Cleavage?

We had a discussion during study hall about what exactly cleavage was.
The question arose when the mistake was made of one of my friends calling her boob cleavage and so we progress. Another friend then asks if she'd been calling her boobs the wrong thing her whole life in her famous southern belle accent where she weaves intricate stories about sleeping with the little black boy working on her plantation. It's hilarious. But I'm off topic.
I came into the conversation now, having been listening whilst working on the World History assignment due in two hours.
After explaining my point, we all agreed that I was right in saying that cleavage is nothing more than an imaginary line, like the Equator. But then it was brought up that the equator cuts the earth into two horizontal halves (not in those words, more like hand gestures indicating the horizontal way), so my former ruling was changed to "Cleavage is an imaginary line that is the equivalent of the Prime Meridian."

Just thought I'd clear up any confusion or debate about what cleavage was.
Thank you for your time.

Erro.

I'm on Trial.

Two more weeks. Two whole weeks before the possibility even comes up again.
But it's just two weeks, I hear someone say, a smug tone in their voice. Bringing up the question: You've gone for so long, what's two weeks going to make a difference?
But it's two weeks. Fourteen more days for the possibility of a break down, more catastrophic than the last two.
I can hear you saying I'm being melodramatic. Fuck you is my response.
Melodramatic or not, it's not stopping.

Here, in the wake of everything that's going on at home, all I can possibly think about is the fact that I'm not with her. I feel like I'm being very... self centered and very selfish. But here, as my mother could very possibly be dying, I cannot forget the fact that these past months have been absolute hell. Me, so easy to forgive so many people who have hurt me in so many ways so many times, cannot forgive my mother, my maker, protector, and who taught me almost everything I'd need to know about that I haven't acquired on my own. Sure, it may not be much, but it's still those basic staples that I would be lost without.

So here I'm sitting, waiting for something to punish me because there's the pronounced feeling of dread that comes right before something goes terribly wrong in response to me being the way I am. I'm sitting here, unable to punish myself for this, because all the way down to the very last fiber of my being, I know that I am not at fault, and she is. And her contracting a deadly disease cannot let her off of my life time sentence that was decided upon months ago. I believe, no matter how wrong I may be, that even death could not end a sentence like this.

You're sitting there, absolutely disgusted by these words. Appalled that I could be so heartless. But honestly, take a look around. I'm not heartless, I'm so far from it. I'm a dog that's grown from a puppy, who's known nothing but beating (in a metaphorical way) his entire life, but has now come to realize that he wasn't the one that was wrong all these years. What kind of hate could spawn from that? The genuine hate that can only be felt between a parent and offspring, coming from either party.

Send me to trial, hang me up to dry for these words pouring from my fingertips. Just know that here, in front of you, I speak the truth, and nothing but.

Defective

I'm beginning to wonder why I do things the way I do. I do things the way I have always done them which spawned out of the things expected of me rather than the way I want to. Growing up, I was always pushing myself to live up to my parent's expectations that seemed to grow as the knowledge of my abilities became more apparent.
Go to bed early, get up early, get your things done before seven, down time till bed, sleep get up and do it all over again. Some days, most days, I feel like a zombie. So I find myself asking why I continue. Why do I keep going when I've come to realize how much I absolutely hate it; how much I've absolutely hated it all my life without even knowing it. And I ask why it cant be different. I don't have answers to these questions. I believe it could be different, in a way. If I started doing the things I want to as opposed to the things that are expected. But what happens then is the realization of my parents that things have changed and they blame it on anything new going on. They take those things away not knowing that that doesn't help anything out side of pushing my ever faltering mental stability even closer to completely burning out.
I blame a lot of my inability to communicate like a normal human being with other people on my parents and the simple fact that because of their over protectiveness I have had little human contact. I cant count on one hand how many parties I went to. Parties, of course, being birthday parties for all my little girl friends. Home is a prison. A solitary confinement unit that I don't get to leave because they are too scared I'll end up like my sister. But they don't know that this only makes what my sister did seem that much more rewarding.
Leaving all of this behind... it's almost like a dream. But there's that little part of me that says that they are still my parents. They're doing what they believe is right for me. But that little bit gets over run with all the bad days, bad years I've spent alone here in my room. I make up friends to keep me company for God's sake.
And people wonder why I'm so screwed up. Perhaps it's not mental defect at all. Perhaps it's just the years of solitude and the unhealthy habits that came out of sheer loneliness. I've become my own psychiatrist, psychologist, physician, friend, enemy, and everything else anyone would ever need. I'm not surprised that I may have schizophrenia. I'm not surprised that I have unhealthy relationships. I can understand why I'm the way I am. All of the things I hate about myself have come from them and their fears that keep me locked up like a fucking animal.
And my biggest fear is that it will never change. But there is a way. A way that would crush every one of my family members. But a way that I've already decided on if things refuse to change. Eighteen is just over a year and a half away.

erro.

