| scrapbooks of burnt pictures and memories. |
[22 Aug 2006|08:25am] |
No one reads this, so I feel as though I'm just talking to a person I used to be - the girl described in these pitiful entries, a sorry little girl who is supposedly long gone.
The time in my life that this thing sprung from is one that I'm trying desperately to erase from the corners of my mind - so I can't force myself to write or add to them in any way. I can't bear to delete them, but I feel as though I need to leave them all behind. Add my myspace if you wish, but this LJ would have been one that became ashes if it was tangible.
Should I open a new LJ, it'll be under the name atlantainblue.
"Give her a few days, she'll calm down. She's just spun."
The spinning's over with.
-katherine lutitia holder
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| letters that you never meant to send get lost or thrown away. |
[20 Aug 2006|08:44pm] |
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mood |
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 complacent |
] |
[crosspost from myspace]
29 June 2006
Dear Mama,
Sitting alone in this huge house can really get to you sometimes. It’s almost like it gives you too much time to think. And, of course, given a situation like that you usually tend to think about the things that you don’t ever want to really sit and think about. But while I was sitting and thinking and not wanting to think, I thought about all the things that I’ve done or said or didn’t do or didn’t say over the past few years. After I swallow the lumps in my throat and dry the tears that result from all this unwanted thinking, I always draw the same conclusion – apologies are needed. Perhaps this being in this God-forsaken redneck town is my own personal Purgatory, but somehow the punishment doesn’t seem to fit the crime. And I mean the punishment isn’t harsh enough in my case. I’m getting off a little too easy. But I digress. There’s been so many times when I’m almost bursting at the seams to tell you things – but the words always seem to fail me. I can never find the right time or the right setting or even the right reason to spill my guts to you. Sometimes I think you’d be better off not knowing anything about what the hell has been wrong with me for so long. Sometimes I think this whole family thinks I’m completely nuts – other times, I fear they think I’m less crazy than I really am. Finding the happy medium has proven to be an exercise in futility, with that “happy medium” being what I’m really like and what I’ve been dealing with for the past few years and where I’m going right now. This time, I thought you should really know what I should have told you a long time ago.
It’s going on over half a year since I’ve been in Tennessee and in that short span of time my life is light years away from what it was like this time last year. Funny how time and space make you gain a different perspective. I look back on myself and I can feel my stomach wrench and tie itself into knots just from the feeling of what it used to be like to be me. I’m disgusted at how I used to treat people – especially those who were close to me. I’m upset and disturbed at how I treated myself and my body – when at times it seemed like I was hell bent on destroying myself. Sometimes I wonder how I made it out without getting hurt, arrested, or with a pulse. At times I swear it must have been divine intervention. Sometimes nostalgia kicks in and I feel like going back. Back to the [dis]comfort of my crappy little apartment with my crappy little job and my crappy little “friends” and my crappy little life. I only feel like that when I feel like giving up, though. I’m so much better off living my life the way I’ve taught myself to since I’ve been up here. I can’t say that I’m perfect. Hell, far from it. And I can’t force a fake smile and pretend that I’m happy. I don’t think I truly know what “happiness” is or that I’ll even see it for a while. But I know what “recovery” and “rehabilitation” feel like – and they feel like the last six months. And solace is found in the promise of the light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t see it yet, but I know it’s there.
