matter. I just have to go wherever my heart tells me to go.

Friday Night Wino

It's 9:30 on a Friday night. I wanted to get out for the evening after being in bed all day. I wanted to feel like less of a loser. I called him to have a drink. No, he just wanted to talk on the phone for a while. Said he was 'in' for the evening. I called my girl friend to see if she wanted to have some wine and a movie. No. Said she didn't feel good and by the way, doesn't drink wine.

So I'm sitting here watching a movie about dancers and feeling like a fat flabby unwanted oaf. It's sad that the only people I can call for impromptu get togethers aren't interested in my company. And that there are only two of them. I don't feel like much of a winner right now. I feel like a fat wino.

Heavy Clouds

Cloudy California. i was hoping to visit the beach today and catch up on some winding down. No dice. At least there are movies. Sometimes when the weather is like this, I slip into a somber state of mind. Brooding over everything I always do, but more. I'm only working one day this week, and for some reason I'm wondering what I'll do with all the extra time. The extra time I always complain about not having. I'm sure I'll find something useful to do.

Try not to think about my ever broken heart. About the longing and the loneliness that follows me everywhere I go. And everywhere I don't go. The baby birds chirp their shrill chirp above the light under the eaves. I wonder how long they will be there. For some reason, they seem to make life happier. Lighter.

I'm waiting for a wine shipment. Looking forward to it.

I wish I were still a dancer. It was the closest I ever got to being beautiful. And tall. I felt skinny then. I felt fit. Not fat. I felt graceful. I felt like I could float. I don't get those feelings anymore. Now I feel as though I am constantly tied to the earth; like the bounce has been chased from my steps. I feel heavy. In body and heart.

Tourette's Syndrome

Having a broken heart is kind of like having Tourette's Syndrome. It's always there, but sometimes you can hide it for a short time. Other times, it comes out of you involuntarily and makes people stare at you like you are a two-headed freak. Lately I've been pretty lucky, because I've been able to contain it while I'm in public. But it really does hit me when I'm sitting here at home alone. If I did have Tourette's, I'd be screaming the second I walked in my front door and wouldn't stop until I left the next day. It's tiring.

I've noticed lately how this broken heart has really worn me down. I feel like I've aged 10 years since last March. My resistance has also worn down. It has become increasingly difficult to ignore the voices that are constantly trying to trip me up and break me down. They succeed a lot more than they used to. Even other people notice.

I thought about this today while I was in the shower. I looked down at my protruding belly (as it is wont to do lately) and thought how ugly it looked. Thought about the seven million situps I need to do as soon as I got out of the shower to make it go away. Thought about all the things I eat all the time, as if I might starve to death if I don't eat twenty times a day. Thought about how I used to fit into certain clothes, and now even wearing them for five minutes is actually painful. Thought about how ugly me and my stomach are. Thought about how it didn't used to be this way.

But it really was. I've always had this belly, more or less. The only time it leaves is when I'm sick and not eating. It's one of the only things on me that ever changes it's shape, and it changes rapidly. After a large meal, I could tell people I was three months pregnant and it would be believeable (except for the fact that no one would ever have sex with me). In a few hours, it will shrink down to close to normal size. But I'm still aware and self-conscious about it.

I remember I never worried about it with him. Because he seemed to like me exactly as I was. I got the impression that if I were any different, he wouldn't like it, but he also wanted me no matter what. And I sort of got attached to the idea. The idea that if he was ok with me, I was too. But then he wasn't ok with me anymore, and I didn't know what to do. I still don't. I look at myself and wonder what I can change about myself that will make me acceptable again, but so far I haven't found the right incarnation of myself. I haven't found my presentable self. My appealling self. Does she even exist any more?

She's probably in the house ticking and screaming all sorts of things.

Argh

Sometimes I wish there was no such thing as technology. As I sit here, I wait for my latest film to "compress" so I can burn in onto a DVD. I've been trying to get this thing to work for almost 2 hours now, with no luck. Why can't this stuff just work? I really want to go take a shower and get on with my life, but it's very difficult with stuff like this gumming up the works. Argh.

Prediction

Here is my prediction for the day: That he will have started dating someone by the time I return from France at the end of May. That's not to say I will know about it then; I know how he likes to keep things to himself. I can't for sure say why I am so certain, except that it is obvious that he doesn't think about me ever anymore and has said a couple of times in the past week that he is doing something so he can "meet people". Of course, he couches it in saying that he doesn't have any friends, but I know what he's really saying. I'm not as stupid as I sound all the time. Plus, he is no longer attracted to me in any way; I am nothing more than one of the other students to him. I am nothing at all. In addition, I haven't heard him mention the ex, being brokenhearted, or sadness in quite a while.

