You know what irritates me? The word "psyched." Moreso than it should, I'm sure. And I have to cringe every single time Sarah Tang says "I'm psyched..." which is a lot. A really lot. But I keep my mouth shut. Because good friends do that and stuff. But it just makes me want to remove her brain when she does it. She's so intelligent, and they've got her on a fad, at NAU. She's this incredible person, who used to think for herself and refuse to conform to the popular things etc. And now she's saying words like "psyched" in regular conversation, over and over, because a boy likes the word.  She used to use "passionate." A beautiful word, that means the exact same thing. And they've reduced her to "psyched." Sarah Tang gets dreads for fun, for personal experience. I think, possibly, that if it had been a different college not located in Flagstaff, the experience chosen would have been different than dreads (blank slate, yadayada), but the fact is that the Sarah Tang that I know would absolutely, totally do that. Something that is usually a lifestyle choice, a statement; she did it because she thought it would be fun. But the Sarah Tang that I know does not say "psyched" because some boy finds it one of the most important words in his vocabulary.

Anyway, spending the night alone for the first Saturday in six, maybe seven months. It's still not too late to go hang out with the old Chick Fil A gang, and perhaps I'll set that up next week or something, but as it stands I'm already under the covers and comfortable. Just not looking forward to my mother's reaction in the morning. She'll think we broke up. Worse, she'll think because my door is locked, that I was so upset I OD'd on sleeping pills when we broke up. But, whatever. I locked my door so to avoid her for as long as possible. 

Boys are dumb. 

 Well, it's that time of year, ladies and gents. To actually make some New Years Resolutions (blah blah blah). So, to start and finish, I had to create a list of 40 things to do before I turn forty my junior year, in AP English Language. Now, I have some of the old ideas, and I'm working on creating new ones. Any help would be greatly appreciated. Anyway, number one on my list, something I came up with then, is to become Vegetarian for a month. I'll be doing this in January :D. Oh. And I do not need to complete these in order.

1.) Be vegetarian for a month.
2.) Be homeless for a week.
3.) Get married.
4.) Become a mother. 
5.) Maintain a Windowsill Garden.
6.) Live by myself. 
7.) Ride a motorcycle.
8.) Start and finish 4 (Literature) novels in one week (seven days). (As in read, not write them.)
9.) Reach a weight/ size I am happy with (working on it :D)
10.) Write a book (even if it's a crappy one, or a children's book). 
11.) Crochet a full-sized blanket for myself or someone I love. 
12.) Go to New York during New Year, to watch the ball drop <3. 
13.) Do a cartwheel in a skirt and heels.
14.) Graduate/ Complete college.
---
15.) Get a Moulin Rouge poster for my room, maybe an Enchanted one as well. 
16.) Bake something incredibly delicious (probably of the cheesecake variety) successfully. 
17.) Go to a Paramore concert.
18.) Get an (itsy bitsy teenie weenie) yellow polka dot bikini <3
19.) Find Ciara and give her a hug!
20.) Go Clubbing.

Well, that's one through twenty. The first fourteen were from my original list, which I've forgotten the majority of :/. And the next six are recent developments. 
So. Any input?
I need twenty more ideas! 

I had a nightmare last night.
He kept lying to me about something; who he'd been talking to, what they'd been doing. Something small. And I kept begging for him just to tell me the truth, and he only kept repeating that everyone lies, everyone lies. So I stopped it all right there and told him we were done, which stopped him right in his tracks. He told me he forbid it, etc. etc. Turns out he'd been cheating on me with Mary. Walking up to see her somewhere and having sex. The usual nightmare on my end, I suppose.
I woke up. It was one in the morning, I thought about texting him, I didn't.
And when I went back to sleep, I dreamt of wonderful things. Of a sleepover, and waking up in the middle of the night, talking the night away. Talking about science and school and Christmas. It was wonderful.

Lately he'll cross my mind, the last few days, and I won't even realize it until suddenly butterflies have erupted everywhere inside of me, and I realize I'd been thinking silly thoughts about him. It happens at work, it happens right next to him. Lately, when his hand brushes my thigh, I shiver. This is a much needed and much welcomed relapse.

Off to work now, I suppose.

I've sort of been neglecting my friends' list; not commenting etc. I feel guilty. Sorry. I'm reading, at least..

