Today...

I realized I'll never marry a man, or even take the relationship serious, if he has never cried in front of me.

I had the urge to bleed today. Not sure why. (no, I have not lost any blood today, nor will I.)

My tummy is beyond full, due to corn overload.

Buses are highly unpleasant.

I accidentally left the house 10 minutes early, since the clock was wrong.

An old lady told me I have pretty eyes today.

Damn Pretty People

Have I mentioned being the ugly friend sucks balls? Now, I 'm not saying I'm ugly. I'm alright I guess. I not ugly, but I am far from pretty. You get the picture?

All my friends are beautiful. Take my best friend for example. She is tall, blond, skinny, and has stunning legs. My next closest friend, who is also blond, is tiny as hell, and just in general, dazzling. The next friend in this line up, has shockingly spectacular eyes, hair that is amazing no matter what she does to it, and a nice figure. Do you need another example?

Did I mention that they all have boobs that are bigger then mine? Or that most of my friends get hit on by anything with a pulse?

This isn't even mentioning there personalities, which are also superior.

I guess this is just bugging me more then normal since by family has been implying I'm a freak for not dating more then normal lately. I guess they are right, since I'm almost 17, and I have never dated. Of course it could have also been the girl in my chemistry class who was bitching about not being able to get a date to homecoming, when her looks ranked up there with all my friends. She has no idea how close she got to being bitched out. I mean, if she really just wanted a date all she has to prop out her chest and bat her mascara coated eyelashes, and she could easily get three invitations from guys in that class alone.

Really, what she meant to say was, the specific guy she wanted didn't ask her so she is pissed off. As a result she makes comments like that in front of someone who would have to do naked back flips across the school campus to get half the attention she gets, just by breathing. (God forbid she asks the guy out herself. Or perhaps he has a girlfriend. Or he is just chicken shit. I don't really know, nor do I care to.)

Anyways, it's just pissing me off more then usual. Perhaps it's because I can't shake these thoughts with a "fuck it" attitude, like I do to everything else I don't like. Or it could be they are making me depressed. Or it could just be that I have too much pent-up sexual tension. Or it’s the fact that not one god damn male on this planet thinks I am worthy of dating. Who fucking knows?

All well. Nothing I can do about it ... right?

Ps. I'm still doing the 365 days. I've been doing it old school, and just writing it down on paper. I might type them all up this weekend.

Day 11 -- 9/7/10

30 feet below, the same woman stood, watching me. Her clumsy attempt at hiding was not only pitiful, but rather distracting.

Doesn't this lady have something else she should be doing? Going to dinner? A movie? Fucking her boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Hell, she could be out fucking a goat, and I wouldn't care. But she's not, so I do. 

Looking up from my sketch, I gazed down at her failure attempt at hiding. 
"Are you planning to stand there all night, or are you going to say something?"

Shit, he saw me.

She seriously thought I couldn't see her? It is possible that she lives in a complete world of illusions?

"What gave it away?" her creamy voice questioned.


"Well, for starts your shoes are the color of a hooker's lipstick, your not miss quiet, nor did you cover your entire body with that bush, which appears to be poison oak.”

FUCK.

"I knew that." She snapped.

It's funny how someone's physical voice can be so different from there inner voice. I mean, Miss Morgan's physical voice is a creamy substance, that swirls about the air, and tries (any you get the feeling that it more often then not) seduce you, while her inner voice is gruff, and slightly smoky, like the feeling you get when you stand slightly too close to a campfire for too long.

"Alright then. So, are you just creepy in general or so, or do you have something you would like to say.

This kid is demanding.

365--Day 10-- 9/6/10

My father has to go to AA meetings. My brother has to go to anger management. I'm stuck going to therapy. Somehow my mother miraculously fell though the cracks. You see what I mean by this lady being on top of her shit?

So, Miss Megan Morgan sentenced me to an unknown amount of time with some, most likely, old, balding man sitting in a chair asking me "How do you feel about that?”. If you can't guess, my parents weren't exactly thrilled about our sentence, and the blame landed directly on me, yet again. As soon as my brother was out of sight, by father let it fly.

As if life didn't suck hard enough at the moment, Ms. Morgan is attempting to follow me, which not only is she not equipped to do, but she is failing miserably at it since, she is not just bitching unnecessarily loud, (in her mind of course), but I don't think she has ever been off a paved road. Also, she is wearing hooker red heels.

Why is she following me anyways? Shouldn't she be driving home, thanking god her family isn't as fucked up as mine?

Christ, this kid moves fast.

Crush of the Week 0.2

Kiro. Nuff Said.