So when I come back from one of the most romantic cities in the world, we will see if I am right. And I think I am. So when that happens, you needn't look for any more of me. I will have jumped out of a window like I probably should have done a long time ago. See you then.

Interest

I like saving money. Lots of people do. So I check the balance on my savings account every day, to see the pennies it has earned. I fantasize about a day when the interest in my account will actually be lots of money. I try as hard as I can to never withdraw money from it, so I can see it grow faster and faster. I might hit forty dollars this month. It's exciting. Except that it will soon be less since France is not cheap. But the interest will at least buy a bottle of wine while I'm there. And a nice bottle at that.

So I'm interested in interest. It's silly. And in a funny kind of way, I'm also jealous of my own account. It will guarantee a certain percentage of interest, no matter what. It doesn't have to be interesting or tell jokes or be attractive or anything. All it has to do is sit there quietly and do what it does. Earn interest.

I try. And earning interest seems to be extremely difficult for me. I actually blend in enough that I can garner zero interest. Like that crappy IRA. It only loses. I hate it. But I have faith that it will eventually be interesting. Maybe that's me. Maybe the people that check on me from time to time are just checking to see if I'm interesting yet. And of course, I'm not. I'm losing. I am a junk bond. One of those dot coms that a person thought was just going to skyrocket forever until it tanked. And yes, I'm tanked. In so many ways. I'm not a performing fund. Because I can't earn interest.

Every Day a Little Death

It is difficult. I don't want to see the world today. But it appears I have no choice. The world has taken away my freedom. I am a prisoner; trapped inside decorum and responsibility. My trip to France is finished; all the arrangements are set. I should feel something; hope perhaps, but I don't. I am filled with nothing. Not even a sense of accomplishment for making so many arrangements all by myself. My heart is just not in it. It is nothing more than a cerebral exercise.

I realized today that my heart is so much smarter than I am. It knows things my brain refuses to see. It is broken. It will never be repaired. And not only that, I awake every day with some new hope that today things will be different. And every new day is the same as the previous day. Every day my heart is rebroken. To quote Sondheim: "Every Day a Little Death".

I Am Spam

Today I was bumping along the road that is film school and my life in general, and I hit a place that wasn't very nice. I got really sad and I couldn't quite explain it except that I just felt bad about everything in my life. And the more I think about it, the more I think it's because I have felt very left out of everything lately.

When people get together, they don't bother to call me. When people talk about their projects, no one wants to know what I'm doing. And I already mentioned being excluded from conversation between he and the Heathen. As if I have nothing pertinent to offer on any given subject. I recall at one moment piping up with some comment, and he looked at me like I was crazy, then continued the conversation as if I hadn't even said anything. When the three of us were walking together, they were so intent on talking to each other and not to me that I was squeezed out and forced to walk behind them on the sidewalk. No room for me or my comments. I must be stupid and ugly and completely annoying and I just don't know it. Because that's how people are treating me.

So I'm sad. There are few bright spots in my life, but when I try to talk about them, they just get pushed away like everything else. I feel like I'm being pushed underwater while pleading, but, but, but, but...maybe I have something interesting to say this time. But it's not like anyone would ever notice. Am I really so boring? Every time I think I have something to say that he would find interesting, he shrugs it off like I just told him the sun was hot. Everything I say appears to be old news. Not of any importance. And yet I watch him talk to other people and he seems to hang on to every word they say as if they might at any moment reveal the secrets to cold fusion. I am nothing more than a sideshow carnie barking out some nonsense. I am spam. I am junk mail. I am the telemarketer. It's true. Just ask him. I would, but I can't get his attention.

Myself

It occured to me today that maybe I haven't been able to find someone willing to love me because I am so inherently selfish. That maybe I wouldn't be so alone and ugly if I were more charitable with my time and attention. I'll have to get back to you on whether or not that is true. But really, the truth is that I am selfish. I only pay attnetion to things that have a direct bearing on my life. Everything else just fades away. And maybe that is my problem to begin with. Why should I expect people to care about me when I only care about myself?

Heath-en

Yesterday he said,"I don't really understand why you two have problems. He really is nice and smart."