Who?

Who is this? A boy? A girl?
Does it have a past? Does it have a future?
You have no knowledge of what it's like.
For all you know it could be...
a recovering cutter
or someone who's never thought of suicide.
a person living with a potentially crippling disease
or someone who doesn't have to worry about being able to walk when they are thirty.
someone who's in love
or someone who doesn't have a clue as to what love is.
They could be intelligent
or they could not be.
Can you tell?
What do you see in this picture?
There's almost nothing that can be seen.
Do you think they are gay or straight?
Does any of this even matter?
Do they have secrets
and do they live without regrets?
Are they someone worth knowing
or someone you know you should stay away from?
You have no idea.
Do you want to find out?

Erro.

So this is why I always hated iPods....

Fuck technology. iPods blow.
I say we boycott every mp3 anything and go back to our Walkmans.

I used to be the coolest kid around for having a Sony that was just a little bigger than a cd. This was last year, mind you.

Fuck you, Apple.

Pissed the hell off- Erro.

Curse Hardware.

My iPod, my sister's mp3 players, and the video camera all refuse to work on my computer. I'm really getting annoyed with my hardware problems.

Damned technology that I love so much...

also: Found on of my mice, but now the other is missing. A fucking good time, if you ask me.

Erro.

Well Done Drag Queens and Other Lovelies.

So last night was really not good. At all.
It's been a while since that feeling of despair had been around. It chose last night to come back, packing a punch that would send me into a breakdown so incredibly terrible that I eventually had to revert to my pretty little pills that I finally kicked the habit of to simply just calm me down enough so I wouldn't wake the whole house up with my screams. It sounds really bad, now that I've put it into words. I was laying in bed while the codeine had just started working, I could feel myself getting very drowsy and I was shaking, when Heather called. I don't even know what I said to her. I had barely hung up the phone and I passed out, not to be roused from sleep till six ten this morning by my sister's alarm clock. I haven't slept that long in a very long time. Sure, I get good nights sleep, usually, but I never sleep all the way through the night. Credits to this goes out to my drugs. Though it was nice to sleep through the night, I'm not starting up on that shit again. I found that I need to keep it for when I absolutely need it. When my sanity, and everyone else's for that matter, is in jeopardy.
You're wondering why I was such a mess. Asking yourself what would cause that. Well, you all know very well. Think about it and you'll get it. I promise


in other very exciting news:
AFI will be the musical guests on Saturday Night Live on January 20. I think you know where my ass will be parked that night.

Erro.

I Wish You Were Here

January 9th. Six Months since the stairs. One month since I've seen her last.
It's like the summer all over again.
Ten times worse.
Counting days and wishing I could change things. Late night phone calls and searching for anything that reminds me of her. The only difference is the fact that I have school to keep me occupied during the day rather than that crippling void that was the days of summer that I would kill to relive.

Can you tell what my mood is like right now?

It's Been A While

Well, I've been way busy getting ready for semester tests and with the holidays and my little fit I haven't been able to post much. But that's not necessarily a bad thing because nothing has really happened anyway.

But in the favor of routine, I will make a post because tonight is the night. One of the two nights I always post on. Look at the date, you'll see 'January 8, 2007'. What's significant about it? Well, today's the day I met Heather. But this one is bigger than the rest because it's been six months. A half a year. Crazy to think about it, really.
Had a lovely time talking with her last night. I don't even know how long we talked for. I just know I passed out somewhere right before twelve, the phone still at my ear. Today, I've been in a splendid mood all day long, despite the fact that I'm exhausted. She does that to me.

So we celebrate tonight. Celebrate six months of knowing the greatest kid ever. Celebrate the fact that I've made it this far. And most of all, Celebrate the time to come.

Erro!

Quote Me.

Love is not the knowledge that they love you. But the knowledge that it could be one big pretty lie and trusting them that it isn't.

Erro!

Alright, I lied.

So this is the second time I've threatened to stop posting. Goes to show that I'm too damn addicted to this thing to go through with it.

You'll notice I redid the template, again. Mostly because the last one was too annoyingly lame to be tolerated for more than a week. So, it's revamped and I love it. I spent all of today looking for a new template and I found one. This one is so much cooler than all of the ones I've ever had because it plays MUSIC! and has organic cows. (Inside joke, but not really joke, don't worry, you're not supposed to get it).

I hope you enjoy and hopefully you can overlook my little hissy fit I threw last night.

Erro.