i want to be known for writing about the best things she ever felt

i could have died by now a few times. not by my choice. when my mom was pregnant with me she fell on ice. that counts. at 5 i almost drowned in a pool. a few years ago i almost went fucking broke. and last year i was two seconds away from being hit by a truck- by the way- what good does it do anyone when they honk after they almost hit you? it's not like you're going to chase after the damn thing and hop in front of it again. but yeah, i've narrowly escaped death before and it always makes me think there's a reason for it. like i'm still around because whatever my purpose in this left was i haven't met it yet. i don't think death is something to wish on anyone, so anyone wishing it on me is wasting their time. i keep making it out alive.

it's so weird, how people know me that i don't know, and i think i'm letting it get to my head. but it's the good kind of motivation i need, like... it's kind of insane. people need a good reason to know me. i can't wait until the ones that don't know me yet do. within 5 years i know i'm going to make it big. 5 days if i do something crazy like hop a plane and sit outside of some famous author's house waiting to see if they'll write my book for me once i babble on about my idea. convincingly. nah i can do it myself, i just suck at writing detail. what am i even saying? i think even if i have to pay to have a book published myself i will.

anyway, so this was supposed to be the month i met my soulmate, assuming it this year. my palm reader hasn't been proven wrong yet, so i doubt she was this time. besides if i learned anything from x-files, your soulmate can be pretty much anybody. you just run into them every lifetime. i think it's more than just a chance encounter. whatever optimism i lost about finding love and being happy, i have it restored. it keeps me going when i'd rather just stop. so thank you for that.

she pointed out the irony of me not being able to get a childproof pill bottle open.

someone doesn't have to be gone for you to miss them, they can be standing right in front of you.
or just there.
like tired eyes on someone else's sky.
tomorrow is going to be a long day and this year is already going by too fast.
i want to pause everything and catch up.
but i'm always putting things off, so- maybe later.
i don't want to mess up but i keep repeating myself.
i want to live the life you're dying to get out of.
like if i was in your shoes i could be you so much better.
or at least a better version.
at least better than me.
i dunno anymore.
took enough ibuprofen i don't even have the option to think right now.

please note: what i do and say will never change because you shake your head or type something mean on the screen. i'm only a problem if you pay attention to me. no one ever told you you had to. and i'd like it if you stopped. am i the only one that ignores and avoids people i don't like?

me: ::insert me being genrally crabby and hard to deal with here::
her: you're cute when you're like this

she can turn my moods aroudn.

content

me: i'd never let go
her: i'd never let you i'd superglue you to me :-(
me: i hope you never do, im pretty atatched to you without the glue

i feel like i just walked out of a dark theatre- after watching the credits of my life story go by. reborn out of all the ashes from everyone that burned me in the past.

swept under the welcome mat

the only thing telling me to go to sleep is common sense. i should by all rights be tired right now. i don't feel awake or tired- it's a weird state to be in. i think this book is going to be so far out there, i get so many ideas that are stupid and i want to put them all into one book so people can't put it down. maybe it'll end up a "i wish i thought of that first" thing. who knows. i want it to be unique. i want it to feel like it's set in the future with a ton of new inventions and concepts we don't have today but have it be written for now. i have to get back into my goal of writing a little bit each day, even if it's just a line.

i love getting to the point where all that matters to me is you being around- i live and exist or cease to whenever you sign on or off. i didn't mean to hurt you, it's just kind of a defense mechanism. funny how it's meant to help but it only fucks things up more. just remember. it's got what it takes- heart and the thick skin to hold it in. i meant everything i said to you, especially "i'm sorry". for once i think i'm needed as much as i need. i'm definitely not used to that.

i wish my best friend still lived in town and never moved away with her family. she never cared what i did and was still my best friend. i think losing her was the closest thing i've felt to losing a loved one by death.

i know this entry isn't anything too fancy but if i am going to be serious about this book i might as well write about it somewhere. i've got so much on my mind.

i know i may bring you down when i'm down, but hang in there. when i'm up i'm taking you there with me.

all pleas(e), wrong verdict

our life stories could be mirror images of each other but in the end i was the one that got somewhere doing what you do best.

i love what i know about you, i don't have to know it all

no one ever tries to look for someone new, just a replacement. remember that.

i wouldn't say i'm bitter, just spiteful. you deserve every bad thing that ever happens to you and i only read your aways to make sure they still are. eventually i won't even care, i think i'm leaning towards it now. funny how liars always seem to have the best things to say- maybe that's why i've let them hang around more than someone that is honest. honest is boring usually. the only things ever worth being heard are always whispered into someone else's ear. anyways, it sounds kind of obvious but the best way to forget is to lose whatever makes you remember. that means tomorrow its time to delete logs, delete entries, throw away letters and hopes. i've got a past that i want to get past. after 3-4 times of being fucked over i usually figure out it's time to give up. i don't give up on people a lot, but i've finally given up on you. return the favor. i dunno, if i'm smart i'll just delete this when i wake up.

and just because they don't look, doesn't mean they won't still find it. i know that for a fact. the best things i've ever found were always on accident.