Yes, I know. And I made up some stupid reason why said problem guy and I have problems, knowing I was spouting a bunch of stuff that isn't really true. The truth: I'm jealous. Is it possible to be jealous of a guy? I say it is. He is all chummy with my ex that I am still in love with and I want to punch him in the face for it. (the Heath-en) When the three of us walk together, I get squeezed out of the middle. They have so much to talk about, there is literally not enough room for me. I apparently have nothing to contribute to whatever it is they may be talking about.

The subject of baseball emerges. The Heathen loves baseball. So does the ex. I am automatically excluded. They set up a baseball date. The ex has three baseball dates this year. One for the ex ex ex ex girlfriend, and now one for the Heathen. I have not been asked to baseball. Yes, I feel left out. And ugly. And stupid. And irrelevant. I want to scream and walk out, but instead I sit and stare at the computer screen in front of me telling me who passes and who doesn't. My name should be up there in bright red letters so everyone will know that I don't pass. Never did. I am the charity case one takes on until boredom sets in. If there is anyone else in the room, I will become instant second banana. I can't trump anyone. I suck. Yes, it's true.

Cards

I'm now official. I have bidness cards. For some reason, I feel special, even though they are the thing that gets me one step closer to workin' for the man (even though I already do). But I can use phrases like: Here's my card, or Would you like my card? or Here's my info or other stupid things like that. Really, I do get excited about the small things.

Ugly Body

I'm not feeling good about myself today. I felt better yesterday. Sometime in the middle of the night I went from bad to worse, and this is close to the bottom. I had an epiphany the other day about my work and came up with something about the content of water in the human body. It sounds stupid here, but you have to see it to really get it. Plus it's not done yet.

We spent a nice night together as friends. I hate being friends. We had chinese takeout and a bottle of wine. We talked about Paris. I'm not staying in his hotel. He made a face when I told him, but only for a second. I probably did too. And then we started on my project, and I was surprised how not uncomfortable I was. I didn't feel weird. And I was a little drunk.

So then we finished the money shot and it was over. And I suddenly felt like the ugliest person on the face of the earth. I felt naked and ugly and fat and stupid. I felt like a monster. I felt like a dumbass. I felt gross. And we did a little something extra to complement the wine but I still felt ugly under my half closed eye slits.

He helped me to my car. It was cold outside. My arms were full. He said he had a good time. I did too. Even though I was sad and ugly. He hugged me. But not really. It was a one-arm half hug. The kind you give to people you don't know very well.

god I feel so ugly. This man that used to be so attracted to me doesn't even seem to notice me anymore. I can literally parade around naked in front of him and it makes no difference. I hate myself. I hate my ugly body. I hate that I don't know how to be attractive. Or sexy. I hate that he has forgotten me. Forgotten my body. My ugly body. I hate it.

Missing Homework

I am a complete moron. It is nearly midnight, and about an hour ago I realized I have homework due tomorrow that I haven't even started. So when I arrived home, I putzed around for about 20 minutes, and then decided to get to it. I opened my folder. It wasn't in there. I looked in another folder. Not there either. The next thing I know, I'm looking through piles of books that I haven't touched in at least a month, thinking it might be there. Nope.

What the hell is wrong with me? I don't lose things. I may not be the tidiest person on earth, but I do keep track of things and remember where they are most of the time. Especially if they are important. But for some reason, the homework from this one particular class almost always ends up in some black hole (probably with my socks). I just don't get it. I'm supposed to be a grad student for god's sake. This is stuff that happens in the sixth grade.

So I'm wondering if I'll be able to fake it tomorrow, since the prof is a bit slack on collecting the homework. Maybe I can just make something up on the fly. I hate that I'm trying this crap. I'm old enough to know better. But I have no idea for the life of me where those two pieces of paper could be. I've even travelled back to last week in my head to see where and when I last had them. They were in my backpack. Everything else he gave us is here. But the important pages are mysteriously gone. Could there be a mischevious elf hiding these things from me? Is it my own wish to fail in school? Am I sabotaging myself?

Rally

I'm abusing the blog. I don't care. I just have to get things down so I can read them later and hopefully, they'll make sense. Because they definitely don't when they are floating around in my head. Hopefully the blog will help me get organized.

