& the blissful tones bounce off the wall & fall to the ground.

Your lips say kiss me, but your eyes don't match.
09.28.2004 | 2:57 am

Gee, I don't want to write boring details today. I want to write about emotions, because deep, deep down, I am one emo motherfucker. As if you didn't already know.

I spoke to Heather's "fiance," & I use the term loosely, today. He said that he was madly in love with her & planned on proposing to her when she visited Vegas for Christmas. I think that's sad. Heather so doesn't love him. Well, she might love him, but it isn't the kind of love he's looking for, besides, she's far more interested in Chadlee. That bastard -- fucking up my best friends world & such. He'll pay.

I just remembered telling a little kid I was going to bake him in my oven. True story. He was hanging around his mom & I said something about him looking scared & James said "He's probably afraid you're going to kidnap him and eat him." So, I threatened the kid. He ran to the opposite side of his mom. He's going to be an [a] homosexual, [b] a bully, or [c] afraid of beautiful girls in sequins.

I had a dream the other day about ... confusion. I would say James, but it wasn't fully about him. It was more about me. Anyway, it went like this: James, Kat, Jordan, and myself were on the phone. James & Kat were arguing about something stupid & me & Jordan were trying to persuade them to stop. I was sitting in the chair, in my room, b the window & I look out the window to see how "beautiful" of a day it is. The sun's shining, birds are flying around, there's a slight breeze - then James phone makes a buzzing sound & disconnects, then Kat's, and I look out the window again & see darkness. A tornado is heading directly for me, so I try to get out of my chair, but I can't move. The window breaks & I can feel the glass splintering & cutting my arms & face. It's gone. I get up out of the chair & walk over to my mirrors to see how sliced up I am & nothing's there. No cuts. No bruises. No blood. Nothing. My clothes are a little ripped & my hair's messed up. The sun's shining, but the window's still broken. I'm perfectly fine.

Justin wanted me to go to the Queen City Fair & I told him I refused. But Damien invited me. I guess I'll go now, anyway. Against my better judgment. If he embarrasses me or anything of the sort -- death to skinny fuckers named Justin, I say!

I guess I'll invite Heather. Or Brittany. Not Amanda. Not Nikkie. Well, maybe Nikkie.
I think James & I are both hypochondriacs. & I think we're both falling dreadfully apart. Seriously. No hypochondria. Just pure, absolute sickness. His has yet to be diagnosed. Mine has yet to be treated properly. All I know is I get sick & either vomit or gag after I eat anything. I always feel better after I puke, so I usually self-induce it. It's no bulimia or some crazy bullshit like that. It's nausea. My right side feels like I have a knife permanently piercing it. I think that's why I sleep so much, cause I don't have to feel it or think about it. But you know what? Fuck it. I am so not sick.

Carlin's supposed to be selling me her deck of tarot cards for a mere $5. I suggested $7, because I'm an idiot who finds more worth in them. She probably paid at least $20, or more for them, so I figure $2.00 should serve them justice. Ah, I'm just cheap. But she's cheaper,'cause she's nice. And if I ever get a job, I'm going to buy Dusty the Salvador Dali deck, because he deserves them.

James is supposed to be coming over here tomorrow. I have no idea what we're going to do. At all. I don't know if we're staying here or going to Newton or going to someone's house. Sigh. This is going to sound so mean, but I don't want him here. I want him to go to the fucking doctor, ut the bastard won't listen to me. If he dies on my bedroom floor, I'm going to be drastically pissed. And that makes me sound so uncaring, but that's the only way I know how to show it. And I do love & I do care. And, shit, I just do.

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