I've noticed that it is in the peak of stress that I suddenly become mortified with my appearance. I look down at my wrists and they're suddenly massive and chubby. I feel the fat hanging off of my neck and instantly see in my mind's eye a second, third, and fourth chin. I think it's odd, that a stressful situation causes me to feel this way, which in the end, causes me more stress, because I begin to fret over what I'm eating, how much I'm exercising, and suddenly I'm in this tremendous downward spiral to a complete bottom of unhappiness.
Well, at least I have pinpointed the starting point, yes?
Now, if only my wrists would get smaller.

(HA)

I went out tonight. Out with the elderly people; carting them around the zoo in the cold, watching the lights. The marines were there, collecting toys. I gave the boy mine and he grinned at me and smiled and thanked me and watched me walk away into the gift shop. And I looked at myself in the clear glass door and at the necklace sinking beneath my neckline and I felt good about myself. But the walk around the zoo was lonely. And the giraffes' area was empty, and the lions' area was empty, and the deers' area was empty. And I realized that the thing I want most is to go back to the zoo during the day, with my boy, to smile at the animals and pay two dollars and feed the giraffes. And stare in awe at the lions. And walk through the aviary, and the butterfly exhibit, and pretend that life is as romantic as it seems in the darkness of the zoo, with the only lights being the Christmas ones over all the trees. I want to lean up against him and take in the sights. I kind of want to run around in my golden ball gown and spin until I fall over. There's a new couple there, at the retirement home. They hold hands everywhere they go. He helped her up the hills at the zoo, and she smiled at him like they'd met yesterday. And I know that's out there for me, one day. But I can't see it with anyone else. Without him, I am content living a lonely life. To myself, with my classes and my work and my gym membership and no one. I'm not afraid of being alone. I'm not incapable of sustaining myself without love. But I'm terrified of losing the only boy I want to love. The only exception to my belief that I need no man.
I feel like I've been subconsciously sabotaging what we have, thinking to myself that one day he'll dry up and leave me. So I created my own secret fall-back option. I lost weight; I got it in my head that should I find myself alone, my goal would no longer be 103, but 85, like Meredith Grey. And waking up and realizing that there were no more lies, and no more other options this morning, made me love myself so easily. I looked in the mirror and I liked what I saw, I ate what I wanted, I stood tall. I felt in love in love in love, for the first time in a million ages it seemed. And now all I can think to do is throw myself into this one hundred percent. No fall-backs. Everything to lose. My soul, my sanity, my skin. We've made it this far; I've stuck with him and now he's sticking with me and this is all I have and this is all I want and this is all I need.
Oh hey, and I have a picture of my hair, being all brunette and such.

Oh hey. And thats me with no makeup. My grandma tells me I need to wear make up. She keeps going on an on. It's not right that I don't wear makeup to work. I should always wear makeup! My mother does, my sister does, why don't I? My mother tells me she and my sister need makeup and I don't. Josh tells me that. I wish my grandma would just give up the argument, because I can't put on makeup and see myself. Maybe I'll do a half and half picture one of these days. Have you guys tell me if my grandma is so right. Ugh.

New Years Resolutions...
:: stop weighing/ measuring/ otherwise judging myself based off of someone else's idea of where you're attractive
:: keep working out at least three times a week
:: sign up for a Friday night fun class (maybe; still not sure about this one) to keep myself entertained while the boy is with the boys.
:: get a job at a real Starbucks by the next holiday season
:: bake.

( Insert Song Lyrics Here )

