Despite it all, I actually do like tap.

You May Tire of Me.

I wish I could write them like Ben Gibbard.

You know, when I was younger I used to daydream and imagine what it would be like living in a Hooverville. I thought it would be like living in one of those forts I used to make as a kid. And you'd be more tight-knit with the neighborhood. You'd play all day out in the streets. And things would be tight, but your family would always be there for you.

I guess I was always the daughter that the other mothers didn't want their daughters playing with. At least, at my Dad's house. I guess they figured, "What's a 60 year old man and his wife doing with this little girl?"

Didn't take too much to piece two and two together. I think they thought of me as the wild little girl with a lack of morals. They sort of regarded me like I was Wednesday Addams, although I didn't pick up on that until I was older looking back. They would sort of brush me aside. My friends...well, one of them was really my friend. I think the rest of them were told by their mothers to keep a wary eye on me. Never leave me alone with a toy and all that. Don't listen to anything she tells you, it's probably a lie.

And then, at home I had one best friend. One *real* best friend. The best friend I ever had. I don't remember how long she'd lived with us, but it felt like years.

Probably only lasted a summer, though. Her mother had cancer, and eventually she moved away. I think I could connect with her so well because there she was the girl the other mothers didn't want their daughters playing with (excluding mine) and we would run around and have fun. Bicker and fight and joke and play and just be little girls.

Man, it sucks being friendless. I think when I needed her most she had to leave. For years, looking back I don't think I really had any honest true friends for years, until the eighth grade at least. Then I had to go and leave them behind.

And now I might have to go and leave these behind. No wonder I'm so much of a fucking introvert. You can't trust people if you know you'll just have to leave them.

Not Enough Time

When I was in the seventh grade, there was this obnoxious guy sitting next to me in sixth period US History. And I can't remember for the life of me what his name or face was, but I remember he was obnoxious. And familiar.

And once, I pretended to spit at his feet in class, when he was teasing me. Because you know, I always thought spitting at someone was a huge insult. And I didn't actually spit, but I've always been really good at pretending, you know?

Anyway, he reacted like a girl, actually squealed and shouted loudly that I spat at him.

Fucking pussy.

And I got moved to the back of the row. And I don't have any memories of that class after that, so I think I moved away right after that.

And I don't know why I'm thinking about this, but something about him is just so familiar.

He teased me a lot.

Alright, everyone teased me a lot.

But he was different, I think. Sort of reminds me

Do you ever lose the motivation to say or write something, mid-sentence?

I'm so tired. And I have to get up early tomorrow, too.

Fuuuuuuck. I don't want to, but I sort of do.

What part of "pass PRO.1 cup++, please" is so hard to understand?

Of the precious few time I am ever excessively pleased to know that I was wrong, this probably tops the list.

I feel sort of disgusting, though. I'm not really up for a cold shower, because I'm afraid it'll trigger the chills, and my temperature has been too high for the last three days to safely take a shower without collapsing.

But between burning up with the fever, and then fucking freezing with the chills...sweating and shivering...I feel grimy and disgusting. :(

With all of the symptoms, my heart sunk when it came to look like mono. Fucking A, you know? I don't have time for mono!

But the doctor confirmed that it wasn't strep throat, and that while it might have been mono, it's pretty unlikely. Also...how could I even get mono? It's possible, but still insanely unlikely.

Instead, it looks like a particularly nasty throat infection. This one, I can't even talk with. Words scrape along my throat like sandpaper, grating against my ears as they leave.

What else is strange? I've learned that I make noise when I sleep. Like little whimpering sighs. Scared the shit out me.

It's starts with music, I guess. There's always music. Even as I fall asleep, there's a song itching at the back of my mind. And I tend to grate everyone's nerves, because I sing. It's a physical compulsive urge, actually. I can resist it if I get in the habit of it, but it involves grinding my teeth and feeling generally miserable.

Anyway, halfway between sleep and consciousness, I could feel the music in my mind, and I guess the compulsive urge took over, because I could hear myself make a poor whimpering attempt at...something.