I'm slowly realizing that this is it. I've had my one great love story for my life and now it's all over and there's nothing left. There's no next time. Some would call it a 'self-fulfilling prophecy', that because I'm saying it and because I believe it, that's what's going to happen. But I disagree. Because it's not what I want. In fact, I have fought the notion for quite a while now. But the more I look around me, the more I realize that I won't ever be happy with another man.

My heart won't ever be one piece again. In a way it makes me sad, but in a way, I don't worry about being alone for the rest of my life. I worry about being unloved and unsupported, but that's different. I know that my heart isn't going to be able to rally from this. And I'm not going to make it. Because that's how people get hurt. That's how I got hurt. A failed rally.

Inlovement? Involvement?

It sucks being in love. It sucks being in love with someone who isn't in love with you. It sucks being in love with someone who only wants to be your friend. Every day, I am reminded of where I fit into his life. And where I don't. Where he has moved on without me. It makes me feel sad. I don't know what to do anymore.

Is it better to be re-heartbroken every day? Is it better to shun the company of the only person who seems to even remotely understand? It's an utterly confusing circumstance. I sit and listen to things that are so normal. Yoga. Movies. Showers and ibuprofen. It shouldn't matter. But for some reason, it does. I feel left out. I feel excluded. At the same time, I know that's ridiculous. I'm not left out. I'm not excluded.

I just know that there's this part of his life that doesn't involve me in any way, shape, or form. It makes me sad. Because I always want to feel involved and included. And there's nothing I can do to control any of it. Because I'm in love and there's no control when that's involved. so my involvement makes me feel uninvolved. And my love makes me feel unloved.

My Trajectory

Today I didn't go to class. Mostly because I just didn't feel like it. Partly because I feel like the prof doesn't like me any more since I have forsaken music for film. Whatever. I went to da beach instead. I even got invited to go to my favorite beach instead of Vista De La Playa De La Something (which is still not bad).

I'm glad we made up, but even more than that, I'm thankful to be able to talk things through when we are upset with each other. It's so much better than other alternatives. Part of me wants to call him now and ask him to dinner, but I know I shouldn't. And everyone else I know is not answering the phone, so I may just be forced to go alone. But I can do it.

We laid on the beach today and had what seemed like lots of stuff to talk about. And we can even joke about our quarrels. But the truth is that I can't shake him out of my heart like the sand shakes out of my blanket. I'm sitting there, wishing he would look at me like someone that he wants to be with. The way he used to. I can almost hear it already, I'm willing for it so hard.

We watched the kids on the beach, and they are obnoxiously young. He is rapt. I am mildly annoyed. I look at the boys playing football, wearing trunks that advertise cheap beer, and I know that I will be single for the rest of my life. Because these boys don't ever really grow up. They stay this way forever. And I will stay this way forever. Men and I are like two parallel lines; we will never intersect. My trajectory has already be set, and nothing is going to change its course.

Creepy Dreams

I feel like an evil moon passed over me last night. I don't know how else to explain it. I woke up to the thud and quiver of earthquake, but was groggy enough to believe that I might be hallucinating. To believe it might be the garage door opening. But deep down I knew that my bed only makes that sound for earth shattering events.

And then there was a dream. A creepy sex dream involving people I know (yes, that's plural people). One holding me down while another cuts into my knee with a razor blade, and yet another person just sits there and watches. The only face I can't remember is the one holding me down. I asked him why, and he says because the cutter promised he could be next. And I remember being really scared, really disappointed, and really confused. Why would someone do this to me? Why won't the other person help me? Why is he just standing there doing nothing? Why are they cutting my knee up first?

I woke up with the strangest feeling. Like a crime had just been committed inside me. I tried desperately to remember the face, and couldn't figure it out. I gave up, but am still uneasy from the memory. I know these people. They are people who are usually nice to me. Not threatening people. Where do thoughts like these come from? It makes me think that I'm the creepy one. With the creepy dreams.

Feeling Good

Last night I had a dream, but I can't remember it. What I do remember is waking up and wishing I was a pretty girl. Or at least wishing I felt like one. I haven't felt that way in a long time. I don't get attention. I pretty much blend in to whatever background is there. But sometimes I wish there was some guy that was not a total psycho who wanted to touch me and kiss me and whisper sweet nothings. Make me feel good about myself.

It's not that I want to fall in love. I think I'm done with that. I will never love again. All that gets me is a shattered little broken heart and bitterness. I think I'm finished with trying for the happy ending. Now I'll just try for the happy couple of hours, then say, gee, that was fun. Bye, now. Just so I can feel worthwhile for a short time. Because trying to feel worthwhile for the long haul has gotten me nowhere enjoyable. It's a one way ticket to hell. And all this time I thought it would mean something.