This is my simple little Christmas List that I have compiled of things that I would love to have for Christmas/ Birthday, but nobody really asks me what I want, and so my little lists usually go unseen. And, naturally, this will go unseen by anyone who will actually buy me a Christmas gift, but I don't mind so much <3.
1.:: A simple new journal, for when I run out of pages in the one I am currently using, which will happen sometime in late January, early February, I assume. The most elegant journals, I find, are the simple ones. But I generally love whatever I get, because it was gotten for me, etc. etc.
2:: A big and snuggly stuffed animal or heavy heavy blanket to cuddle with in the middle of the night when I'm lonely, or in the morning when I'm paranoid, or in the middle of the night after a nightmare, etc. Snuggly animals provide company, heavy blankets provide security, so it's either or for me n_n. I have a heated blanket now; it keeps me plenty warm, but if I'm post nightmare, it does no good for curing the feelings.
3.:: A music box <3. (If the boyfriend got it for me, I would play it every night before I went to bed.)
4.:: Something special. Like an old necklace or shirt or something that can really be mine, not just borrowed to be returned (obviously specifically directed at my boy in this case xD)
5:: Oh! A flowing ink pen (wet ink) for my journal! Whether old or new, because my old "nice" pen ran out of ink finally, and I'm stuck using a regular old blue ballpoint, which is no fun :[
6:: A whole day with my boyfriend, like our one year. Wake up next to him, play some games, get some ice cream, make him dinner, and enjoy his company all day long. No work. No past. No problems. Maybe a movie, rented or cheap seats; something fun but that wouldn't put a hole in anyone's pocket, you know?
Anyway, that's what I really want for Christmas/ my birthday.

I spent the night with him last night, and you know what we did this morning? We woke up and played Mario Party on the Nintendo. Oh my goodness, when he suggested it, it suddenly felt like I was seven years old and it was Sunday morning cartoons. Nothing could have been better. It was all so right.

I was her and he was him and I was walking down a suspiciously familiar walkway. I want to say something very akin to The Parish , chapter two, out in the fields, by the public restrooms. He had written words in chalk on the ground. Funny words. Sweet words. Love words. And I'd brought a camera. I took a picture of his second sentence. I took a picture of all of the words. I took a picture of him hiding behind a tree that stood in front of me, he was telling me not to look at him; it was night on one side of the tree and day on the other. He was Mulder, fumbling over his silly Mulder emotions, trying to figure out the best way to propose to Scully. It was hard, and he never really managed; he was too nervous, because she was on to him, and I was she. And then, suddenly, I was him and he was her, and I watched him (or her) lean against the tree, saw her face against the sun side, and admired him and the freckles on his lips. And then he was gone and I was me and Mulder was himself and Scully was herself and I still had my camera and I took pictures of Mulder playing with a little boy, who then was a little girl. Scully stood at the end of the sidewalk and Mulder ran back and forth with the little girl; she had longer, knotted, dirty blonde hair and a pale face and she was beautiful. And they were happy. And Mulder was friendly to me, but they were a family.

While we were at the grocery store the other day picking up cookie mix for us to make, he scanned his card and it put his name through, and even though I payed with my debit card, clearly labeled with my last name on the front, the woman kindly parted us with "there you go, Mrs. Gardner, enjoy" or something similar. And we laughed and he told her not yet and she apologized and I was happy.

Work has gone well, so far. Eight hour shifts, I have rediscovered, suck immensely. And I get tired, and it took a week and a half for me to figure out that I should pack a lunch or something so that I'm not starving myself. Though I worked by myself last night for seven of my eight hours there, and I loved it. I kind of feel like somewhere along the line, I pinned me as an excellent Starbucks representative, should I ever stop being fat. And I did stop being fat, and I fit in to the Starbucks environment rather well. The good news is I've been working so much I'll be able to pay my next car bill on my own, and I'll be able to pay the ticket, whenever it comes (got flashed at on my way up to Flagstaff, doing somewhere around 12 over the speed limit. Ugh.), and I'll be able to get Josh's Christmas present <3.

I remember this one time, I got so sick that I couldn't eat anything without having my body deny me within twenty minutes. He got really mad at me that day, for some reason. I think it was that he was severely upset about Tejai trying to jump my bones while he'd been "gone," and him worrying that I'd accept the offer. Yeah, that was it. If I didn't respond fast enough, he'd text me again accusing me of things. All things considered now, it was hilarious. But my mother made me Ramen noodles that night for dinner, and I was so upset and afraid of my stomach that I cried a bunch and choked on the noodles and stopped eating after a few bites. After which I developed this miserable fear of getting sick again. But all that's fine and dandy and taken care of now and the last time I was sick enough to stay home from school he came over and sat with me, and got worried when the dog barked, and made Katie's friends be quiet <3. I don't really know where that came from, but it popped into my head this morning.