I don't know. But the sound was enough to wake me up completely, because it startled me that much. I didn't feel myself make the sound, so I made it again, feeling my vocal chords vibrate when I directly wanted to make it myself.

Do you know how disturbing it feels when your body does something without you telling it to? I knew how He felt when he told me about it before, but I didn't really want to experience it like that.

And I swear, it's been fucking 9:40 for the last five minutes. I would kill for a shower. And maybe an hour of sleep, if possible, but instead, I'll just down some of that Tussin crap (I don't think even a spoonful of sugar could make that shit go down in any kind of delightful way.) and mope a little bit more.

The worst part is? Not being able to talk. I swear there's nothing harder than getting a hearing person's attention without using sound.

I've been trying to teach everyone signs, but I guess they didn't care enough to pay attention, because even the really obvious ones they can't seem to understand. Not being able to talk is an easy thing to overcome if you already know some sign language.

But that doesn't really help at all if no one else knows how to sign. -_-

It was good coffee, too.

Drip
           Drip
                     Drip
    Drip

    I dropped

my coffee cup

          on the

counter        when        you


(behind me)
             crept up so quietly.

     And I can feel that

stead     dy     Rhy     thm

     in which it

Drips
           Drips
                     Drips
    Drips

.But really, all I can feel is the
         rhy          thm
   in         your

lips
           lips
                     lips
    lips

and it's a little
          funny

because you taste
like coffee
and sugar
and honey

and i can't even mourn
   the     l
                o

                     s

                      s
of my stolen

sips
           sips
                     sips
    sips

because your

lips
           lips
                     lips
    lips

taste a little

bit
           bit
                     bit
    bit

                 better.

But I can assure you,
once my head clears
and I can think about
more than just your
hands on my

hips
           hips
                     hips
    hips

And how nice it feels
         that you just

bit
           bit
                     bit
    bit

              my
lip
           lip
                     lip
    lip

  I will make you buy me
    a new cup of coffee.

 But for now,
        Let the goddamn coffee go
Drip
           Drip
                     Drip
    Drip

Downer

I'm such a downer, aren't I?

I just scanned through my blog posts.

I'm not always this pessimistic.

Alright, that's a lie.

I feel like I spend most of my energy just trying to be happy. And I think there's a point where you smile so much that you start to believe it.

It's usually the point where the stoners look at you like you're on crack and inch away slowly from you because you "smile way too fucking much".

The sad thing is that I'm actually in an alright mood, right now. Finally found the capo for my guitar. Starting mapping out the bones for yet another new song. :)

I'm getting better at this song writing stuff.

And I have two essays to write. Well, one to edit, one to start from scratch. Le book critique, et le thematic analyzation. Fucking Fitzgerald.

And I've been on a strange Beatles/Sinatra kick, lately. In between trying to tab out Happiness is a Warm Gun and lazily strumming Something, I've been murmuring Come Fly With Me under my breath.

I just wish that Sinatra was a bit more guitar compatible.

Lost and Found

I guess being found runs in my family.

No, that's not true.

Running runs in my family.

We might not necessarily be good runners, but we do run. Hell, my last name literally translates to "to run". My name literally means "(she) runs".

But we must not be very good at it, because we seem to have a knack for getting found.

Change name, start over.

Can't change my name. Can't start over.

Cut ties, run faster.

Don't want to cut ties.

Why the fuck should I have to run? Why can't people just stop looking?

And now, I can't really ever look at Russian Roulette the same way ever again, after I found out what he did to my mother. Sick motherfucker.

So yeah. I guess I do have some dependency issues. I can't help it. After being dropped on your ass so many times by so many people, you don't really want to anticipate it, do you? The solution is pretty simple...fucking stop depending on people.

I'm a bit too good at it, I should think.

And in the end, really, I'm just all messed up. I can't take control of shit because I'm just not a domineering kind of person. I can't take control without fucking up. I'm just naturally submissive.

But you can't be submissive if you don't trust people. So now I feel like my brain is fighting with itself constantly. Like two vicious dogs snarling and frothing at each other.

Meh. I feel like a walking paradox, sometimes.