Anniversary

Today marks the seventh year of the life of my wonderful little niece. And the third year of my cousin's daughter, who I have unfortunately never met. It also marks the eighth year since I was robbed of something. It was something that I didn't even know I had, but once it was gone, I knew I would never be the same. It was taken from me without my permission, and my only solace the next day way a lazy cat named Ivan. So today is always kind of sad.

But I tried to get out of the house and forget everything bad as much as I could. But as soon as I drove out to the street, I saw the IHOP where we had breakfast last year, because he wanted to "be there for me". He's definitely not there for me now. I went to filmmaking central, where the air was thick with dust and dark. I tried to forget about everything, but it was like sadness was part of my outfit today. I could not rid myself of it, no matter how hard I tried.

But the filmmaking circus is quite the distraction. It's drama rests outside the acting. But the cough that came home with me isn't so nice. And the unshedable anniversary isn't either. Anniversaries are supposed to be joyous occasions, but it seems that so far in my life, all I've been able to create have been sad ones.

My Film Sucks

My film sucks. Now, I know that you are your own worst critic, and I am definitely one of my worst critics, but in this case, I'm afraid I may be right. And I have no one to blame but myself. I had a great (but small) crew, fine actors, and a very competent cinematographer. It's me that dropped the ball. So I'm sitting here trying to cut together pieces of something I wrote and realizing that I should have done a lot of things differently. But I suck at this, so I didn't. And no one else could save me because they are too respectful to try to tell me what to do. Sigh.

Getting that Master's degree is starting to look a little iffy. How would they ever approve when my first serious film looks so unbelievably unbelievable? It sounds fake, looks fake, is fake. My only hope lies with good editing advice from someone who knows what he is talking about, and life-saving sound design to cover up my recording fuck-ups that resulted in an extremely annoying hum in about 60% of the shots. If only it was 100%, then I could at least pass it off as an ambient sound that is supposed to be there. God I suck.

All-Nighters

I feel like I'm burning the candle at every end. There's work, there's school, there's family, there's friends, there's me. Everybody needs something. And I don't have enough time for everything. I feel guilty because I know I can't give everyone what they want. I can't do everything I want. It's almost to the point where I will be forced to promise something to someone that I know I won't be able to deliver. I don't like that. I like to be able to keep my word. I don't want to be a liar. There are already too many of those around.

I've been juggling everything so far, but I feel like I'm about to let something drop. I'm just not sure what it will be. Perhaps there are a few all-nighters in my future.

Epiphany

After lecturing/yelling at me one week ago today, then giving me four consecutive days of silence, he calls. And not only that, but he calls in a chipper mood with 'what's up with you, stranger?'. I can't help but be a bit mystified, and a bit irritated. There was a bunch of drama last week, and maybe more that he doesn't know about because he hasn't bothered to ask me what I'm thinking. He obviously doesn't know anything about my mental state, or he would either not call at all, or call and be concerned. But he's bouncing along as if nothing happened, and everything is hunky dory. Call me crazy, but if I had a friend that I talked to every day, then didn't hear anything from for 4 days, I'd be a bit concerned.

But maybe I'm completely delusional. Maybe I'm not really as close to his life as I thought. Maybe I'm really just a sideshow that bugs him from time to time. Maybe he really doesn't give a fuck about me, which would definitely explain the 4 day silence, as well as the completely disrespectful "I'm going to talk to you like you are 4 years old" lecture. That would explain the random name-calling and threats that sound like "I'll just take my toys and go home if you aren't going to play my way".

This could be an epiphany.

Maybe he really doesn't give a fuck about me.

It all starts to make sense when I look at it that way.

Wondering

Today I found myself wondering. Today is the fourth day I haven't spoken to him, and it feels very strange. He always said that he would be the first one to crack; that he would want to talk to me before I would want to talk to him. I wonder. He is always telling me how important I am in his life, but I wonder.

I drove to my new old beach today, and walked down the few steps to the sand. I love how the ocean suddenly opens up in front of you here. It's just like a narrow doorway opening up to a vast openness. It's beautiful. I laid my blanket down on the perfectly flat sand, and I don't think I've ever seen that. Flat, firm, and soft. I sat in my little alcove of wall, sheltered from pretty much everything. Less than twenty pairs of feet walked by, including the dogs. I love this. But I wonder.