Anyway, I've been having these miserably messed up dreams, lately. They disturb me, leave me feeling tired and unsure when I wake up in the morning. Not nightmares, exactly. Just... dreams. Terrible ones. About men who feed other men to honey monsters that live in the sea. And women who head private in-board schools, with the secret wish to murder their students. They all start out good-willed; I met a few sailors who had deployed an enormous net that they taught me to stand on. And whenever they came across a half alive man stuck at the bottom of the sea, or perhaps stranded on an island swimming out to try and be saved, when those men tugged on the net, you felt it, and dragged them upward. But the dream went sour. Suddenly there were hundreds, upon hundreds of men being saved, all of them running from these things they called the honey monsters, that lived in the sea. And occasionally the captain of the ship, which had now become two ships linked together, would walk around the edges of the boat and knock men overboard, dooming them, to make room for newer passengers that needed saving. And I watched this whole thing, as a young man, following the captain around. I woke up feeling like I'd been drowning. My imagination's grabbed hold of me and is pressing me against the wall, begging with me for some sort of outlet.

What kind of outlet? There is no outlet. The wall is empty and has been for decades.

I was rudely awaken this morning by a series of pointless, confusing, disturbing dreams... the last of which ended with Josh and I spending time together in a yellow, wooden room post us dating. He was picking out feathers from a pillow that had nearly burst when his most recent fling hit him with it, after finding out that the two of us had had sex in a locker room right next to her. The girl had been a small Asian one; she reminded me of Jinni. I laughed at him and told him he didn't need anymore pillows from exes, and he threw the pillow to the other side of his bed. The bed, by the way, was one mattress, on the floor, and I had been setting up blankets and pillows right next to the mattress, on the left side. I asked him, are you still dating Mary? And his answer was thus; a wedding is coming up, as he fluffed another pillow. I looked at him, shocked and horrified. He mumbled that he didn't want to do it, but he'd promised, and an outraged me yelled at him that I didn't like this. I was sick of him doing and saying and promising these things that he didn't want to do. But he just told me you promise things to young people, to make them happy, and then he tried to explain himself by going into a rant about things that Lady Gaga says, referencing the many posters on the wall behind us, which were actually of Marilyn Monroe.
What?
And another was of me complaining of my many physical anomalies caused most probably by hormones. I found that I had this huge raging boner, sporting a huge, three foot penis that looked like a giant inflatable toy lying underneath my clothes, and I was stuck to hide in my room from humanity. Also an enormous pot belly
I just want to sleep soundly, I think. No dreams. These dreams are restless and confusing and they've ruined my good morning mood. I'm just trying to live a happy life. No pushing people to do things they don't want to do. No physical anomalies. Just normal. And I hate that my dreams suggest that the love of my life is such a miserable human being.

When I wake up this early in the morning, all I want is you. I listen to every love song possible and sit beneath my heated blankets and pray for time to pass quickly. And it isn't a lonely feeling. It isn't a bad feeling. It isn't a sexual longing. But it is a feeling. A big one. Like something is wrong, because it's dark outside and you're not around, but I still can't stop smiling anyway. So I'm just swaying here to my love songs this morning, counting down the minutes until I have to step out of bed and put my shoes, my apron, and my hat on. I'd write endlessly in my paper journal of this indescribable feeling, but I love having my light off. I love the darkness, knowing it's morning. I suppose I'm worried that Black and White me ranges from misery to insatiable libido when you're not around, but I have this healthy, proper, gloriously happy feeling in the morning (and other times). I dunno. Maybe it's because last night ended so wonderfully. But I hope you wake up to this one day. Today. Before you text me. Wake up and know that the first thing I thought of was you, and it made me that much more glad to be awake.