Sometimes I wonder if the damage I’ve done to myself emotionally, mentally, physically is permanent. Sometimes it feels like it. Every once in a while I get in a state of mind that feels like I’m just floating through life – like I’m not really living. Just drifting along, not really feeling, not really doing or being, just simply peering out of dreaming eyes that don’t even feel like your own. A dream that you just can’t snap out of. Have I made such a mark on myself that it’s going to slowly drive me crazy? Or is that the Catholic guilt stepping in? I always say, “I just don’t feel like myself”. Well, fuck, I don’t think I ever really knew who the hell I was to begin with! And now I’m just as confused as ever. I wish I could go back to when I was small and everything was perfect in my eyes and in my world. When I told myself that I’d never smoke, I’d never drink, I’d never do drugs, I’d be a virgin till marriage, I’d go to college, and lead a pseudo-perfectionist life. Those rose-colored glasses suited me just fine back then and I’d give anything to have them back. Ignorance really was bliss. But, unfortunately, at some point in life, something or someone makes you open your eyes and it feels like being jerked awake out of a most peaceful sleep. I could blame my shortcomings on everything from Dad being a drunk and being absent, or to peer pressure, or to the shitty society that my generation inherited. But I won’t. I refuse to. What a cowardly cop-out that would be! I blame myself completely – which is what hurts the most because it feels like a declaration of war upon myself. The side that is growing better against the side that I’m trying to overcome. At the end of the battle, there’s still going to be scars and the pain will still be all too real – because the fact is a part of me is dying. I can only hope that it’s the part that’s done most of the destroying so far. And I pray that it takes all the painful memories with it – a melancholy part of my life that’s better off forgotten.
I feel so alone sometimes. There are times when it hurts physically. Even in the center of a crowded room, there was this loneliness inside of me that screamed from the pit of my stomach and begged for me to let it out, but just like so many other things, it got muffled back down. Back down so it could sit, and fester, and rot. I blame myself for some of that as well. Perhaps I isolated myself with the choices I’ve made throughout this life. It’s possible. I’ve never fit in. Sometimes it was okay, other times I would have sold my soul just to be someone else for 10 minutes. To feel what it would be like to be beautiful or slim or fashionable or popular or rich or smart. Attempts were made at all of the former, hoping that maybe, just maybe, perfecting what I thought was a personal flaw would fill that gaping hole inside of my self. How foolish. The hole grew and multiplied exponentially – whether I noticed or not. When I finally got a taste of freedom after high school, it seemed logical that if I couldn’t fill the hole, I could at least drown out or numb the hurt that resulted from it. There, I found my self at the bottom of a bottle or the end of a straw or inside a capsule. Doing whatever it took and however much of it it took to make me feel anything – anything – except what was really inside of me. After that, I don’t even know what I became. Not Katherine, not a lady, not even a resemblance of sense or reason – just some shapeless, faceless, soulless coward whose image I didn’t even recognize in the mirror. I remember looking at my pitiful dilated pupils in the mirror one day and seeing nothing – no emotion, no heart, no person. Just a shell of what I used to be or could have been. Remnants of a girl I used to know.
Two years. Two years twist and meander their way around my heart and mind to a point where I feel like I’m choking. The blur of self-destruction that those years became haunt me. I hate myself for killing myself. For every tear in my son’s eyes that I put there. For every morning my mother had to wake up and see that I – yet again – was not there. For the worry, the hurt, the anger, the poor excuses, the lack of judgement, and absence of consideration – I hate myself every single day for all of those. I think about the people I hurt and I cry. I cry all the time. I cry because I feel like I should feel what I put them through. I had the world at my fingertips and I pissed it all away. I had a son who looked up to me and loved me and I put him on the backburner constantly, deliberately, and without hesitation. I had a man who gave me a love even Juliet herself would be envious of, and I discarded it like trash. I had a family who had given me more support, love, advice, and nurturing than any other family I’ve ever witnessed – and I hurt them, forgot them, and let them all down. And yet, I look around me at this very moment and they’re all still there. Why?
Why would this little boy still curl up with me on the couch and fall asleep watching movies in my arms when I abandoned him before? Why would he still run upstairs and hunt me down in this big house just to say “Mommy, I love you” when he didn’t even hear it from me for so long? Why would Jonathan wait on me for two years, despite how I treated him? Why would that man devote himself to me the way he does? Why should my family take me in and care for me? Why should they still buy me birthday gifts and send cards and even take note that I exist? Why should all these things still happen to me after all the things I’ve done? I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve the love that’s given to me and I don’t deserve the gifts that are sent my way. I don’t deserve this second chance. I don’t deserve to kiss my son good-night every night, I don’t deserve the engagement ring that’s on my finger, I don’t deserve to get this chance to go to college, and I don’t deserve to have my family’s love and support. But I’m the most thankful person in the world. I suppose I’m living proof that God looks after children and fools.