I wonder what he's been doing all week. I wonder if he's thinking about me. I wonder if he'll write to me. I wonder if he's mad at me. I wonder if he misses me. I wonder if he's sad without me. I wonder if he wants to talk to me, but doesn't want to call for some reason. I wonder what that reason is (actually, I speculate). I wonder when he will want to talk to me again. I wonder if he even wants me around any more. I wonder if I'm really as important as he thought. I wonder if he still thinks I'm attractive. Or sexy. Or even pretty. Even a little bit. Or if he thinks I'm an ugly monster. Or a geeky girl with glasses. I wonder if he's seeing someone. I wonder where he is right now. Who he is with. I wonder if this is how things end. I wonder if I'll ever get my painting back. I wonder if I'll ever get a lot of things back.

Me Directing

Me Directing
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.

3 Things

There are three things I have learned this week:

1. I am not wanted.
2. I am not needed.
3. I am easily forgotten.

Who knew?

Getting Used to Things

There are some people who never get used to things. People who never get used to the smell of animals, never get used to heat, cold, humidity, or altitude. They are often perfectly reasonable people that are willing to try new things. The even try to accept things. But sometimes it remains uncomfortable no matter how much they want it not to.

I am not one of those people. I adapt to living with or without animals in a matter of minutes. I adapt to country or city. I get used to weather so fast, I often don't even realize that I wasn't used to it in the first place. I adapt to altitude changes quickly (mostly because I don't work out). I can deal with long hair or short hair, shorts or pants, dressy or casual. I easily alter my schedule to accomodate random changes. I alter my living habits based on who I'm living with. I get used to kids.

Recently, I have even become used to being alone. It took a while, though. First I had to get used to being single, which is more difficult than one might think. I had to realize that I didn't have many other people to hang out with too. Being alone came soon after. It seems a little weird, to think of going to the beach or to dinner or to a movie or a museum and not thinking about who will be there with me. Not thinking of who I can invite. I automatically picture myself alone in these places. There is a sense of freedom that comes with it; with not having to compromise with another person. I can come and go when I want, eat what I want. I don't have to engage in conversation or keep someone interested. It's not as lonely as being single.

But there is still one thing I don't think I will ever get used to. I just can't get used to adoring someone who couldn't care less.

The Lift

Posted by: quintessa

The Lift
This is where I will be staying in Paris.

Room

Posted by: quintessa

Room
This is a room where I'll be staying in Paris.

Minimalism

Posted by: quintessa

Minimalism
The best Minimalist art i have ever experienced.

My Lover

I have a new lover. I have the most wonderful new lover that will never shun me. This lover accepts me whenever I arrive, and allows me to leave without guilt. My lover is gentle, yet strong. My lover is quiet, yet vocal. Beautiful. My new lover has no rival, no equal. I can sit with my lover and feel comfortable that I am not being ignored, or shunned. And I can also share. I love the way my lover can make me sweat, yet cool me off when I need it. Make me thirst. Then quench it.

When I go home and shower, I can smell the mix of my sweat with the scent of my lover. It rises in the steam and I remember the time we spent together. It is salty and sweet. I miss it when it is gone.

This lover will never leave me.

Transformation

The transformation is complete. I fell in love with a man. He has gradually been morphing into something else. Something that is not what he used to be. A few days ago, his transformation completed.

I could not see a man that was kind, compassionate, or generous. I could not see a man that thought I was a wonderful person, or a beautiful person, or an intelligent person. I saw a person that thought it was acceptable to treat another human being like a piece of shit. I saw a person that showed a dog more compassion. I saw a person making threats. I saw a person calling names. I saw a person I didn't know or recognize.

Servants' Entrance

Today I went to the Marine Beach, since the other is not allowed. It was wonderful weather, mostly quiet. Except for the high school kids yapping about god knows what. There also seemed to be the Khaki Cartel, which was composed of about three or four high school aged boys who wore nothing but khaki pants and sat under the trees. Ah, youth.

Anyway, I eventually had to leave, and decided to leave by the back entrance. I couldn't find it when I arrived, so now was my chance. I stepped up the two and a half foot step of the concrete and proceeded into the past. When I first moved to SoCal, my very first visit to the beach was with a woman named Kim and her daughter and neice in a silver Mercedes. I barely knew the woman. She was friends with my then landlord, and made a point to show me where the landlord lived before we went to see the sun and sand. She took me to this foreign place and told me "it's a very private beach, but it's open to the public."