When I was younger, I was that fat kid, starved for attention. I was the girl with the attitude problems. I pouted, I screamed when it wasn't necessary, and I sucked up any sort of sympathy I could manage. I consider this a childhood phase of mine, and the fact that people my age still act that way confounds me beyond belief.
Anyway, I was pondering today, as I sat in bed with absolutely nothing to do, how being such an attention whore made my mother completely desensitized to my actual needs. My last cries for attention were in the Third Grade, if I remember correctly. My mortal daycare enemy (a fat boy who was also starved for attention) stepped on my hand once, and I screamed as if my arm was being severed right in front of my eyes. They scolded me for that. And then, I had a pain in my side at school that was miserable, and I ended up trying to ask my third grade teacher if I could go to the bathroom while choking on vomit. Naturally, after making it to the bathroom (because I always have), and throwing up, I was sent home. There was talk of a hospital visit if the pain got bad enough, so eventually, I said it was. Turns out something was wrong, something had burst that wasn't my appendix. But the initial throwing up followed by bed rest would have cured the burst in my body. My mom knew it hadn't been bad. She told me so.
So in the seventh grade, when my body seizured (that's the only way I can really explain it. My legs convulsing so bad I couldn't walk on them. Shaking uncontrollably) my mom came in the room when I cried for her and basically stood there. I ended up falling out of bed, dragging myself to the toilet, and throwing up only stomach acid, after which the convulsions stopped. My mom then realized that she should have been giving me water, as I'd had the flew since the night before, and I'd been throwing up constantly so she told me not to eat or drink anything. The only thing we can think of is that the incident was caused by dehydration, but she still to this day does not entirely believe that my body was acting out of my control.
Then, another day, not so long ago, though a while back, I fainted. I was standing at the back door, grasping the wall because I felt dizzy, and talking to her, until suddenly my head was spinning and there were a million voices in my head, none of which making me feel like opening my eyes was the right idea. But it was a reaction, and suddenly my kitchen floor came into view. I pulled myself up and my mother rolled her eyes and told me to drink more water.
The point of all of this history that no one cares about? My mother seems to have finally come around to the idea that I'm not starved for attention anymore. And she's been driving me crazy with it. It's mainly about my weight loss; she asks me over and over again if I'm eating, and I just grumble at her that I am and brush the subject off. I tell her I'm only working out for toning purposes and she tells me that I have to eat while I work out, and I roll my eyes at her and tell her to quit it and she tells me to quit losing weight. But the fact of the matter is, it took weight loss to wake her up that her daughter isn't crying for attention anymore. That her daughter might actually keep things from her. Parents are awkward individuals. I suppose she has my first eight or nine years of life to start basing her opinions, but the newsflash shouldn't be that we grow up and get over ourselves. I guess it doesn't help that there's a million and one girls out there crying for attention, my age and older, but.

Just stick me in my corner with my boyfriend and my Left4Dead2 and I'm set to go, even if he's the only one that knows my real name. It's nice not being one of those girls. It's nice knowing I'm not one. One more reason for me to know I'm perfect (for him).

So the clock keeps on ticking.Today is my last day without a job or school, and I'm milking it for all it is worth. No boy, either, so this day is going to be long as fuck. Six hours since I woke up and I've sat in this bed, and sat in the living room. Just sat sat. I'll walk the dog tonight for exercise, but other than that I'm embracing the fat feeling and sitting. I'll do a load of laundry, though. And get a newspaper for my latest art project. Wait. None of that means sitting. And I'll shower with the radio on... and dance a little... and not sit. Oh, it will all happen eventually, I'm sure.
So! Sara needs a makeover. A personal makeover. A personality makeover? Really, she needs to embrace the past and sit in the shit of what was. Sort of. I'm trying to get back to who I was before all of this happened. All of ( [this] )being a very long story that if you choose to read will be your loss. In any event. I want to get back to the person that turned him to the dark side, as it were. Of course, that's assuming that I'm the bad guy in this whole situation. Which I think is incredibly hilarious, considering the bad guy got traumatized so hard that the bad guy is still dealing with physical and emotional insecurities caused by the "quote unquote" good guy (who we will refer to from now on as the Helga, the ugly/evil stepsister). In any event, I'll take being the bad guy, because the dark side feels excellent, and anyone would agree. We have cookies over here. 
Before all of this happened, this was me.
Shy (not so much anymore, probably won't be going back to that either. Though I still maintain being quiet for a while in a new setting. Like Law. Before I made my three guy friends and had people to talk to.)
Confident (this happened after he "forced" me to buy my first bikini. Which he loved. The first goal is to get into the second bikini I've ever owned now, and like myself, which hasn't been the case in a while. Though I did go from rather conservative, big straps bikini, to a fun little stringy one. In any event, I'd like to feel great in the stringy one. The only issue there being that it is now November and it's not exactly bikini season. But we'll work with it.)
NOT-Paranoid (which was caused by all of his bad behavior during that part of our lives. I remind myself that he let it all go, on account of I wasn't going to stay with a huge pervert who treated me like shit yaaaaaaay me :D. In any event, the goal is to stop being paranoid all-together, which will come with my next goal, as well as with me reminding myself constantly, that there is a VERY LARGE (did you get the idea there? That it's not just very large, but even more-so?) wall in between the person he was then, and the person he is now. It goes like this. Then: SUCK. Now: PERFECT. I'd say that's a pretty big wall, yes? So anyway, if I'm ever being paranoid, someone poke me in the ribs and remind me that he's perfect and I'm dumb <3.)
Better Than All You Bitches! (Okay, so not actually. This is a confidence thing. What got me through the entire experience was me constantly telling myself, having other people tell me, etc. that I was absolutely, positively, obviously, without a doubt, better than Helga. Hands down. One hundred percent. She sucked I rocked, etc. And I believed this. That I was right and she was wrong, in the for him category. Now the goal is to get back to me knowing that I -am- better than anyone, for him. Who gives a shit about Helga? I don't. The point is to be better than absolutely any fat or skinny bimbo he ever meets or sees. Because I totally am, and there's no competition anywhere [or, at least, that's the goal for mentality.]
Right now, I feel like none of these changes will be difficult. I'm actually rather pleasantly seated on my invisible thrown of being better than anyone he'll ever meet. I feel one hundred percent confident and I don't care what he's doing at work because if some hot girl walks up to him he won't even notice her because I am me and she is just... her. We'll see how long this lasts, ha. The goal is to get here permanently. Because I'm only a jealous woman when I need to be,
I'm never paranoid,
and I'm simply way-too-awesome for words. (That is the goal.)
In any event, I apologize for this very strange, self-centered behavior, but it is good for me, and you should definitely try it sometime.