I’ve only recently started talking to God again and I pray often. Mostly because I believe that God apparently has some sort of bigger plan for me – otherwise I’d most likely be in a gutter or halfway house somewhere. I’ve been blessed beyond measure and I have no doubt that there is something better out there for me. And I’m on the right track. The emptiness and loneliness are still there, but their screams are slowly turning to whispers. I still feel awkward and out-of-place but I’m learning to embrace my flaws instead of fighting them since it’s a losing battle from the start. I allow myself to cry, get angry, be depressed, whatever the flavor of the day is. The more I allow myself to feel, the more I learn to deal with whatever it is that’s making me feel that way. And I’m finding myself smiling more often because of that. I find myself soaking in the world around me more often now instead of blocking it all out. The sunny days, the wind against my face, the grass between my toes – I’m learning to enjoy and savor the beauty of this world. I’m often reminded of the summer mornings I spent in my old backyard listening to the katydids as I swung on the swingset. If I had to have a happy thought, Mama, that’s it. My own personal moment of zen. Swinging while the sun went down and I could see you making dinner through the kitchen windows. Singing to myself because I knew everyone was out of earshot. The sun always had a way of setting in just the right place over the roof of that house during the summer so that while I was swinging I could see it in full when I swung upwards, and watch it disappear completely behind the top of the house while I swung down. My happy thought. My reminder to myself that there’s still beauty left in this world. I still swing when I’m in the park, but it’s not the same. I guess I’m a sucker for nostalgia. To me, that’s what I imagine happiness to be. The same feeling from childhood, when everything in your world was still perfect.
I sometimes wonder if I’d do it all the same if I had the chance. I suppose it’s human nature to wonder about that. I guess it’s a question of “do the means justify the ends”? I’m on the fence with that one. Would I still have Marc? If I didn’t, would I still have Jonathan? What if Dad had stuck around? What if I hadn’t gone off the deep end? How would my life be like if I had done things differently? I guess I just have to have faith that the universe is unfolding as it should and that all things have a place and reason. I keep doing my best to keep hope that the emptiness and loneliness and crying and anger and hurt and self-hatred will all one day subside and fade from memory. I look forward to days that I can be proud of myself and walk without such a heavy heart. I get through each day with the intent of making tomorrow better than today. I’m learning that patience really is a virtue and that everything Grandma ever said is true – whether I want to admit it or not. I’m learning that my family are the best friends I could ever dream of. I’m learning that love is about compromise and understanding. I’m learning that forgiveness is harder than hatred – especially when it’s with yourself. I’m learning that even if a heart is broken, it’s not defeated. I’m learning that sometimes pride is better off swallowed and humility is often the best policy. I’m learning that my sharp tongue needs to be dulled. I’m learning that this life is beautiful and amazing and bitter and tragic – but it’s the only one I’m ever going to get, so I’d better make it good.
So I suppose, in some indirect way, that this is my way of saying “I’m sorry” for every ounce of worry and hurt I’ve caused you and the rest of the family and to tell you that I love you and miss my home. While it’s a foul attempt at purging myself of my own sins and faults, it’s just to let you know that you shouldn’t give up on me just yet – not that you ever did. But it would break my heart to see my grandmother leave this world without seeing me graduate college, get married, at least make something of myself. So this is also a vow to not give up on myself. I’m not there yet, but I’m on my way, Mama - slowly, but ever so surely. And I’ll get there. Your little girl isn’t all you ever wanted her to be just yet, but she promises that she’ll damn sure try. I just didn’t want you and Grandma to worry about me anymore. All things considered, I think I’m doing alright.
Love Always,
Katherine.
