they're back

Also they never left. My eye is still fucked up. All I did all day was watch Wes Anderson films and nap. I accomplished everything on my to do list for the day, except for taking advil. I didn't want to be vertical long enough to get them. After taking a shit, I ate dinner and looked down the entire time because I kept tearing up. Everyone was already finished eating and my mother already began washing the dishes. I was poking at my plate, covering my face with my hair, and all I could feel was the sturdy weight of my chest caving in on me. Typically, I couldn't breathe and my vision began to blur. This has been me all week. There isn't a single place I go that doesn't make me want to melt or implode. I'm in a bad way again and it's never been this quiet before.

a slow animal

my right eye is experiencing a pinching pain. my thick skull is throbbing. i was blind last night and i began drunk texting. i'm always worried i'd slip and text the wrong person. at least i delete most contacts. get me some water, please. 

to do list: (today edition)

maybe puke some more

find water

take a shit

lay in bed

l a y in b e d 

maybe get an advil or four

i can't move too fast. there are crumbs all over my bed. maybe it's just sand from the beach last weekend. (you never want to get caught writing about sand). i can't remember how i got home, but i do recall fighting with the storm. what a mess (swerve). it might've been five. or six. considering i sicked on the toilet twice this morning and didn't feel fine until two pm. 

i ran around the storm, soaked and i just wanted to be blown away. (you never want to get caught writing about storms). "i can't remember" and "stop talking" are my favorite phrases. i'll be under this, confusing all my dreams and non-dreams into a big hell that i'd always known them to be. hermit permit, i'm not pissed, i'm sad, and sometimes even i can't tell the difference. 

Things I will never insist again

Remember it

OCD

The more time I spend alone, the more I realize how unbearable my OCD is. In fact, I hadn't realized I had OCD until I started spending so much time alone. But OCD is just a fancy acronym for something to be annoyed about. So far, I own piles of journals and notebooks because I have a problem collecting them. You won't believe how many pens I feel the need to constantly carry in my bag just to feel alright. I assign every pen or pencil to a specific journal or sketch book. Things have to be used accordingly or I feel the need to break shit. My room is the epitome of my OCD. All the crap I collect are classified in piles or clusters, but they're all together. Like I've translated that they have separation anxiety from each other. I have two fat piles of beanies that I've set atop two empty alcohol bottles. My shoes are thrown together by my door. My books are huddles together. My scarves are folded neatly together. My sunglasses are lain in a line on top of my book shelf, next to my grouped perfumes and candles. All the quarters I've collected are on top of my amp next to my phones cases. My home pens are neatly standing inside a pail that a friend purchased for me. My pillows are arranged in a way to accommodate my sleeping positions, every night.  My mail are filed inside the very bottom drawer of my desk. My charcoal sketch pad is piled with my charcoal utensils. My party shirts are on the top left-hand side of my closet. My sweaters are on the corner beside them. My long sleeves are to the right next to the party shirts. Next to the long sleeves are my tank tops. Next to my tank tops are my favorites. Next to my favorites are two piles of flannels that I've piled according to the frequency of wear. My ipod is organized by artist and album or ep. If an artist doesn't have their shit together on my ipod, I lose it a little. Even the apps on my phone are arranged to my preference. And I refuse to alter them. 

ALRIGHT, maybe it isn't so bad. But realizing how anal I am about my shit makes me feel a little insane. I've been losing it lately...

this song still hurts my fucking feelings damn

body roll

The most irritating yet equally entertaining thing about life sometimes is excelling at predicting the way people respond or react or just are. With every little thing I throw out or fling out to the world, I simultaneously consider the reactions of everyone around me. This has taught me to know my audience. To know my surrounding. To know the feel of a vicinity. It's both boring and surprising. Boring because I called what the results would be. Surprising because I am still, more than half of the time, correct about someone/everyone/something/everything. I have inklings. I have hunches. Gut punches. It's witchcraft. It's Kraft Easy Mac. "Trust me," I'd say.

I fucking see all of you.

eating sausages

I'm in this strange point of my life where I realize I'm not Gatsby. I'm not Daisy. I'm not even fucking Jordan fucking Baker. I'm Nick Carraway, and I wish I wasn't but I absolutely am. It's really depressing. I could be the voice of something fantastic. But I'm not myself at all fantastic. I can't tell you how sad I am about this.

unemployment page

California's population is approximately thirty-eight million. That's hella heads for one state. One fat state. One fat state that should never be divided. (I read some article today that fired up my damn appreciation for CA). California's population is approcimately thirty-eight million, making us the first most populous state in the whole of the nation. Texas comes second. Then New York for a stubborn third. I can't imagine growing to die anywhere but California. In the bay area. Spread my fuckin' ashes here. Damn, I digress. 