I know we're too old for monsters in the closet, under the bed, behind the bathroom shower, in the trunk. But I still look every night, just in case. Or, perhaps it's habit. Keep the bed mattresses in direct contact with the floor, so nothing is there. Keep the closet doors open, so I can glance over there and be satisfied. Keep the bathroom door closed and refuse to go in till morning. Don't look in the rear view mirror in the middle of the night because it freaks me out. All things I've been taught as I grow. All of the little things we do to keep ourselves sane, I suppose. He doesn't look in my back seat for me anymore, so I glance over discreetly, hoping he won't catch me. I knock on wood, I click four times instead of three. I try to cut myself off when I think too deeply for fear of being enveloped in the entirety of it. I do all of these things to keep my mind at ease; to shush the monsters in my head. 
But I suppose this stupid little entry was meant to have a point. The point being that as superstitious, cautious, careful, I may be towards crawling, creeping black entities that might get me, he'll always be my white knight when he's there. I tug him closer during a particular creepy episode of the X-Files so that it's content never phases me. I walk directly into his bathroom in the pitch black, no hesitations. I don't look under the bed, I don't even give the closet a second glance. When he's around, nothing can get me. It's time I worked on these silly little fears, so that nothing gets me wherever I am, I think. 

Good evening Livejournalians.
I am lying in bed next to my amazing boyfriend right now <3
I bet you are jealous...


Of the fact that my laptop is working! (OHSNAP) 
But anyway, I just felt like saying that. He's bored next to me. Bored boyfriend. Beloved Bored Boyfriend. Beautiful Beloved Bored Boyfriend Brings Bands of Beagles By. :D
(He's laughing at me.)
(He just rolled his eyes at me for saying he was laughing at me.)
He sucks. 
(He's great. Don't tell anyone. I don't feel like killing people off.)
I feel like rambling some more but I don't really have anything else to say.

OH! Safeway hired me. To work in their STARBUCKS. I think it's a win-win. Free coffee, but I don't like coffee, so I won't get sick of it. So I give my free coffee to the boyfriend and he loves me more :DDD (except not actually MORE. Just... more often?) In any event, tomorrow I have to call the pet store and thank them for the opportunity and feel like a complete jack-ass. 
Hope all is well with you guys n__n

LoveloveloveloveLOVElovelove,
Love,
Sara

So, after two whole fucking months of nonstop (kind of) job searching, and hearing back from absolutely NO ONE, I got two interviews in the same day. I got two  JOBS in the same day, guys. Nothing, nothing, nothing, TWO. Anyway, I was offered a job at Petsmart today and my interview/ hiring for Safeway will be tomorrow. I've decided that if I get the Safeway job, that will be the job I take. They're offering me morning hours, and because it's a grocery store, you get great raises quickly (every 700 hours they give you a dollar raise, etc.). 
It's right across the street from Josh's house <3, too, which is, you know, a plus.
And his vote was immediately for Safeway. I asked him why and he said "because it's close to me.." 