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| go to sleep and know that if i had all the answers i would not hold them from you... |
[28 May 2006|08:16pm] |
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mood |
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 refreshed |
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music |
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Jack Johnson // "No Other Way" |
] |
You.
I woke up this morning with a familiar feeling that I've been waking to for the past few weeks. That feeling has been the most beautiful and emotion-provoking that I've yet to feel and is something that I'm not ready to surrender, yet is something so mundane and normal that most people wouldn't give it a second thought. The way my skin feels pressed against yours is more powerful and more potent than any drug, any drink, any substance that could ever coarse through my veins. My bare body softly curled up with yours molded in unison around me is nothing less than my heaven. My fingertips know every curve, every inch of your body and your scent is embedded in my mind until the day I die. The way your hair wraps around my fingertips, slides through the palms of my hands, and falls back into place is what lulls me to sleep easier than anything else in this world. You have these eyelashes that every girl on earth would envy, and the eyes that they surround make my heart melt like ice under a scorching sun. When you look at me with that clear crystal blue that cuts right through me, I can't help but feel my heart flutter and then have to catch my breath. Your kiss is something so toxic that I can barely withstand it sometimes. Your smile and the way those beautiful lips light up your whole face is amazing. The sun could burn out and fade away, and as long as I had that smile, I wouldn't even notice.
Sometimes I catch myself staring at you and I can't take my eyes away. There's a beauty about you that words cannot describe - especially my own. Words are my strong suit and even on my greatest day, I'd fall miles short of a worthy description detailing what I see when I look at you. I can close my eyes and see every freckle, every curvature of a muscle, every gorgeous flaw, every strand of hair, every single thing about your body. Your hands have this shape to them that I've never seen on another human being. Weathered, rough, and tenderly gentle all at once. You take my head in your hands, tilt it back and kiss me with this soft passion and I can't help but feel my knees go weak. You know every single thing to say and every move to make to turn me to putty in your hands.
You always seem to know the right thing to say at the right time - and you also know the right time to not say anything at all. Just knowing you're there is more than enough. You can read my moods and my expressions like a book cover, and you have this subtle way of being able to calm me down even in the worst of times. You've seen me through my rock bottom and been the reason for my greatest point. It hurts only to know that we wasted so much time ignoring what our hearts were screaming at us for so long. I spent countless nights thinking about you, missing you, being in complete denial about being madly and insanely in love with you. So I made myself a promise on that amazing weekend we had back in March: every second I spend with you will be cherished and savored and I will never waste another minute that I'm given with you.
I can't imagine my life without you. You've changed who I am more than anyone else and you've been more of a father figure to my son than any other male influence in his life. I want to spend every single waking second in an attempt to make you half as happy as you make me and I'll die trying if I have to. Without you, I can only imagine my world being a cold, lonely, empty, memory-less one and I know in my heart that no one else will ever be able to hold a candle to you. If I didn't have you, I'd spend the rest of my life trying to chase down the love we shared, only I know that I'd never find it - never in all eternity. I need you, I cherish you, I adore you, I love you I love you I love you. You make my world a beautiful place to be, Jonathan. You're my reason for everything, you are my heart, you are what makes me happy, and you are what makes me the hopeless romantic that I am. I could go on for days and weeks and months and years and still never quite get the words right. Some songs come close, poetry is never quite as beautiful as I need it to be, and cards are manufactured and never as eloquent as necessary. So after years and years of trying to put my feelings into words and to make you feel a fraction of the way I do, I'm come down to one conclusion:
I'll just have to spend the rest of my life doing it.
I love you, Jonathan Ryan Stegall.
Marry me.
"There is no combination of words I could put on the back of a postcard
And no song that I could sing but I can try for your heart.
And our dreams and they are made out of real things,
Like a shoebox of photographs with sepia-toned loving.
Love is the answer at least for most of the questions in my heart.
Like why are we here? And where do we go? And how come it’s so hard?
It’s not always easy and sometimes life can be deceiving.
I’ll tell you one thing, it’s always better when we’re together..."
