ahhh. hey kids

i am empty and sad. i need to fill my empty heart with people. a lot of cute boys on campus, none of them worthy. i want to smooooke. a cigarette. sigh sigh sigh. maybe tomorrow. maybe. 

met cute guy today, like, seriously cute. like clive owen javier bardem type. said he was a writer, etc. had pretentious typewriter, moleskin notebook. obviously.

asked to see credentials. gave me a writings, poorly typed:

shit was like, a bro's journal. shit was like, stuff a high school kid did with one hand in his pocket, ya dig?

dis. a. ppointing.

i hate when people describe a beautiful woman in a book. so sophomoric, so juvenile. 'oh she had fair skin and long lean legs that lead up to a place i only dreamed of, etc. perky breasts'

a grocery list, an itinerary. unappealing. 

it is enough to say she was beautiful. to do more than that is to try and prove it.

beautiful things stand for themselves.

anyway. the convo disintegrated after that. 

ahh fuck guys. all the smart ones are ugly and the pretty ones dull. 

and the smart pretty ones are beyond me. i am an ugly thing.

i know cuz i checked my ugly mug in photobooth and it told me so.

haha i got a macbook bitch.

found this note in the annals of my email account:

oh my heart my heart my heart i clove it in two i ate one half and gave the other to you. i don't know if you tossed it or lost it or what but the half that i ate is tearing my gut.

fuck i'm so sad. this book is depressing me, but i am depressed because i will need to take all of emmanuel's things and put them in a box, and put it in my trunk, and take the box to riverside, and give them to him. and say they don't belong to me, they belong to you, your things. not our things. yours.

but i feel that it must be this way, or otherwise i will never be happy.

to shy from pain is to be afraid of it, and i shall not be scared. i shall be strong. i have to be. but why this utter, incomprehensible, oppressive weight of dread fear, a slow smoldering loneliness like two eyes placed steadily on a vantage just beyond my ken?

lo lo lo.

I am shouting for joy in the cavernous halls of newfound independence, but the cries echo back in empty tones of loneliness.

i want to be like mae west. she's so glamorous, so fierce. she is every gay boy's wet dream.

i want to be unattached from everything.

i wonder what he kisses like. aagghhh. i hate my stupid brain. how it's connected to my stupid vagina. why wasn't i born a man, or lesbian. i wouldn't have so many problems.

i'm absolutely useless. i forget everything. i'm so useless it's painful to type this shit out. roaaarrr.

i can't even send anything out correctly. i wasted fucking twenty five fucking dollars for nothing, because i left out documents. fuck. nobody else is this idiotic. why can't i follow instructions.

easy, peasy instructions. just read the list and do what it says. why is that so hard.

and i call myself smart. i deign to sign forms. fuck that shit. i'm an idiot. grade f. idiot. how pathetic.

i don't deserve to be with anyone. least with emmanuel. fuck all the rest.

fuck this shit. fuck me. gah.

i was turning off the lights in the living room, and i thought to myself, innocuously, "is missy asleep?"

of course she is.

and that's when it really fucking hit me. this really fucking sucks. i held her beautiful head in my hands, and she was already gone. it was the first time i had held someone who had passed. she was my old lady, my golden girl. i'm never gonna see that same silly face again. i'll no longer have a reason to buy tennis balls because she never returns them to me.

i miss my dog. fuck the chihuahua. i want my old lady back.

have got a new room et new floors et al. feel like rotten egg inside new pristine shell.

I think i'm getting distracted by all kinds of peripheral shit, and I hate it. I want to throw out all my clothes, chop off all my hair. :[

guilt guilt guilt? probably.