I loved it.

And as it turns out, it would come to mean lots of things besides being the very first beach I visited here. Who knew? So now, the task is to reclaim the beach as what it was back then: a beautiful beach that was exactly the kind of beach I wanted to visit. A beach that will never be forbidden because I own it with my entire heart and soul that has nothing to do with anything or anyone else.

So today, the clock struck the time I needed to go. And I went. I went and found the entrance of the first beach I ever saw. Vista de la Playa de la Something. My memory is so terrible these days. So I packed up, climbed up the enourmous step, and found my car by following the street signs. I became winded.

I went on with my day. Had to avoid traffic. Found a new way to the hippie chiro. Found a new way to school. It went through the ghetto. So as it turns out, today was a day of finding new ways. New entrances. New exits. Because the old ways are not allowed anymore.

I am a servant. Not good enough for the front door. I am now forced to take the back door. The servants' entrance. Sneaking in and out in such a way that no one will ever notice. Interesting exercise. But at least now I know it can be done. Before, I always thought that one must make an entrance that everyone would notice. But I have been proven wrong. I am too plain and common for the front door. I am a servant, and must use that door.

Shifting

I'm going to la playa again today. I probably shouldn't, but it's the only place where I don't get stressed out. Today I'll even remember to use the sunblock since the backs of my legs are already a medium rare shade of pink. I'm still somewhat put out that I've been 86'd from the beach I actually like, the one that I went to when I first came here and knew no one. It's really the only beach I've ever gone to, but apparently, beaches ARE private property.

The funniest thing is, a couple hundred feet down is okay. And the stupidest thing is, I don't like it as much there. Granted, it's still beautiful and serene and all that stuff. But things aren't where they are supposed to be. The palm trees are different. The buildings have a different placement that throws off my orientation. I don't even know what's even further down. I've never walked that way.

So I lay and look wistfully to the trees and rocks and sea wall and buildings that used to be exactly where they are supposed to be. Now they have shifted, just like my idea of who I am and what I am supposed to be. And it is an abrupt shift that I never anticipated. I guess things change in two ways: without you knowing it, or so fast you never see it coming. I never saw this coming. But I guess the end is never really visible.

Irritation

I can't help it. I am still upset about a spat a few days ago. There was just something about it that got me so riled up I was screaming (yes, SCREAMING) in my car as I drove home. I was swearing under my breath at the grocery store. I was shaking and clenching my teeth and fists and couldn't wait to get back into my car so I could scream again. It's not often I get this pissed off, and I have a hard time letting go of things sometimes.

So today I tried to unwind by doing some quiet things, which of course were still tainted by our argument. I went to the museum. I worried that I would see him, and was irritated about being worried. I went to the beach. I was pissed that not far down the strand was "forbidden". I was swearing in my head again. I checked the mail. I was irritated at being omitted from this week's mailing. I made hotel reservations. I was irritated that there are even places in Paris that I now have to avoid. I watched the sunset. I was pissed I couldn't see it the way I wanted because that, also, is forbidden. I ate. I was irritated that he makes fun of my eating habits. I sat in my living room, enjoying the quiet wherein I could do my work. I was irritated he didn't call.

I hate it when things get to me like this. I have been obsessed. On top of it all, I am so stubborn that I refuse to talk to him about it unless he brings it up, and until then, I will not be hanging out with him or calling him or talking to him about anything that doesn't involve school stuff.

I'm even irritated that he offered up some sort of apology. The problem is, he didn't apologize for the thing that pissed me off the most. He apologized for something that pissed me off at the time, but forgot about later. And I don't know if I'll ever really be able to express what I'm so mad about. Which means that maybe we are no longer going to be friends. It is starting to look that way, since he hasn't made much effort to talk to me lately. Maybe he's moving me out and dusting off that space for someone else. It would just figure.

Two Words

Congrats to the TAR HEELS. (for all of you MORONS who don't know, it's TWO words, not one. Get it straight, slackers.)

Ex in Film

I saw this film today and the main character in it reminded me so much of an ex-boyfriend. It was uncanny. He was short, with the same nose, the same eyes, eyebrows, and even those stubby little fingers he was always so self-conscious about.

I wasn't expecting to ever spend so much time thinking about a man who told me I "could stand to lose about five pounds". (Something I never forgave, by the way, even though true to form, HE dumped ME.) I had these weird mixed feelings while thinking about him.