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| there's no combination of words i could put on the back of a postcard, no song that i could sing... |
[24 May 2006|12:19pm] |
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mood |
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 contemplative |
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music |
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Jack Johnson // Better Together |
] |
most days now, i tend to find myself getting so overly angry about little things. the way people speak to me, the tedious things that go with my job, the little things that my son does that irk me - they're all starting to build and build and build and i'm waiting for my breaking point. and i know what the problem is.
it's this job.
i sit here day after day after long, mind-numbing day and waste my life sitting behind a desk working for some of the most rude, snotty, condescending people i have ever met. my manager is the most childish woman i've ever known and dealing with her is like dealing with a pissed-off four year old. granted, i have an unfounded superiority complex for which i refuse to get help and my own flaws ABOUND, but for fuck's sake, this place is RIDICULOUS. i can't stand my day here. now i know that not everyone likes their job, and that's to be expected. but where do you draw the line? when you go home and yell at your kids and beat your wife because your boss made you work through lunch? or do you walk out and key her car when the bitch in the desk next to you steals your good stapler for the 42349 time that week and doesn't give it back? or do you simply brush it off as something that you deal with and get over? what's healthier - keeping it bottled up or venting?
i vote for resignation.
why should this petty job make my life miserable? why should ANYONE'S job make them miserable? fuck the benefits, phone plan, and the pathetic paycheck - i want my life back. i want to be able to enjoy my saturday without dreading the shit that's bound to hit my fan on monday. i'm sick of taking time off to myself only to come back and have nothing but total chaos and disarray on my desk that the perpetrators expect me to clean up. i'm sick of the phrase "that's not my job" and i don't want to work in an environment of lazy fucks that use it. i've got enough on my plate and i don't want bites off someone else's - i'll help where and when it's needed but pull your own goddamn weight. that is, if you can, you morbidly obese, chain-smoking, snuff-dipping, sister-fucking rednecks.
i'm so tired of the employee bathroom being my only sanctuary.
and after this job, i'm going to need my own cardiologist for my own high blood pressure problems. or, if i'm REALLY lucky, i'll just fall over with a heart attack. at least that way, they'll have to admit me to the hospital. and i'd rather be there than here ANY day.
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[21 Apr 2006|12:21pm] |
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mood |
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 pensive |
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every attempt made to revive this latent corner of my musings has proven consistently to be an exercise in futility...
i expect this one to be about the same.
however, i find it hard to just write off something that has been here damn near close to 5 years. not this particular journal, but livejournal itsself. i have another journal that went from high school to a year after i think. it's mind-numbing to try and even browse through it - as i'm sure this will also amount to. i can't stand reading what i write because it always seems childish and inaccurate since i constantly find myself unable to get my thoughts from my head to the screen without having them blurred or distorted somehow.
at any rate, this will amount to nothing more than more mindless blathering on my behalf that will no doubt be less than perused by most people. i can't blame them - i don't think i have anything of substance to say, and even if it's of substance to me, no one else gives a shit.
(i feel like the end of a Doogie Howser episode)
my other LJ entries have been about friends, family, my stupid jobs, my lack of motivation, and my constant awareness and advocation of my self-induced downward spiral. they make my stomach turn as much of my past seems to do. in their entirety, they only make me more aware of how much damage you can really do to yourself and your life in a small time span. i'm assuming that with time, love, therapy, and no doubt some form of medication, the self-inflicted wounds will heal.
