the world keeps turning.

I feel a lot less worried right now. I'm glad of it.

I can't wait until November third rolls around.

because we all know that sleep is for the less tortured.

So here I am, up far past what most would consider a normal bedtime. I've got a job interview tomorrow, but they probably won't notice the rings around my eyes thanks to how thick I lay on my eyeliner. Here's hoping I get the job at GameStop, by the way.

I’ve been reading articles all night, trying to learn as much as I can about him. That’s how my obsessions usually start, mind you. I gather as many images and resources of information as humanly possible and attempt to assimilate it all as if I’m the Borg Queen like Brian once dreamed I was. This time, though, I’m noticing a lot of things that, frankly, are more than a little creepy.

Like how he’s got so many things in common with me. Sure, I’m not famous (yet), but I’m somewhat of a celebrity on GreatestJournal… and I have a lot of the same issues being such. It’s interesting. I don’t feel like I’m forcing myself to relate to him. It’s like I’m already like him, like we could totally be bff. Hey T-rex…

I kind of wish he’d be online again when I’m on and that if I get the chance to IM him, he’d respond.

“I’m hopelessly hopeful you’re just hopeless enough.”

Maybe we can strike up a conversation. Be dorks together. I want to transcend that ‘creepy stalker fangirl’ persona I seem to get around people I admire, too. Maybe I’m being hopelessly hopeful, but I want him to know I exist and that I… relate. I want to be at the very least, friends with him. I don’t expect more than that.

It’s not even the fame or the rep. I want to be there for him ‘cause it seems like he needs less groupies and more people who are making an attempt at getting him. Someone he can have a discussion about Star Wars with… or even Michael Jackson’s Moonwalker.

Hell, it’s like even ‘Jackson Bowie’ could be friends with him too after I read about that being his favorite movie. It’s times like these that I wish that there was an address I could write to or an LiveJournal I could friend.

All I have is a blogspot to read, and its current occupation is selling fire in hell and I can't even leave comments in it.

thinking on serious topics at 2 am

“Grandpa died at about midnight,” she said. I’d been expecting it, albeit the reality was somewhat late. She thinks he was waiting for my dad to get there, so that he could die in peace. Who can really say?

It’s funny. When someone you’re not really close to dies, you can see how the world keeps moving without them. It’s so much easier because you’re detached. It’s odd. I feel like a real-life character stuck in something surreal and unsure. I really don’t feel anything. She’s crying on the phone, but she’s trying to hide it. Me? I just sound sleepy and disinterested. Maybe that’s why she’s suppressing her sobs.

I’m glad she finally stopped trying to guilt me. Well, for the time being. I know her, she’ll bring this back up whenever the need to do so arises (and by that, I mean the next time we have a no-holds-barred bitchfit).

Death is something that both scares and intrigues me. I think that’s because we don’t know what happens. Oh, your ministers and priests will say what they will, but they aren’t really sure. No one is. Deep down, I think everyone’s a bit of an agnostic. I mean, wouldn’t you hate to be wrong? I’m somewhat jealous of Gramps because now he knows what’s out there, if it’s a light at the end of a tunnel or nothing at all.

It’s one of those things that I’ll always wonder about, but never really want to get to. Not yet, at least. I’m too (insert adjective here) to die. Though sometimes, it seems like it’d be the easiest solution to all of my problems… but that’s beside the point.

They say death is only the beginning. The beginning of what? Why, the beginning of all unanswered questions.

Silly, just because you have a next life...

& no one knows the truth of the matter anymore.

Sometimes I wish his posts weren't so vague so that I'd know what's going on, but at the same time he has every right to be that way. He can't let just anyone into his heart, after all. No one really should. But now my overactive imagination is wondering things that are probably just me being far too hopeful for something that will never happen at all.

I'm being silly and a child again.

I love how he writes them like he's talking to me individually. Even if it's not me. Perhaps it's her. Or him. I don't know because I'm not inside his head, but it is insane how Donald Duck never wears pants and no one seems to notice.

VIP are the three letters I wish I could have attached to my name. Maybe then I'd have a chance. I keep thinking that, if nothing else, we could be really good friends because his thoughts seem to echo mine.

At this moment in my life, this is something I'll never know for sure.

I'm just a face in the crowd.

can you feel the flames licking at your feet yet?

This is me. I care too much about myself, according to some, because I don't want to let what someone else thinks is "right" run my life.

And since when is "right" the same as "what makes you look good." Did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I don't care about "looking good" if it doesn't feel right?

I'm not into doing things out of obligation. So if you think that I have a "duty" to do something for whatever reason and I'm not getting anything out of it at all, then don't expect me to bend over backwards for you.

There's got to be something in it for me.

i guess that means i really do care

I keep saying stupid things like "I don't care" about the whole funeral business, but you know what? I was blasted out of my fairy tale. I do care. Not what my dad's family thinks, but I care about what my mom thinks. Maybe I'll regret this, if worse comes to worse, but right now I'm living for me and I'm going to have fun this weekend.

It'd be better, though, if Gramps kept himself alive long enough.

i'd say i wish i cared, but i really don't want to.

I'm well aware of the fact that I'm one of the most selfish human beings I know. A bit of a hedonist in some respects. I figure that I'm here to live for me, and no one else so I don't care what most people think, much less the family that views me as a circus freak show because they cannot begin to comprehend why I'm the way I am. Though admitting one's selfishness must be, at the least, better than denying it. I know I'm selfish and that I care about myself more than I should, seemingly.

