here are, as usual, some things:

1. work is fun, but i'm generally too much of a stressball to deal with anything else in my life.  my spicy coworker has been talking me through some key points of what's wrong, and i'm drawing some serious conclusions about how much stock i take in people and their actions.

2. i'm watching "a knights tale" and it reminds me of someone that i'm sure doesn't remember watching it with me.

3. my dreams of late have been completely borked, babies that turn into kittens and kittens that get lured by dogfood, driving away from the amityville house and ending up back in the foyer, where my baby brother got dragged away by dogs and the authorities telling us they only found curls and bones, though when i got back to the house he was alive and there and i was pretty sure he was a ghost and was going to kill us all.  nightmares every night about faces that i don't see anymore, people i hate as a defense mechanism because if i don't it all hurts just a little too much (partly my own fault, should have known better than to watch an old VHS tape labeled "we miss you").

4. one of my high school teachers came into the CU the other day and told me he recently found his copy of "the flaming nun", and how it was one of his favorite projects ever, and i was a little too excited because it means christa and i are memorable.

5. i think my body is getting back to normal and i'm not sure what that means.  wheet.

forgot a couple:

TOO MUCH happening this weekend.  excited is a good word for it. 

i can't stop saying it, but i'm feeling out of sorts.  like i'm planning something, but can't get started.

i dream all night long, dreams and nightmares where former lovers have the same forgotten personalities, embarrassments, harassments, unholy propositions...

doesn't anyone else feel not themselves?  feel all bled out and empty, pale and drab and tired.

i'm desperate for everything, falling in love with every face, imagining illicit stolen moments.

will not cry.  will not wait any longer.  let's do a photographic spread, all about my fictional influences:

maybe that's my problem... my interests don't mesh.  being badass and not caring while being sweet and nice and reading books and kicking ass and drinking and loving and WTF personality disorder!

spent the evening in a hurricane, chasing dogs and cats through whipping winds and rain, feeding the horses and hoping for the best.

time has been spent making wishes, planning escapes, hoarding dollar bills and wondering if any of it will make a difference.  holidays approach, excitement gets spread back and forth, and i've got my eye on the future.  let's lay this on the line, yeah?

the past few weeks have been... weird.  i've been completely withdrawn, pulled myself from every social situation imaginable (apart from my free daily therapy sessions, which are starting to weave sense into my brain), abandoned plans and dreams for the future, and... i don't know.  i'm lacking purpose, i think, but sooner or later it comes to a point where you can't drift anymore.

all i know is my body knows something isn't right and is rebelling against me.  besides that, my dreams are a battleground for my brain, and each night i wage war against exes and lovers and wastelands and 98.6% of the time it's a bit like living a horror movie, except there's little interludes of things that don't fit, a funny little commercial break.

oh well.  soon my hormones will stop bitchslapping me, though every single time i watch this video i cry, and that just can't be healthy:

out of sorts.  i just want... coffee, very strong, and a publishing deal, and... a plane trip, don't care where to, as long as i get to sit in the airport for entirely too long and people watch.  i like things most people hate, like waiting in airports and hiccups.  some days i feel like a walking contradiction, but mostly i think i'm just a hypocrite.

and when i'm away from him i feel more myself, more like how i was when i was happy.  and maybe that's a sign, like i should pack myself up and ship myself off, show up on someone's doorstep and make them buy me noodles.  i can't always be the prettiest girl with the most broken heart.  sometimes i just have to be content with being a mess.

what do we do now, hmm?  lace up the sneakers and slip through main street, feet pounding on new pavement with the smell of change in the air? (change smells like construction dust and poorly distributed public funds)  do we sit in quiet rooms thinking loud thoughts and hoping this apathy and lack of faith in anything fades?

so let's do it, let's pull up our knee socks and thicken our eyeliner... let's stand up and dust off and get ready for something new.  because i'm ready.  sometimes i don't think i am, but i'm ready.

here's the first thing i'm preparing for:

dear *&%$@

this letter was going to start with your name.

it was, just so we could be clear, and i was going to talk about all the things that boil and rage inside of me.  but what difference would it make, in the end?  i am still persona non grata, the leper at the gates of the city, an unanswered email, an ignored phone call.