(Trazadone 150mg qd and Alprazolam .5mg prn)
but we're fallible, right? and we're supposed to be. it's our human condition and keeps us short of God. so i guess i'm normal by that measure. but i lie. a lot. to myself. i consider myself a pretty honest person, and i use the term "pretty" because i don't believe that anyone is completely honest - ever. it defies normality. i have a knack for making myself believe whatever i want as long as the repetition and self-assurance is kept going like a broken record inside my head. it's worked so far. now - not so much.
i think the prescription needs to be changed on my rose-colored glasses.
what have i accomplished so far in life? a fair amount for my age. and no, i'm not referring to those brainless twits who constantly reassure themselves by saying "i've been told i'm mature for my age". (you're pathetic in ways your mother would weep for - it simply means "you've got big tits and therefore look older/mature, but i'd still go to jail for
banging you") for under 21 years, i've seen more than some people three times my age. so here's my self-proclaimed purgatory, my purging of my own sins, only fire freaks me out, so fuck that. i figure getting this off my chest now will only make it easier for me to drown in the booze that's sure to come per my birthday. for 20 years, this has been what's made up what everyone knows as me:
i've been married, had a baby, and been divorced all before my 17th birthday.
the marriage was against my will and the divorce was because he beat the shit out of me.
i am a recovering bulimic and was like that for 2 years. my disorder pains my everyday life and makes it hard to enjoy ANYTHING. my greatest fear is getting fat.
i used to to any and every drug that was put in front of me. sometimes i wonder how i made it out alive and now i have an intense phobia of them because of it.
i have a ridiculous superiority complex and i hate the greater part of humanity.
i hate most girls.
i love my family more than life itsself and i've caused them more pain than anyone else in this family.
i was an absent mother for a long time and am more ashamed of that than anything else in this life.
right now i am in love beyond all belief and am super paranoid that i'm going to ruin it, even though i know that it will last.
i've had a history of blacking out consistently every night for weeks by drinking, trying to drown out painful memories.
i hate my mother because she's a fucking nutcase and i love all my aunts and uncle as if they were my parents because they've always picked up her slack as a mom.
i was unaware my mom was crazy until recently.
the fact that my father was a raging alcoholic was hidden from me until i was 13 years old.
my father was abusive but i didn't realize it because of lack of standard of comparison.
i feel lied to for most of my life and am amazingly bitter about it.
i cheated on and lied to the person i love most in the world. the fact that they know doesn't ease the pain.
i hate everyone's kid except my own.
i've found it hard to believe in God until recently. and it's amazing.
i steal. a lot.
i'm greedy.
i'm vengeful.
i'm lazy.
sometimes i think i'm going crazy.
i talk a whole mess of shit about other people, no matter if i'm being a hypocrite.
i text too much.
i complain too much and i'm too hard on myself.
purged? no. feel better? not really. i still think that there's some corner of hell reserved for me if i don't shape up, but i'm learning. and slowly but surely, one day at a time, i'll get there.
"and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep..." - Frost
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[20 Mar 2006|05:46pm] |
Been in Tennessee for a while now. It's not bad... just feels too much like growing up. I'm actually in Georgia right now with the intentions of bringing my son back with me so I can finally start building a home and a life with him like I always intended to.
Of course, someone else has made this trip beyond amazing and so sweet I can almost taste it.
Jonathan. I think we've both finally come to the realization that we're never going to be able to quit each other. It's been over 5 years now and time to accept it. I think we've both fought it for far too long. Madly in love? Yes. Stupid? Of course. Love beyond comparison? Always. Life has never been sweeter. And absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
MySpace is still a better chance of getting in touch with me. Always. Not that anybody really is, but if anyone out there in LJ land still loves me, wants to talk to me, fight with me, cuss me out - go here.
www.myspace.com/shesjustspun
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[13 Jan 2006|11:14am] |
moving to nashville on sunday.
if you want to keep in touch with me, LJ is becoming harder to keep up, so I caved in and got a myspace. yes, i know, i suck at life.
www.myspace.com/shesjustspun
i'm on there 9465264582795264 times a day because it's the crystal meth of the internet. and i'm hooked.
love you guys.
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| yes, I'm still alive. |
[22 Nov 2005|02:32pm] |
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99X Mistle Toe Jam w/ Co&Ca. I'm already there. And after $42 on one ticket, I better fucking orgasm during the show.
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| 2113 |
[02 Nov 2005|06:51pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 guilty |
] |
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music |
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Coheed and Cambria |
] |
In our sleep, there's more to this nightmare.