365 -- Day 9 --- 9/5/10

Regardless, of the elderly status of the window -- which matched the rest of the house -- opened faithfully, with out a whisper of protest. Swinging one of my exceedingly long legs, out of the window, prepared me to swing the other one over three feet, to a latch on the bathroom's shutters. With a sense of experience, I grabbed the gutter's drain, which I maintain for this very feat, and slid old faithful shut. 

My feet picked themselves down the side of the house, in till I reached the bottom, which happened to be covered in a dull, backwash brown corpse of grass.

What the hell is this kid doing?

Why does it seem like it's this lady's sole goal in life is to turn my life into a hellish torment?

365 -- Day 8 -- 9/4/10

Sorry it's late. I did write it last night, but I didn't do the final touches, such as spell check, and making sure I said what I meant.... Anyways, here it is:




I have to escape. The demon woman kept pressing deeper, and deeper, causing those debauched parents of mine thought's to run ramped, not only in quantity, but in volume. Now, after what seems like a lifetime, she has finally left, but now the psychopaths thoughts fly freely, along with there words, and no amount of music can drown them out. Needless to say, she had her shit together, so our shit is now fucked. 

I slide the dainty lock into place, before shoving my only dresser in front of the door. The elderly window's paint is chipped, and the seal holds a tremendous cracked, which lets in the outside tempter, year round.

365-- Day 7 -- 9/3/10

"So, do your parents fight more then normal?"

"To me, no. But then again, I only have my own parents to compare them too. Well, at least married couples, because really, who is married any more? I mean, I can only think of two other "adults" who are married, and one couple hasn't seen each other in three years, and the others are in there 90's, so they don't really have the energy to fight. These questions aren’t really thought out are they? I mean, if they really wanted to get a truthful answer, they would at least be a tad more specific right? You have to admit that is a very vague questio..."

Good god, this kid never shuts up. What is with her?
 "Alright, I see your point. What I meant is,"

"No they don't fight an abnormal amount. And I AM a BOY by the way."

How the hell did this fucker know what I was thinking?
"I'm sorry. How did you know I thought you were a "

"Girl. You referred to me as "she" more then once out loud. I might still legally be a child, but I am not deaf." 

Holy fuck this kid a freak. I didn't say she. Did I?

Social Workers are all dicks. Also, pretty damn gullible.

365-- Day 6 -- 9/2/10

"What happened to Helen?" The barely audible crackle rose threw the floors.


Almighty heaven please let this woman be a fuck-up like Helen...

"Helen had personal matters that will take a while to sort out, so in till she is back, I will be covering for her."
These people are practically pissing themselves... what the hell…

HA! The pill-popin bitch is in rehab again. I guess it's a good thing that her husband is a judg... WAIT! HOLY FUCK SHE SOUND OFFICIAL!!!! SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!!

 FUCK FUCK FUCK!  

All these thoughts are screaming at me. And since when do we have a new social worker?! And where the hell is my brother?! I stood up, my full 6 feet and 2 inches, from worry. 

This is going to fuck with my system. God damn it.

I wonder where these kids are. Hopefully there isn't as fucked up as her parents. Poor thing.

Due to the crazy images her mind was flinging around, I was either an adorable blonde six year old, or a severally gothic 12 year old. What the hell was with everyone thinking I was a chick?!!? Also, as a fun side affect of having four different people's screaming thoughts blaring at me, I could feel the clawing of a migraine gnawing its way into my skull.




 I guess she is going to be disappointed right?

Damn right. I also think she should put some effort in finding that file. Since when are you awake?


She is going to want to have a "talk" with us.

Ah, hell.


My thought precisely.

You still haven't answered my question. And where are you anyways?

365-- Day 5 -- 9/1/10

With the safety of the headphones, I double checked to see if the large oak door was locked. After I was sure that the dull knob's lock was twisted to the right, I settled in the comfort of my bed.

Every time I think of my bed, only one word pops into my head: Masterpiece. Its black iron bars rose towards the ceiling, in an intricate weaving pattern, then one could spend hours, upon hours tracing with your eyes. Long, fuzzy body pillows, overstuffed feather pillows, tiny furry throw pillows, and a variety of soft plush-ness lined the headrest, against the wall that the bed sat against, and the footboard. Piles of blankets in an array of textures, that welcomed you into its welcoming embrace. 

Now, nestled into my nest of comfort, I flipped on my laptop, and logged into a web chat. Soon, I was "chatting".

Andrew: Asl?
Me:  Age? Didn't your mother tell you it is rude to ask someone’s age? Hmm.... let’s see.... I feel kindda straight to day, but who knows what tomorrow will hold, currently I am at home, in my bed.

Andrew had longed off.

Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother.

Though three floors, and a locked door, faint whispers stole my attention.

Who the hell is that?

What the hell....?