<33

Anyway, I don't have much else to say.

Well, I'm taking my hair back to brunette (for now). Even as I do this, I'm scared to death of the result. It's been, what? Almost three years since I bleached my hair and called it quits with brown. I've been gold, orange, red, blue, fruitloop, and lots and lots of red since then. But when I got my wig, I just reconnected, I suppose. I dunno. We'll see. Ha. I'm the girl that's afraid of a hair color. One of his friends keeps urging me to stick with the red. Redhead is better, there are too many brunettes, I have the spirit and personality of a redhead, blah blah blah, and he's getting into my head, I suppose. Whatever. I stuck with my random compulsive color wish and I'm going to do this. And I'm going to like it.
And I'm going to walk up to him and say "do you like it...?" and I really hope it's an instantaneous yes, or I might panic.
Also, Zombieland is my new favorite movie.

Edit:: Well, there's nothing like getting hit on at the grocery store. So, at least I know the hair wasn't an absolute disaster. And my aunt tells me she's excited to see it "normal" because she's forgotten what I look like!! She's cute. I love my family <3. 

Oh, I am bored,  He murmured to Himself, seated ever-so comfortably on His thrown above everything. Absentmindedly, He scratched His chin, looking through The One Window down at entirety. Nothing is new, He groaned to what looked like no one in particular, though a trained mind would know that He never speaks to Himself, and, in fact, there was a timid being standing politely out of sight. 
Oh, look. A new star, here! And a dying one there! People mill about ignorant on Earth and all of the- what are they calling them?- "Aliens" that I have brought to life are still at war over that galaxy. There is nothing new. I am so bored! He said his last sentence in such a way that would remind any uneducated of the complaints of a boy stuck in the car too long. But it should be said that He never acts in the likeness of children; least of all, annoying ones. He pulled forward His magnifying glass and scanned the Earth, in hopes of God-Knows-What (but He didn't), and He stopped above a sleepy city, where the inhabitants milled about day by day uninterrupted by any sort of anomaly. 
You there! He raised his voice, though not turning to look at anyone. This place here. It is the most boring of boring places that I have created. What happened to their weather? A small being.. or, one should say, a rather large being surrounded by clouds that looked of pure white light that was dwarfed by the immense might and power of Our Lord And Savior.. appeared and spoke.
My Lord, as any servant of royalty would begin, I believe they have been thriving off of the storms of others for some time. You created the mountains in that region, if you do remember. They protect that particular people from waves and things. 
He continued to gaze silently at the place. 
Do something, then! He said in an authoritative, cheery voice. Entertain me! No more rain -- you guys have no imagination when it comes to Seattle, you know. All you ever make is rain. And I'm tired of snow. Always the same. White. Don't you tire of it? He raised an eyebrow at the being clad entirely in white, and white light. It bowed and nodded and hurried away.
And it better be good! He shouted, causing the walls to rumble.


So anyway, we were on a wind and dust alert yesterday. It awoke my sense of irony. Better than paranoia I suppose. The dust was so thick in the air that you couldn't see more than a few yards up ahead. The wind was blew so hard it exhausted the drivers trying to keep their vehicles steady. It started to rain on my way home; after everything had already been coated in a layer of dirt. 