Will she beg for your mercy?
Slowly but sure, I'm hoping what comes in the absense of love.
At night, she'll kick and she'll fight, should they fill in his sight?
At night, I'll worry from all, the end of us all.
Please mom, they're coming for me.
Please mom, run lock your door, they're coming for me.
The clock reads 21:13.
All work will stop,
And the ground will relieve.
Please mom, they're coming for me.
Please mom, run lock your door, they're coming for...
When I fall asleep,
Your face is all I see...
Dear momma I love.
I fall asleep,
Your face is all I dream...
Dear momma I love.
In your frame you'll be this well.
In the face you miss the most,
You'll see them soon...stop.
I bid you fair warning,
Stay up 'til you...
When the memories occur,
Of a life you haven't lived.
Stay still, you will.
I've got a secret to hide,
And I've got a secret to hide...
In the words,
Of father to son.
Thy Kingdom Come.
Please mom, they're coming for me.
Please mom, run lock your door, they're coming for...
When I fall asleep,
Your face is all I see...
Dear momma I love.
I fall asleep,
Your face is all I dream...
Dear momma I love.
Those days we lost our dignity,
The eager dare to stand.
The ride home through victory,
On the innocent they tread.
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[02 Sep 2005|05:30pm] |
Why is it so damn hard to let go of old times? Especially when those times do nothing but make it harder on the present times? Ugh. I'm an absolute mess. But is it really that fucked up or am I just stirring it all around my own head. I think it's a little of both...
I've also been looking back through some of my old entries and some of them are so vague and obscure to anyone else but me. I guess it adds to the mystery.
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[30 Aug 2005|05:22pm] |
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mood |
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 crazy |
] |
After a month of panic attacks and going through meds like candy, here's the rundown:
Lexapro: 10mg a day
Xanax: .25mg as needed 2 times daily
Tranxene: 7.5mg as needed
Buspar: 15mg a day
I'm a walking fucking pharmacy. I feel like I should just pour all of them into a bowl, fill with milk, add a little sugar, and VOILA! Crazy flakes.
Oh how silly of me to forget - I'm currently suspended from work for bitching at some little Togo twit until she was so upset that she walked out and quit. I hate that place now. I hate the people that come in to eat, I hate the managers, I hate a lot of the people I work with now, I hate being asked to refill shit, I hate running the food, I HATE MACARONI GRILL. Being suspended was a well-needed vacation. Fuckers. It doesn't matter anyhow. I'm taking this break to go and apply all over the place - ANYplace is better than where I'm at. Ideal job for right now? Data entry at the hospital.
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[23 Aug 2005|05:10pm] |
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mood |
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 calm |
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music |
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Fallout Boy : "Sugar, We're Going Down" |
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I looked in the mirror the other day and for the first time I saw someone who was completelt unsure of who or what she was. Weeks have passed and I've been battling demons who I THOUGHT were long gone, but unbeknownst to me, they'd just been hiding out in my closet waiting for the opportune moment. It almost feels like I'm looking over my shoulder to see if karma's caught up with me yet to kick me in the ass. No doubt that he's gaining ground. I've wronged a LOT of people I love and in ways that I could never tell them for fear of destroying them. I've also hurt more people in the process of hurting the former ones. Yet, what bothers me is the numbness. The lack of guilt. I'm not saying that I've NEVER felt guilty. (Jonathan, I told YOU, didn't I?) But then when I do the same thing to someone else, remorse is completely devoid. And it's because I refuse to let myself feel it. I love Randy - I do. But Jonathan - every kiss, every touch, every moment you laid next to me - it runs through my head every day. It was wrong, so wrong, but nothing has ever felt so right and so perfect. It brought me back to a time where we fought for each other, no matter what. When we had plans to conquer the world and nothing could keep us apart. You will always have a peice of me that Randy can never touch - and he knows that. But Randy will never know or even be able to understand what we have and the bond that will always be there between us. We may not be "in love" - hell, we may never even speak again - but you're going to be in my head every day and I keep going back to the recent times where you looked into my eyes and told me the same. At the very least, you will always have a friend in me - no matter what. I'll always love you in some way and I can never make myself feel guilty for that. I'm always here, you'll always know how to find me. And I'll never be less than overjoyed to see your gorgeous face. Whether or not you'd want to see me is another thing. And if not, then I guess I'll have to chalk it up to that karma that's steadily chasing me, no matter how fast I go.