and you know what?  for some of you, that's okay.  i'm content (due to the divine intervention of new friends that know exactly what it feels like) to let a few of you slide into the ether.  these i loved too brightly, burned out my affection like a dying star, left nothing but a gaping black hole sucking up my sad emotions, spurred to tears by hormones and otherwise innocuous commercials.  with you i knew your nature, knew you were fickle and cruel and sometimes too beautiful for your own good, which was why i enjoyed you so much.  you are a loss i've grown to deal with.  as to you, well, there was that awkward time i caught you having sex, and yes, it's pretty much burned in my brain.  but bitch please, you could have been the lovequeen16 to my connor.

but you.  the %$# @&%$#@.  this is a different tale.  whilst trying to pinpoint exactly why i can't let this go, it always comes back to your hands.  whatever was between us, whatever we were doing... dating, hating, boyfriends, girlfriends... we could be sitting somewhere... car races, movie theaters, parking lots... and you would hold my hand.  and that sounds like the most inane bullshit, but there it is.  you could hold my hand, and everything was okay.

and now, i just don't know.  i'm a bit of a hypocrite, but only because for three weeks out of the month all i want to do is crawl into my bed and die.  it's not that i don't love and appreciate the people that reach out to me.  it's more like i can't imagine why they want to see me.  for three weeks i feel despicable, evil, a hulking mass of a girlthing.  i imagine horrid fortunes, curse pheromones and the way they lead us all to believe we're in LOVE, with big swirling capital letters.  and mostly i think of the few people, the ones i miss, the ones that hate me.

i'm in the two week stretch right now, planning to open a business in the next year, publish a book, go on tour, write a screenplay and film it at my alma mater, dance and sing and love, pop out a child (even though i still believe they will inherit my neuroses and resent my for it).  i'm planning and hoping and dreaming that in a week i won't envision driving my car into a tree.  and i guess the question i have is this:

what did i do?  what did i do this time, what makes me so foul and untouchable that i must be ignored?  when it comes down to it, i just don't know, and can only imagine how much it must take to cut someone out of your life.  how horrible must i be, how cruel and hateful and wrong?  i can't think of any other explanations, can't come up with a story to make it all better.  i can't even do as the oh-so-wise nick laplant once told me: make up a lie, and tell yourself it's true so many times that you believe it.  make your lie the truth, and it will hurt less.

because in my lies you don't even realize what you're doing.  you don't inwardly groan at the thought of me, don't practice ways to avoid me.  your computer is broken, your phone is dead, you've been kidnapped by polytyreneichistanian nationals, and they're threatening to brainwash you on middleeastern television.  in my lie, you're planning to talk to me soon.  you just haven't gotten around to it... it's been a busy year and a half, and there was just no time to respond.  you didn't read my plaintive message, talking about the fact that the only person in the whole world (there are 7,037,147,87 people... i actually looked it up this time) i wanted to talk to.

pretty lies aren't true, though, no matter how much i want them to be.

and what do i get from this full page of sadsackery?  it just makes me seem crazier, more unhinged.  i fit into the tree better by the day, medicate and observe me.

the morale of the story, the cherry on the sundae, the reasoning... i feel a little better letting it all out.  and nobody made you read it (or were the polytyreneichistanianans holding a gun on you?).

ah well.  back to obsessively consuming hi c juiceboxes (not ectocooler, you fuckers), dunkaroos, and infringing on numerous copyrights.  you're all just lucky we're in the two week stretch of happiness, or this might have gone on forever.

yours always (even when you don't want me),
lucylynn

from the novel, so pertinent right now

A: so explain to me about this guy you hang out with, your...
L: ex.
A: right, the ex.  what's his deal?
L: he's still young, idealistic.  he's very concerned with matters of fairness, thinks that everything should be just.
A: except when it comes to you.
L: yeah, except for that.

this has been a very tough few weeks, and unfortunately my heart hurts quite a bit.

and half of my heart is the part of a [girl]
who's never truly loved anything

oh well.  behold, the future!

read between the lines