I've had a lot of time for myself. A lot of time that I spend alone in my room, frontin' a lot of things. The microphone in my room really changed my late night activities. Not only do I get wasted in my room whilsssssttttt talking to myself, but now I have a microphone to amplify my loud thoughts. I have an audience, believe it or not. I have a voice, believe it or not. This is the only place I feel like being in, believe it or not. Still torn up about not knowing how to be a person and how I'm really quite terrible at life. Astoundingly terrible, if you ask me. Class A horrific. I always feel a nervous breakdown coming on, but it never comes because I'm too busy being the host of my goddamn talk show while trying to remember all the names of my entire audience. If I don't have a monumental breakdown anytime soon, I got ten on it that you'll find me dead or vanished. 

(It saddens me thinking about how money saddens me). 

shout out to all my lovers

and also myself with spikey fucking mullet.

I used to be so goddamn sentimental.

dem foos

american psycho face mask

I'm waiting to peel it off. 

It's 3:27am and I am now contemplating how often I mention the time no matter how useless it is to mention. On Sunday, I placed a pan of crinkled fries in the oven. After I turned it off to let the tots cool, I got out of bed (I spent all day in bed that day) and dressed myself because my buddy showed up. It's Wednesday now and I am remembering that there are fries in the oven. Should I eat them? Should I heat them then eat them? Should I even heat them? Should I? Will I? After I peel off this mask? I'm torn. There's a frozen bag in the freezer that I could make fresh. But it's three in the morning after all, and I'm still waiting on this damn mask to dry. I'll keep you updated (probably) because I know how riveting it is to read about the shit I do (maybe). 

PS. I hate rum I think (maybe) (parenthetical lifestyle in full swing, by the way) (goodnight) (shit, I'm sorry [probably]) 

What a mess

All of a sudden,  I couldn't relax. I had these snake shakes crawling under me, slithering and vibrating through my fingers and out my face. They were slimy and anxious, and the whole time I needed to piss.  Fucking buck up, I thought. In intervals, I reminded myself to calm down every storm of blind hate. Pursed my lips from cursing. New hell, new hell, I hummed. It's just a new job. It's just a new place. I'm not a little bitch, I just needed to say something.

(winks then naps)

very fun gal

TBH

I don't believe I'd ever met anyone brilliant. Whom I thought was brilliant. Ever. It might be best that way.

woke up face down ass up

I hate leaving my candles lit when I pass out.

I've been fly as hell lately with my dad's baroque as fuck shirt and my fly as fuck hat. It's like a uniform for being home.  (My god I have a headache).

only leather......can make me feel this way

romantic as hell ma

Royals OG left for their road trip to Napa. I dragged my amp to the living room and slapped shit with my annoying ass energy. (I even slapped Lost in the Woods just to test the capacity of the bass). We kissed them goodbye and told them to drive safe.

I was slappin again in my room while pairing up a mountain of socks when I received a romantic as hell text from my mother. That's stinking cute.

have a swell day as swollen as my nips

*-*

sulfuric methane

This morning I thought how The New reminds me of Moonlight Sonata. It reminded me to poach an egg, make a cream sauce, and boil pasta al dente (unlike my usual carby mush). Coffee Black--Tori Black's annoying and high-strung cousin. Everything I make gives me a stomach ache. In the middle of a home-cooked meal, I deliberate as to how sick and queasy my food is making me. Rate me an average of 7/10 on the grotesque scale. As I was choking back vomit, I read through Nietzsche's goddamn arrogant and pompous WHY I AM SO WISE. Thought about how I could never feel that way towards my work (mostly because I don't have any work to feel that way towards). ZARATHUSTRA, stay away from him. 

Today is my last day being a nanny for the Law boys. Fuckin' Clair De Lune kind of sleep, kind of clarity, kind of morning. Kind of incessant in the morning, that third movement of Suite bergamasque. The fuck? I just feel so annoying today. Haven't heard myself talk in days. I might be getting the flu. Maybe I'll be dreadfully ill on my first day Monday. But already I'm daydreaming about how I'll get fired for misbehaving worse than what I heard the runts behave there. I will miss Matthew Law so damn much. 

DAILY TIP (no pun intended because I am celibate): BE A CRIMINAL. 

it's my birthday tomorrow