The fat evil-spawn that poses as one of my warped ideas of children keeps making mad dashes for the cupboard and crying. He's hungry. And all I can do is talk to him and pet him and try and make him forget that he hasn't eaten in almost eight hours. And then I think, what a fatty. I'll be up in five hours to take him in and cut off his balls. My room looks great, but I hold no attachment or pride in it's looks, so it doesn't improve my mood any. 
Anyway.
My point in stopping by livejournal at 2 a.m. ? Something feels miserably off. It started up my paranoia in the car on the way home. I turned on the light and looked around, after which I refused to look behind me, I stayed away from other cars, I did my best to keep safe. I hate putting words to the feeling, I don't know which is more dooming? I feel a bullet headed straight for my brain guys, and it doesn't feel like a metaphorical one.
I hate moments like this. 
Save me?
So I'll take his jacket and his pants into bed with me and pretend everything is okay. I'll hug my pillow and press the other one against my head for some sick sense of protection and pretend I don't feel the looming presence of something unwanted. 
I always said that if I were to commit suicide, it'd be by shooting myself in the head, because I wonder what it feels like.
But I never said I actually wanted to know. 
Jesus, Paranoia. Do me a favor and find someone else to haunt for the night. 
I love you I love you. I love you if I die tonight, I love you if I die tomorrow, I love you if I stay alive and for many more years to come. I love you forever and a day and the only reason I'm freaking out about this is because I never wanted to die away from you. Or at all, because of you.

So I know I've mused over this before (or, at least, I think I have), but, you know. I'm one of those people that goes back to things a million different times before I'm completely satisfied. And, I guess I'm bringing up a part of it, but most of this is new material. And it's also raw data I'm throwing around probably due to the boredom I've been dealing with since I woke up this morning, so forgive me if I'm choppy, etc.

But anyway, I was thinking about how people can get so low that they just want everything to end. I think of the countless times I would cry on my knees in the shower dealing with him, or her, and I would exhale and refuse to breathe back in until it was physically mandatory. I never had the balls to keep the air out, and refuse to let it back in until it knocked me out, though I toyed with it a million and one times. Sometimes when things are that bad, you just wish everything would stop. Some people take too many pills, some people take razors to their arms, some people just cry for attention threatening to do such things. And some people are quiet about it, never truly hurting themselves enough to say so or seek attention. I dunno. Maybe I'm an attention freak. But I never remember reporting to anyone the ease with which I would have accepted falling off the face of this planet. Previous material being one of my case in points; I'm deathly afraid of flying. I'm too paranoid to handle the idea of crashing, and dying around a bunch of strangers, possibly drowning, or burning alive. This fear became apparent to my mother when I went off to Georgia and cried at the airport (I'm a baby). She asked me why I hadn't reacted like that on my way to New York, and the simple answer that I gave her was that I didn't care if I'd crashed then.

Died. I was too ready for the hell to quit. Does anyone else get like that?

Because I don't. I had never been that way before that point in my life, have never been that way since. 

Which is why the whole experience really confounds me still. I guess life experiences are a good thing. I have a time in my life in which I can actually say I've never been lower, and it always makes the bad days seem pretty alright.
I once left the house and took a walk down Kolb, toying partly with the idea of walking all the way to his house to resolve the mess she'd gotten me into again, and partly with the idea of standing in the middle of the road. Instead, I walked about two miles in his direction and then crossed the road and sat in the median until it was well past dark. A man in a truck stopped in the turn area and asked me if I was alright. And I lied and said I was. And I lied and told my mother I was just going for a walk. And eventually I went back home. Never got to his house. Never threw myself in front of a car. That was the time she found out that we actually hung out. Or rather, I didn't know it was a secret, and so he got furious and lied to her and stroked her ego and yelled at me a bunch and threatened never to see me again. 
I once drove to Mock Trial screaming at every single person on the road that dared to make me think they were looking at me. I was praying for a car accident the entire way. I was partially blind due to all of the tears and the absolute anger and hopelessness I felt. But I made it to mock trial, all thirty minutes of driving, and I wiped my eyes and I even smiled at them as I walked in the door. And I made it back home. That was the day he stopped talking to me.
In New York, I never wanted to come home. I told him I missed him, and that he was the reason I wanted to come home, but I wasn't being truthful. I never wanted to go back to him and all of that mess. I didn't want to deal with another one of her hissy fits or saying the wrong thing yet again. I cried as we got on that plane and left my city behind, and I cried when I saw my mom at the airport. I did not want to be there. He wasn't even in a good mood when I got back, because she was busy being passive aggressively upset about my return. 

So anyway,what I was trying to say before I got distracted was that thinking about how absolutely low people can get, the way they attempt suicide, or sometimes just wish for their world to stop moving just made me wonder if anyone else had experiences like that. How many people in the world try to kill themselves. How many people in the world just wish for some peace. How many people in the world just say things to get some attention. Anyway, like my icon states, I was just rambling.