i know life is long but it goes so fast

 

CONFESSIONS.

- Waiting outside during the fire drill this morning, I pretended to be on the phone so that people wouldn't try to talk to me.

- Yesterday/the day before I ate an entire bag, minus maybe four, of Hershey's candy-coated chocolate Easter eggs. I also recently drank a half gallon of chocolate milk. In one sitting. Which is impressive because milk is hard to digest, so you see, I am challenging myself.

- Secretly, I really don't want to go out tonight. Or tomorrow night. I know it's one of those times where once I get dressed and out the door I'll be glad I went, but right now, I just want to take my tights off and I'm definitely in a classroom and there are definitely people in here. Which isn't to say they're staying on, the tights I mean, what would the people be getting off of? just, you know, I wanted you to have a clear picture.

- I walked into the men's bathroom today, USED the bathroom, and it wasn't until I was washing my hands that I realized the walls were a different color and I STILL didn't get it. I legitimately was trying to figure out how they could have repainted the whole bathroom since the last time I used it two hours ago.

- A middle-aged-ish woman in front of me didn't hold the door open on the way outside the building during the aforementioned fire drill. She just walked straight through. And it pissed me off so much because really really really lady someone just held the door open for you? because of DOOR WALKING THROUGH ETIQUETTE THAT WE ARE ALL BASICALLY BORN WITH? and there are fifty jillion of us exiting this building right now? and do you really really think you're the last person? no, you're just the worst. So I entertained the thought of pushing her down the stairs, is the confession.

- I just started a blog about confessing things because I wanted to talk about my fire-drill related guilt.

- I love you.

The road unwound ahead of her. Or was being unwound, she decided. She was walking forward at a pretty good clip, she thought, and the more she saw of the road the more it seemed at the mercy of some unseen specter. Up ahead and out of sight and enormous, she was sure, it held a coil of road slack in one hand and with the other was carefully snaking an asphalt ribbon through the trees.

But was she walking forward? She tried to think. It occurred to her that not only was she unable to name the place she found herself in but that she had no memory of having set out. Inside her pockets her palms felt slick. She took them out, passing them over the sides of her coat, and tilted her face toward the sky. For one terrifying moment her skin yielded to night and there was nothing to keep the stars from the vacuum in her center. Then a pair of eyes looked at her, twin globes suspended in black. She blinked, and the eyes grew larger. Headlights. The word came to her from far away, and meanwhile the headlights drew nearer. Soon they were accompanied by the low growl of an engine. What felt like a very long time passed as she tried to decide not what to do, whether to hide, whether to run, but: Was she approaching the headlights or were the headlights approaching her? These words - "headlights," "engine," even "trees" and "road" - where were they coming from? She was sure of them, and yet could not imagine their meaning in terms of herself. She could not, in fact, associate any kind of meaning to herself and as she moved further down the road she could barely believe in the gravel moving under her feet. It felt unreal that she should effect any change, when she herself was without definition. There was nothing to know beyond her existence on this road, beneath the watchful trees and a cosmos vast and indifferent. And what of the specter in all this?

She watched the lights slow and turn away from her, then dim. She was past the place where the lights went out before she heard several slams followed by quiet voices. Perhaps she wouldn't have turned; perhaps she would have kept following the specter, would have kept believing that the path it laid was meant for her. In pursuit of nameless, infinite others, she might have walked forever.

[Also I am aware that I wrote 'chardonnay' instead of 'champagne' in my last post, and I just want to be clear that I was not drunk when I wrote that. I was high. On cough syrup. But I am better now, thank you for asking. You're very thoughtful.]

i'm going to live i'm all right i'm going to die it's all right i'm okay

This is why I won't invest in a nice camera. I am the destroyer of digital worlds.

You know how on blogs and stuff, a lot of people's lives are just regular but they look really super duper awesome?

I would learn how to do that, except that my regular life includes mimosas ...I just started to list all of the things I love about lately but there's too many. I feel so much better than I have been feeling, and by better I mean not obsessing about nothing. Except that's kind of misleading because I'm actually super sick right now. But today is almost over, and I'm going to go home and drink ten gallons of Nyquil and snuggle the fur off my cats and not move at all except to make my mom take me on a date to see Oz.

I just realized I left 'mimosas' up there by accident when I deleted the list, and I'm going to leave it because more than anything else I love Trader Joe's chardonnay. Suck it, friends.

when the chandelier starts glowing with or without you knowing who the partner, what the dance (love will get you in the end)

Photato source.

Kind of, I am reeling, a little bit. As in let me just sit here for an hour or maybe fifty hours and stare at this wall and deal with this feeling bullshit. And by 'deal with' I obviously mean 'wait for it to go away.'

LADYBRAIN, Exhibit 42349: "Change is good, right? You may have to keep telling yourself that during the first half of the week, as you discover more and more that your lovely stability is threatened from within and without. If you keep your center, it all works out for the best. You've got to stick to your guns on Thursday and Friday, though that almost certainly means conflict, or at least a standoff. You are sure to be glad you did, though. The weekend brings a wave of good energy that helps you figure out what's really going on when communication breaks down." WHO READS THEIR HOROSCOPES FOR REAL. Not me, not since high school anyway. Wtf is my problem. And I will keep my stability, thank you. You can pry it from my cold dead probably wedding-ring-less-and-covered-in-cat-hair fingers. Although my recent efforts at keeping things the way they are in my heart area (ie, SAFE AND NOT ANNOYED) have involved involving other potential problems. Potential problems who make you feel first cute then pretty then downright irresistible and then you're like, okay thanks for the boost friend! see you never but then they still want to talk. And you're kind of not that mad about it. At all. Even though at first when you're cozied up to this potential problem you have this fleeting thought, like, sucks for that other one, this could've been him. But then it goes away and you realize it's fine/kind of awesome. But then it's a couple days later and real life is happening and you wonder if you just keep layering distractions on top of each other and what/who is underneath it all?