What most don't see is that I am also selfless when the need arises. When it is deserved of me. My friends, my family that I chose. People that understand me and like me the way I am. People that don't love me simply because I'm related to them.

I think that friends, being people that you choose to spend time with and share yourself with, are more important than most family. Especially family that could care less about you when the Yankees are beating the Braves.

And I don't want to go just so my mother looks good to a family that hates her no matter what she does. Maybe her reasoning is that she's trying and that's better than their giving up on her. But when should you stop trying to be something you're not? When can you just accept that you're hated and there's nothing you can do to change the minds of those who hate you? I don't think she knows this, or even thinks along lines such as these.

Maybe I'm being too harsh because there are still things in this world I don't understand at the tender age of twenty-two.

they say that rehab is for quitters.

You swear up and down that you need it. Need it as stress relief, actually. But... maybe there are times when the "stress relief" is actually the cause of the stress. Wondering when you can get your next fix, your body tells you you need it. Withdrawal is pretty extreme in some cases, I can see why rehab is for quitters. Living in the here and the now makes you think that you need it, but if you could just try and think ahead-- to the future where I hope you're past this addiction-- you'll see that you'd be better without it.

it had a very sinister appearance. it had a battery, and wires.

Today on the news they mentioned that the head of Atlanta-based Cartoon Network had resigned after the "Boston terrorism scare" and was now at Home and Garden Television.

Maybe it's a personal opinion because I, myself, am from Atlanta, but I don't think he should have needed to resign over that. Really, it's not his fault that Boston is obviously run by idiots.

as it turns out, this foot in my mouth is very tasty.

Written last night at midnight.

Everyone else always knows what you need.

You need a new toaster, car, television, et cetera. Beyond objects, you need to be saved. Your current beliefs are inferior to mine! Here, let me force mine on you so you can see the light.

What you know, what you’ve been taught is what makes sense. So when you learn something about someone else, or when you stumble upon it, sometimes those predisposed notions come back to haunt you. Forget the clever joke dad made when he pointed out that the Spanish word for “witnesses” (testigos) sounds and looks a lot like “testicles.”

I wonder if I made a face when I was talking about those papers that Jehovah’s Witnesses pass out, door to door. It didn’t dawn on me and she might be one. She’d spoken to me about not celebrating Halloween but I just assumed that since they have a mile-long driveway, it’d be hard to go Trick-or-Treating.

I never made the connection that the only reason they had those papers in the house was because that was her faith, speaking of the mile-long driveway.

In a sense, I wonder if that’s part of the reason they live so far into the woods. So other Witnesses don’t bother them? That’s probably a silly train of thought.

But now I feel like the biggest douche bag for even making the comment, for even letting the thought cross my mind. And it wasn’t so much the thought, I was just making a statement that those papers they hand out have a certain look to them that I’ve grown to recognise.

And now, my Catholic upbringing is making me feel guilty for something that probably shouldn’t be making me feel this bad. I didn’t know, they’re pretty hush-hush about their private lives. She has no reason to be mad at me, but I can’t help but think that my wording and my inability to stop talking about Jehovah’s Witnesses as I desperately tried to save myself (but inadvertently continued to plummet) made things worse. Maybe she sees me differently now, though she probably doesn’t.

I wonder if she’s lying awake right now, thinking about this.

there's gold at the end of the rainbow, promise.

Well, today the sun shone brighter than it has in a few days. I believe in signs, and I believe that the powers that be talk to me with them. It'd be far too simple for God (or Goddess, whichever you prefer) to just talk. They have to do it through signs or through people because most of us just won't listen any other way. Not in this day and age, anyhow. But I know there are signs out there, waiting for me to read them. And I know the importance of realising that even the most mundane things, like a little sunshine, can be a sign.

I think things are looking up. I suppose we'll see.

& i just don't know where this'll get me.

Do I want to find out? Is it worth it? I consulted my most trusted advisors, my therapists pumping through my speakers delivering just what I need. Because, even if it's not a sophomore slump, it's definitely not worthy of being called the comeback of the year. Not yet, anyway. I'm sick of a lot of things, but I consulted them and they told me (in their own way) that I shouldn't do anything rash. I shouldn't do anything stupid, and granted this is my own interpretation of their words, for I am my own oracle, last time I did this it was frighteningly accurate and I'm going to listen to them.

The know me, and they know my situation even if they don't know me really.

And... I trust them. I trust his words.

oh, but it won't matter, you don't matter.

Reading his thoughts and forming my own. I only admire him more. It's like I'm getting a VIP pass to his mind and I'm understanding the man behind the bass. It's not even about his sex appeal or his looks or how I love the dorky videos that are out there, floating on the information superhighway-- but those are certainly a bonus. It's because he's human, just like me. It's because it seems like he knows me and what I've been through, even though we've never met. And that's the part that worries me, because now I feel like a stalker. It's because I want to meet him, like Misa wanted to meet Kira.

He's my hero.

it's hard to imagine

Maybe it's childish, but I want him to notice me. I came here because he's here and even though it's a one in a billion chance he'll ever see this little bit of cyberspace, I still want that chance.

I'm such a child.

'ello luv.

First time trying this site. Here goes nothing.