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[27 Jun 2005|05:16pm] |
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mood |
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How do you know for sure if someone is right for you? Should it be logical? Like how well they can provide for you, how well off your future would be if you married them, how much your lifestyles are alike? Or should it be purely emotional? Like how passionate their kiss is, how they run through your mind 15,000 times a day, how your heart swells at the thought of them?
Neither one of these methods are working for me.
I love Randy, I really do - but lately I've done nothing except think about Jonathan. He's been keeping in contact with me more lately and after one tearful heartfelt conversation, I have come to the realization that I will never ever in my lifetime again encounter something so passionate, so crazy, and so worth fighting for. I never met anyone so in love as we were. He still loves me, so he says, even with his short-term girlfriend, and even after a year with Randy, a big part of my heart will always belong to Jon. He'll never have another girl like me, and I'll never have another boy like him. Everyone else pales in comparison. I'd like nothing more than to take him back, but it's so frustrating - what if I'm wrong? What if he's changed? What if it's not the same Jonathan I used to know? What if the timing is wrong and it fucks up a THIRD time? I don't know if I could deal with that.
Only Florida will tell, I guess. Maybe I'm still clinging to the past, or maybe I gave up on something that was completely perfect.
Besides, he's simply drop-dead gorgeous.
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[13 Jun 2005|06:00pm] |
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mood |
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 cheerful |
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music |
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Autumn Attic : "Walking Away" |
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Marc's birthday was today - more tons of toys that he'll play with for 2 days and then forget about. Yay. He had fun, though - and that's what matters.
Other than that, I really don't know why I started an entry - not much to say. We're getting a washer and dryer tomorrow. Damn, that's really sad - a washer and dryer is the most exciting thing that's happened this week. I feel so domestic.
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[01 Jun 2005|07:11pm] |
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mood |
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 excited |
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As of next week, I will be promoted from being a server to being a corporate developer for Macaroni Grill. Sounds lame, but it's one step closer to management.
And because of that I had to reflect.
It's just a job. Even my mom has no clue why I'm so passionate about what I do. I refill drinks, bring people food, listen to complaints, and fake being nice to people day in and day out.
And I fucking love it. I make $2.13 an hour plus tips and I fucking love it.
I guess that needs explanation. My income is determined by how hard I work. If I bust my ass, then I bank. If I slack off, it shows. If I need extra money, it's always there for the taking. And the people I work with and work for are some of the most amazing people I've ever met.
And it's about time it paid off.
I'm also going to Gay Pride weekend with Jaimy and Mel in June. I'm not even homo and I'm excited.
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| In Memory of the Shovelface |
[17 May 2005|09:07pm] |
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mood |
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 morose |
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Being 20 is so disappointing. And what's even more disappointing is that my Shovelface is no more.
Mugsy died a few days before my birthday. The poor little pug was too fat to breathe.
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[09 May 2005|09:05pm] |
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mood |
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excited |
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I'm all moved in and the place is GREAT.
SO much better than living in the ghetto.
1820 Trees of Kennesaw Parkway... my birthday is the 15th.
SEND ME STUFF.
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[25 Apr 2005|01:53am] |
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mood |
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 drunk |
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music |
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Maroon 5 : "Sunday Morning" |
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I keep looking over and he's just so perfect.
His eyes
His smile
His laugh
His humor
The way his body moves
The way his lips curl when he smiles
He's ineveitably perfect and I can't even begin to describe how I feel about him.
I think a wedding on the beach is coming up.
Sometime....
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