Mi novio ideal es alto, divertido, y le gustan los gatos.

how many days until i don't have to take spanish anymore?

Anyway MyFitnessPal and I are in a fight, first because I've been acting kind of distant and cold toward it lately and second because here is what I have put into my body in the last week:

-birthday cake

-beer

-brewery nachos

-beets. bears. battlestar galactica. sorry, it seemed like we were on kind of a roll so I thought, you know, whatever, let's go with it

-that's it

And it's being all judgmental and rude about it and I do not appreciate its attitude. And APPARENTLY 'stumbling around the financial district trying to find a cab with your walk-of-shame buddy' does not count as cardio EVEN IF you are holding all her stuff (friendship) and neither does awkward dancing in gas stations EVEN IF you are holding a lot of diet cokes (muscles) so I think I might just break up with stupid MyFitnessPal and nurture/adore my inherent squashiness like I've been doing.

Seriously, though?

What am I doing.

i don't think he chose to become what he has but believe me this is not your fight

Sometimes I like to buy remnant fabric on the cheap and horde it for the day I learn how to sew. The other day I found some with DONKEYS on it. Donkeys. So I fished some elastic out of one of the cardboard boxes I haven't unpacked since 1994 and made a skirt happen. And then I got really excited because it as it turns out skirts with elastic waistbands are like the easiest thing to make ever, so I made another one happen. AND I wore them in real life and they didn't fall apart or anything. AND I took awkward, douchey pictures in order to impress the internet with my skirt-making prowess. AND the leopard one is made out of pajama material so it's super extra amazing. DIY, seriously. Not like the lie that is most of pinterest. Which I do not have because I don't need another g-damn reason to feel inferior. All you do is figure out how much material you need to cover your tush, sew it into a tube, hem the bottom, and make a fatter hem around the top but don't sew all the way. Push the rubber band in around the top, sew the hole closed, and look like a model. The End, You Are Welcome. The only problem is that measuring is for people who are not me, so they're a little bit big in the waistal area and you can sort of see where they bunch up under my shirt. But no one's been lifting up my shirts and examining my waistbands recently so I think that is probably fine. If you examine the pictures, though, you can definitely see my makeshift nightstand collection. That sure is a pile of old magazines and a plant stand. It sure. Is.

Probably I can quit college now and just design pajama skirts. I KNEW something would fall into my lap, I just knew it.

phoebe is very dark and moves in a strange orbit

The other morning I smashed into my driveway via my kneecaps, ripping a hole into the only piece of denim that doesn't require a length of industrial cable/the grace of goddess to keep up because BUYING PANTS IS THE WORST. The fact that I was chuckling UPROARIOUSLY (uproarious chuckles = ?) at my mom picking her own way down the drive, a vision of the woman who will someday frighten my children to death with the weird things she'll yutter (yell + mutter) in her sleep that will sound even more frightening as they will be echoing from the attic I've allotted her, might possibly lead one to believe that my fall was, say, a bitch slap from karma for being a rude daughter. And if you'd asked me on that day, I'd have said that "one" would be wrong in that belief, because (I would've said) I only fell because I was distracted by laughing/being mean. And then the next thing you would have asked me would have been Don't you know the definition of karma? and I would have pulled your hair. Anyway the bad juju from me being unkind to the woman who let me live inside of her for a while that one time might be sticking around, because last night in the shower I went to pick up a bottle of body wash (probably more quickly than was really necessary but I want to save water because earth) (also the lingering fear of a clown's hand reaching up from the shower drain but mostly just the saving water thing. ...I'd say it's 60/40) and nailed myself directly in my facial area. Like where my nose goes. Because I bought two bottles of the same soap (on sale! see, I make gestures toward budgeting) (no I don't I trick myself into thinking I am a baller) (I am!) (nope) and when I used the first one up I put the second one in the shower. Without throwing away the first one. ERGO, punching myself in my moneymaker with an empty plastic bottle. Physics is ruining my whole entire life.

I have completely lost the thread of whatever it was I wanted to say.

In other news, MyFitnessPal doesn't seem to think I'm eating enough calories. And to MyFitnessPal I say: areyoukiddingmeiworkoutnevertimesperweekandimostlyeatcandybarsforlunch. What really bothers me about this though is that it makes this assertion in bright red letters and that is JARRING. Why not just say "If every day were like today you would be DEAD in five weeks"? Possibly that IS what will happen if I keep getting the majority of my sustenance from a vending machine. Anyway I've been being pretty fancy in the kitchen lately, just saying. Depending on what your criteria for "fancy" is. Mine happens to be more than two ingredients/steps. SO YEAH. Eat your heart out, Giada. (I bet it tastes delicious.)

If I have to wash things it's EXTRA fancy. Also if things are pink.

In other other news, I hate when bananas look like they're ripe on the outside but when you bite into them they're all "NO I'm not ready yet!!" They are the cockteases of fruit.

Sorry I said 'cockteases' before. That wasn't very woman-forward of me.

Although, I feel like you're being a little defensive. As far as I am aware bananas have not been historically oppressed or subjected to violence so why don't you take a seat. Cool your jets. There now. That's better. Have some cat pictures:

Little sleepy morning faces. Seeku asked me to airbrush over his eyeboogers but I told him he was beautiful just the way he was.