Trashed and Scattered

Fri, 20 Jan 2006 00:09:22 GMT

This morning I’m laying on my couch and staring at the ceiling, each stain and crack already memorised from past sessions. This time my mind isn’t stressed; it isn’t running around in circles, banging into things. This time my mind is peaceful. Which is surprising since I have my final exams tomorrow (hey Char; remember last year when the world tricked you into believing you were ready? But in fact you weren’t even close; your brain just didn’t want to make an effort anymore.) This time my mind is calm, and all I can think about is you. At first I told myself I was going too fast. I’d just been messed around with and this was just one more time when I thought it would be funny to take a chance, throw my heart off the top of a building. That sort of thing. It’s so like me. But when I got up on the roof to throw my heart, it didn’t feel quite right. My feet stood on the edge, my hands clutched tightly, I had second thoughts. Maybe this time I could give it to you instead. Give you the rights to my so called “love” or whatever that annoying thing is.

You just have to sign the papers here, please.

So as I lay there I began to imagine what it would be like to see you asleep. Not in a creepy-standing-at-your-window-breathing-heavily way. But in a curious, comfortable way. I let my mind wander, as in my head my fingers wander over your sleeping features. Wander over every curve, every lash, and every bone, unable to believe that I’d never noticed how amazing you were, until now. It’s as if one silent couch session had changed my complete out-look on having someone else in my life to love.

But lying on my couch, my eyes closed, I began to feel those feelings be pushed aside again, forcing myself to believe I would never be good enough for you. The way you see the world, they way you handle each situation you’re put in…even the way you don’t turn to drugs when things get hard; I’m not like that at all. You are something I could never be, but just by knowing you, I can be a better person.

And believe me I want to be, I want to be a better person, for you mostly. Because you deserve everything you want, you deserve everything great. I want to be jealous of everyone you spend time with; because that’s one less moment I get to spend with you.

I want you to be able to trust me, and I want to be able to trust you. I want us to look at each other and know that every secret we keep together is safe, that every kiss is only ours. I want you to be able to tell me anything, no matter how weird or confusing it is. I want to give you anything and everything.

Maybe there’s just shit in the ceiling that’s getting me high, but I’m pretty sure this is real.

Ilujohnny.*blush*

peterpan

Thu, 19 Jan 2006 23:17:37 GMT

sometimes i like to wake up after its dark out, sometimes i like to call you 120 times in one night, sometimes i check everyone on my buddylists ~~away messages~~ but not IM anyone, sometimes i fall asleep in all my clothes, sometimes i want to see how other people see me, ~~sometimes i dont~~, sometimes i want the world to just go away, sometimes i wish it would fake going away and just say "sike!"

goodgod

Tue, 17 Jan 2006 22:10:40 GMT

I've been waking up each day on this break to the sun blinding me through my window. My eyes gaze blurrily at the clock, not registering the exact time, but the rough numbers as to when I should roll out of bed and begin my day. There are things to be done scratching lazily at the back of head, pushing me gently. But sadly not enough for me to actually do them. A forever ending doom sits comfortably in my mind of the upcoming exams. I haven't studied. I haven't even touched the bio textbook since I put it down last Friday. It's like a volcano planted on the edge of my vision. Eventually it's going to erupt in my face.

But until then there's nothing I can do.

I've never been one to make a time table, keep an agenda, and stick to plans. My minds usually taken up by more important things. I was called "creative" when I was little, "a day dreamer" when I grew a little older, and "immature" to this day. It's funny how things work like that. Little kids run around all the time, speaking of riding Unicorns and saving princesses from castles buried far in their creative minds. Parents look on fondly and strangers smile at past thoughts of being that young. As that kid grows older they receive A+ on their story writing assignments, blessed for their "imaginative and inventive story lines”. But when the kid reaches a certain age, it’s as if a stamp is slapped on their forehead, reading; GROWN UP.

And so as a grown up they’re expected to be mature, intelligent, and understanding. All previous make believe stories forgotten, drowned in a river. But there’s some “grown ups”, such as myself, who spend hours in the bathroom, washing the stamp of their forehead until the skin is red and raw. They’re not ready to let go of their make believe world that brings them so much comfort. There’s nothing wrong with sitting at a train station and watching the people go by, making up stories about each one. The woman with the long black hair was single, but had a man who loved her more than anything. She just hadn’t found him yet. And see that man over there, the one with the backwards baseball cap? He wanted to leave the city; he preferred the small town life and aspired to own a farm with sheep, no wait, pigs.

It’s not the world keeping you on the outside. It’s you not wanting to be on the inside.

And as I roll over, stretch my arms above me as if reaching for something I couldn’t live without, my mind slips to you. Were you in New York right now? Or coasting between venues. Were you lying in your bunk writing endless one-liners, or maybe today was the day you wrote another personal ad set to background music? Because, like you said, nice boys don't write good stories or sing good songs.

I stop myself before my mind drifts too far back into your life. I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s really none of my business. I only fell into your emotional waterfall by accident, no one pushed me. I just stumbled on a lose rock, missed the branch as I fell. I’m not drowning, don’t worry about that. I’m just floating in the same spot, your emotions crashing around me and occasionally splashing me. I have a boyfriend now, and it’s better than anything I expected. It feels wrong to plaster your pictures over my wall and websites.

Late at night everything about you is an orchestra. And I am the conductor.

So why won’t you leave my mind? I read the article about you awhile ago. And I cried. But it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m one of those “grown ups” who can’t let go. I’ve got my real life, with real friends, and real problems. And then there’s the make believe, that’s not quite make and more believe. Do you see what I mean?

Somehow this turned into a letter about you. That will never send.

The bed’s cold. The blankets are tossed aside and I guess that’s a sign for me to get out. Like the waves throwing a crashed ship onto the sand. I have projects to finish, textbooks to ignore, and that bag of Cheesies that I brought but didn’t really want. Cheesies for breakfast?

That’s classy.

\m/ #3 nothing's ever gonna happen around here

Mon, 26 Sep 2005 02:41:33 GMT

Dear Adam,
Why do you insist on telling me everything your amazing girlfriend does? Do you honestly think I care?
No.
Why do you have to sign on msn just to tell me Jessie surprised you by waking you up this morning. Oh wow..big whoop..you've found a girl who can break into your house and disturb your hangover sleep.
Excuse me while I slit my wrists of jealously.

Adam, please stop telling me things I don't need to know. And please stop growing, you're too tall and it's creepy.

♥ Char

pee ess;;get over the fact that I ditched you that one night for The O.C.

Mon, 11 Apr 2005 04:18:21 GMT

RAWRZ DEATH METAL!!1!!1