"stuck in the middle with you"

desperate and seperate are cousins

kinda like the way love and insanity are.
i'm only happy because you won't stay happy for long.
and i care enough about myself for once to not care if you do too.
i'm becoming the type of person to live being happy just because someone else isn't.
i never wanted to be.
you can get whoever you can to fill my shoes but they won't be able to pick up my pen.
and when you realize this you'll never be close to really happy again.
maybe it's not the best way to say it but i mean it in the worst way.
or maybe it's the worst way to say it in the best way.
i can't help but watch every plan you make to move forward really be steps backwards.
i only go out of my mind for inspiration.
i look at houses like scenes from a book.
i have one incredible idea in it no one else could ever touch.
if my imagination was real i'd hug it.
i want each chapter to be like a seperate story.
this is either gonna be a hit or shit.
all around me everyone either falls together or falls apart.
it isn't natural at all but you're tricked into believing it is by the last page.
and i never thank you for it but every little "are you okay" makes me that much closer to actually being okay.
have you ever said that to me? then you keep me going.
my friends are better than lovers because they actually love.

ps- don't worry,
i'm only not upset i lost you because i never had you in the first place.

"i know i'm supposed to love you"

so sick of everyone on the block throwing a pity party when people are supposed to be attending mine.
you'll drown in your own tears before anyone feels sorry enough to save you.
rather than try to be remembered for anything-
you want pity from everyone that ever forgot.
every mess you've ever been in you've made yourself.
every word you've ever said has just been to gain something-
admiration, pity, attention, money, love.
you are talking to be noticed not to be heard.
and that's exactly why no one listens to you anymore.

the best liar with the worst tongue- or is it the other way around?
i don't think you're a bad person-
i just think you're no good.

i've watched you tear down the step ladder to reaching every dream you've ever had then blame it on the manufacturer.
you push people away with the same hands you cry into when everyone is gone.
we're living in reputation.
but you're dying from it.
everyone makes mistakes but not everyone keeps making the same ones the way you do.
learn from your mistakes instead of reliving them.

love is something wrote in someone else's diary.
love is something felt on the tv screen only.
love is a wrong number dialed on purpose.
but unlike you i'm fine with that.

ps. please don't ask me what this is about tomorrow.

Your life script = your eulogy if either is written well enough.

Sometimes I like to listen to old music and pretend I am in a Quentin Tarentino film when all I am doing is going to the store.
Everyone around me is just an extra on-set.

Sidenote: Weird how to someone else its me that is the extra.

Music I hear is always the soundtrack, its been that way for years.
I kind of hate when something happens and there is no music.
Lifes a little better when its a little more (un)real.
I just like to pretend I am someone else.
Not in the pretend way, in the way that can be real if I try.

Sucks when you realize how people really are-
Youve only ever "had my back" for a place to store your knife.
Its always exciting to watch the hero turn out to secretly be a villian until it happens to you.

I wrote a story that was only two pages long the other day.

Sidenote: Have you ever wanted to punch someone for being happy when you aren't?
That must be how you feel when you see I'm doing fine on my own.

I think of life in two dimension.
In text and type.
In ink and paper.
Maybe that's been always my problem.

And I just want to close every door behind me so I cant find my way back.
I kind of hate when you try to follow me anyway.
You shouldn't need a sign on the door to take a hint and turn around.
"You can go your own way.. go your own way."

Somewhere in the world new hope is being born every second of the day out of ashes from someone getting burned.
Born under the skin you crawl beneath.
It was an abusive sort of situation I just had to get out of-
Like kind of sad how even when she says "I love you" its another form of abuse.
Another form of control.
And this is what happens when you finally break it....

it only takes one little spark to start a fire

to change everything.
sometimes i think i'm some genius.
sometimes i just don't think.
always putting the act in practical.
and the point in disappointment.
i'm trying, though, at least- to be something better.
but i can only be as good as the worst things people have done to me.
like working with 100 bits and pieces of something amazing following a directions sheet written in a foreign language.
seems like i am always reaching for the biggest goal and ignoring all the little ones accomplished along the way.
the paragraph vs. the page.
i look out at the city as it passes by the window and i wonder why i can't just finish my book.
why can't i write or focus on anything but one liners and liars?
i get hooked on people that seem care about me because i want to know their secret-
i want to be able to care about me too.
it's a hopeless cause but still a cause.
how can i write a book when i feel like my life is a story-
like i'm the main character of a book i don't even want to read.
a book i'd put back on the shelf if i had any say in it.
still for some reason i'm fascinating enough to be on your mind.
what makes me tick vs. what ticks me off.
an unfinished painting that still is drying you can change before the last stroke.
work in progress or maybe just regress.
maybe you can figure me out before i can.
i've lived a sheltered life because i haven't lived at all.
i can't relate, ever, to anyone-
i've never lost anyone close to me to death.
i've only ever lost them to life.
see also: i like feeling like i don't need you, maybe you're as replacable as you've made me feel.

its less about taking a gamble and more about the loss

the sleeping pill i didnt want to take takes the last forms of livliness from me for the night as heavy eyes try to focus on the glow of the moniter that has grown to be the only thing i know. tomorrow isn't ever a day it's a new attempt to break this curse i put on myself from every good intention i ever made turned bad. the irony of yawning to stay awake in a world i'd rather sleep through. tired of the saying "how would you feel in my shoes" because no one can reproduce loss and love, everyone handles situations differently and no two situations are ever the same- sorry if i seem insensitive, it's because i am. i've never been there. taking chances is about the hardest thing to do- its so much easier to go with the certain, the guarenteed. no one wants to lose yet i've heard of people that go to the casino and gamble away whole paychecks- stubborn to the last cent. i can relate. i'm never ready to admit i lost and always hopeful to come back from behind. sucks when you realize you turned down a chance you should have taken. i think that is really all life is- risks. chances. decisons. choices. i still can't decide if getting to know you was a good or bad decision i've made.

oh well this isn't making sense and i cant keep my eyes open any longer. goodnight.