Cry a little bit

It was white. With brown and strawberry chunks scattered about it and shattered glass shards spread sporadically across the floor. It was yogurt with granola and fruit. It was a mess that I now had to clean and I was going to be late for work. It was a safety hazard for those walking across the kitchen with bare feet.

It WAS my breakfast.

Daze

Sometimes you don't know what to do next.

Or maybe that's just me.

Ridiculous

This time I'm going to include the moral before the story:
Don't get yourself in a dizzle, it's not that important.

It's Thursday evening and I just got back from Institute and the lights were out and the door was locked and I did not have my key. I had looked before I left my house and was hoping my cute room mate would be home to unlock the door for me. I called her earlier and she said she was anticipating coming, but never showed up.

So after sitting on my doorstep, calling my some what flakey room mate and her boyfriend for ten minutes, I decide to go visit teaching. An hour later I return to discover she is still not home, but my cute pot of a friend Juan and his co-worker are sitting on my stairs wanting hair cuts. I continue to call my no-good room mate and her no-good boyfriend who don't pick up their no-good phones to no avail. Instead we go upstairs and use the dining room of the house above us and I give hair cuts for an hour and go back to see if my prodigal room mate has returned. To no avail. I am grumpy.

I do not like to stay awake this long.

I am hungry.

I am angry.

Where is my dirty room mate and why am I not asleep? *grubmle, grumble, grumble, I'm going to bite someone's head off*

I see that dirty rotten boyfriend, bumbling my way... with a key...

He opens the door, I walk in, turn around, lock it.

I'm going crazy, I can't find my dang key, I'm losing everything, my keys, my socks, my books, my pamphlets, my mind. Why can't I find that key, I've looked in the couch, on the floor, under my pillows.

My friend Dale comes over (I'd called him when I was locked out) and here I am inside my house looking silly. He convinces me to look one last time in my back pack and low and behold there is my key. There. the entire time. My key.

You have to be kidding me.

I'm going to bed.

11 o'clock the pumpkin hour

It comes like a killer breeze, the deadline for the quiz. The deadline for my life. The deadline for the money. The deadline for the submission. The deadline for work. The deadline for the papers.

I'll never understand what it means to be stress free.

Birthdays and things

Today is my birthday.

I don't usually like my birthday, for some reason when I was little I got it into my mind that people ought to know when it is my birthday. In my head if people really cared then they would somehow figure it out and then tell me. This rarely happened. I also don't like making a fuss about it generally because... it just seems selfish and silly, if other people do it, I don't really think it's selfish or silly, just for myself, don't ask me how that makes sense.

My birthdays have usually ranged from bad to worse, but there'll always be one or two people who care, such as my sister Anna or my best friends. I don't know what it is about birthdays. Why do I seem to care so much yet try to hide it so much? Why do I expect so much yet say so little?

I'm not a teenager any more, does that mean my chance for good birthdays has passed? I sure hope not. Today I am going to take pictures, have fun, you know the drill.

Touch Me, Hold me, Brush me

I touch people every day, with the start of the new semester there are more people and more hands hanging by more sides and more times for me to "accidently" brush against them. I wonder if they receive the same sudden thrill, instant chill.

Tommy, can you see me?
Can I help to cheer you?
Tommy, can you hear me?
Can you feel me near you?
Oooh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.
Tommy, can you hear me?
Can you feel me near you?
Tommy, can you see me?
Can I help to cheer you?
Oooh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,
Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

Why are we so phobic of touch? Why can't we just touch each other? I want to feel you and be wrapped around by your arms, your legs, you hair brushing against my face and my back. Let's be hispanic and then we can kiss each other and no one will stare, no one will glare, but they may just join in. Let's be children and then we wont care about manner, we wont stand back, but just caress.

Caress me.
Address me.
Bless me.
Dress me.
Make a mess with me.

Work-a-holic

I work a lot, I realized today that since I took my new job, I work 7 days a week. That's pretty intense, huh? Although, neither of my jobs are all that difficult and I generally have quite a bit of fun when I am at them.

Also, my hair is really very long. I'm not sure what to do with myself any more.

When it's quiet I can hear the swooshing of the fish tank and the constant whirling of the fan near the aloe plants. I can't hear myself think though, that would require thinking to begin with.