and it Bursts!

Wow. I'm officially offended, and feel like I wasn't even given a pass at what might make me the way I am. Maybe I've done too many drugs. Maybe I've seen some messed up shit. Maybe I like that. ANTAGONISTIC?

You're the kind of ignorant, bible-huggin' fruit I cannot tolerate. But tolerance is what we preach. Don't slap an age onto your counter-argument. It's not relevant and I've got more adhesive on the back of that than you could imagine. I've packed my car and I've paid my bills, what more can you say of that?

THAT'S BRIGHT.

The sound is trapped inside me...

So my niece has a bumper sticker on her car that says: "I think, therefore I'm liberal". Now I love my niece and think that she is bright. But why in the world would she put this sort of sticker on her car? Well maybe she's proud to be a liberal. I have to admit there aren't very many of them around who are proud to be liberal. Most of them hide behind the "moderate" label. I'm a proud conservative. It is truly the best way to live your life in my opinion. But everyone is allowed to choose for themselves how they wish to live their lives. As for my niece, hopefully she'll grow to appreciate others point of view in the future. After all she's only 18. When I was that age I voted for Jimmy Carter. Not a proud day as I look back on it through the prism of experience and wisdom.

If I had a bumper sticker that was antagonistic like that it would probably read: "God is a Conservative".

I've decided to rewrite this.

She was a girl I remembered meeting there. Badly dyed hair, pale skin and a smirk every now and then. Scared, I presumed; ashamed, as I was. Looking for a way out.

I woke up that morning feeling the heaviest weight in my chest I've ever experienced. It couldn't even possibly be a feeling- it was a force not meant for the heart. Not meant for the white bars of my bed and the delicate daisies painted on my walls. It resonated off my stale sheets. It consumed me, like water rushing into my eyes and hands and hips and mouth. It drowned me completely, every waking minute of the day. I was so drowned that no piece of food could touch my mouth, no drop of water could grace my skin. It was too much work.

I started losing weight rapidly and ceased going to school. It wasn't an option. Instead, I died in my bed every day. My smile died, my speed died, my energy died; my imagination flourished. There wasn't a corner of the house I didn't picture myself collapsing into. Not a piece of string left in its place. Not a lock I didn't know where the key was. Not a support beam that couldn't hold me. It was a haven for my perfect ending.

The guy who put his hands on you

Has got nothing to do with me

And the bruises that you feel will heal

And I hope you'll come around

Cause we're missing you

And you used to speak so easy

Now you're afraid to talk to me

It's like walking with the wounded

Carrying that weight way to far

Concrete pulled you down so hard

Out there with the wounded

We're missing you

Well I never claimed to understand what happens after dark

But my fingers catch the sparks at the thought of touching you

When you're wounded

Let me break it down till to force the issue

We miss your face and you know we wish you

Would come back down to the Dalva Bar

You tell them, that's just my battle scar

I wanna kiss you

And knock 'em down like we used to

You're the marigold

Till you're walking down shaking that ass again

Then you walk on, baby, walk on, you walk on

On and on

You're an angel in the pit with her hands in the air

And we're missing you

Now it's fall, and your shoulder's get tighter

Nervous flicks on the lighter, boots

Your pissed off poets, your women's groups

And the friends with you, we should have known this fool

Well I guess we missed the mark

Still my fingers catch the sparks at the thought of

Them touching you

Now you're wounded

Let me break it down till I force the issue

You never come around, and you know we miss you

Well nobody took your pride away

I say, that's something people say

Back down the bully to the back of the bus

Cause it's time for them to be scared of us

Till you're yelling, how we living cause you got the ball

Then you rock on, baby, rock on, you rock on

On and on

You're a summer time hottie with her socks in the air

Screaming I won't care, baby, I don't care, no

You say you don't know

You say you can't grow (you're the marigold)

All I know is we're missing you, you

You say you don't know

You say you can't grow (you're the marigold)

All I know is we're missing you

Show up wounded

Americano

So after last night's bbq I decided I should get going on something like this again. Sort of a Carrie Bradshaw type blog... even though I probably won't have as many clever ideas as her. A friend just mentioned it was easier to remember things on this, and it's therapeutic. I think I owe it to myself.

Today was interesting. Work was insanely slow, but me and the girls goofed off all afternoon and only had one rude customer- miracle! I thought a lot about where the hell I'm going to live this summer. Do I ever get important stuff out of the way first? If I do something right away does that mean it's not important? No, I think I just don't like doing grown-up stuff, plus I'm scared to live with someone I don't know, even though that's what I'll be doing in August. It's different somehow. Actually, if I even pass this semester (crossing my fingers) then that's what I'll need to focus on first. I'm just having all these flashbacks of oh-my-god I'm never getting out of this town... am I?

What type of life does a person who agrees to a five shot espresso drink really have?