The first impulse is to think what an asshole that guy was, what was I ever thinking, god was he obsessed with big boobs and girls named Jen, and I hope that chick he met after me and MARRIED six weeks after they started dating is fat and with child and driving him crazy because he deserves it. Jerk.

But then there is the second impulse. I wonder what he is doing, how he is, if he's still married, if he has any kids, if he ever thinks about me or misses me. But in actuality, I don't care about any of it too much. Am I getting soft in my old age? Is this what they meant by maturity? I think the answer lies somewhere in between forgiveness and forgetfulness.

It's been almost two years since I last saw him, and I can't say I've ever really missed him. Or even thought about him that much. He is old news. And yes, he dumped me. Yes, he married the very next girl that came along. But he was kind of a jerk and never really treated me that great and I never got that attached to him and therefore didn't have to mourn the loss of him as a person in my life for very long. He just sort of disappeared. Faded away.

So seeing him up on the screen in black and white, in a French New Wave film would have thrilled him to no end. I'm sure he would have preferred a Werner Herzog or Ingmar Bergman film, but hey, Truffaut is no slouch. He should be honored that I made such a connection.

Bad Talk

I suppose there is kind of an ongoing list of things that he says that I feel are A. insensitive B. mean C. stupid or D. just plain thoughtless. And it really ticks me off. Here are three recent ones. I'm sure there will be more later. (And don't worry that they don't make any sense; they are taken out of contexts that are too complicated to relate here.)

1. Spring Break. Or Spring Heart-Break
2. I hope he buried you.
3. It's just weird. I thought we cleared this up.

There is also this habit he has of telling people about things that we did together, but when he tells about it, he makes it sound as if he were alone. Like he's ashamed of me or something. It makes me want to kick him in the shins.

Paris

I spent a lot of time today trying to figure out where the best place to stay in Paris would be that I can actually afford. It's tricky, to figure these things out when you have no idea what you are getting yourself into, and there will be no one there to help you if you mess up.

He suggested I stay at the place he stayed when he went there with that special someone that made such an impression on his life that he looks happy in all the photographs. I checked it out, but knew that I wasn't going to stay there. The last thing I need is to be depressed in Paris because I'm staying in the place where he spent such a wonderful romantic getaway with someone he actually loved. Wondering if they sat at this table at breakfast, which room was theirs, if I'm in the very bed where they slept together.

No. I need to make memories that will not involve him. Have stories that he will not be able to compare to his own experiences. Have something new that he doesn't know about. Apparently, Paris isn't big enough for the two of us. Or rather for our memories.

Lonely People

Look at all the lonely people. Where do they all come from? I often think I am the only person on the face of the earth that is lonely and heartbroken, but sometimes I am proven wrong. Which is kind of good and kind of bad. Today I realized that me and my two roommates are all lonely, and are all pretty good at hiding it from each other most of the time. But we sympathize with and understand each other's predicament.

It's nice to know that you are not alone; that other people that seem completely normal are going through something very similar. It's reassuring to know I'm not crazy. On the other hand, it sucks to see people you care about being miserable like you are. It makes it a little more difficult to have hope for the future.

I also know that I am not very good at comforting people who are experiencing emotional distress. I never know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. It always seems like other people are so much better at that kind of thing than I am. But I am always willing to sit and listen. I just can't provide any answers or advice. If I could, I wouldn't be so lonely.

Things I Hate

1. People trying to control me.
2. Being told what to do
3. Being told what not to do
4. Split Ends
5. Mosquitos
6. Arguing
7. Hypocrites
8. Liars
9. Men
10. Not being able to do what I want
11. Pretentious people
12. People who refer to film as "The Business"
13. Working for a living
14. Traffic
15. Fair-weather friends
16. Chapped lips
17. Not getting any
18. Vomiting
19. Text messages
20. Bad spelling
21. Arrogance
22. Sexism
23. People who pretend they are something they are not
24. Math
25. People who cheat on their taxes
26. Oil companies
27. Religious zealots
28. Snakes
29. Brown clouds over cities
30. Tourists
31. Not getting enough sleep
32. Being told what I should think
33. Being preached to
34. Threats
35. Picky eaters
36. Warmongers
37. Holier-than-thou attitudes
38. Self-righteousness
39. Car trouble
40. Change
41. Jerks

The Back

The Back
Originally uploaded by ocean1000.