the question is whether illegal drugs should be legalized for medical uses. The answer is hell no. Illegal drugs should be legalized for Every use! that's not right either hold on...
obviously, since we're already giving everybody a shitload of drugs (prozac, tylonal, dextromethorphan hbp)and claiming it to be okay, why is there even a question.
legal illegal
two minds
but the correct answer is this--> illegal drugs should not be legalized for medical uses. There are other, safer, non addictive drugs that provide the same benefits. Also, there is the possiblity of addiction. Suppose a patient is using THC and finds it so helpful he or she continues more than is recommended and more than is healthy!
here, a problem rises: what are the side effects of marijuana? Munchies and paranoia.
that's a lot of supposing
fuck this

it is february 16th 2006
that doesn't mean anything to me
but it is almost lunch
and wow it seems like 3rd period was so long ago
and there are still several hours left in this wretched school day. call it 3 hours and 9 minutes.

then it's just a bitter memory of a girl that doesn't do her homework.
then it's just backwards and i'm like wait what?
but at least i have a pack of prime times.
and lunch means food


straight is great!

september 11th was a long time ago people
talk about a scare tactic
i think all this shit needs to be forgotten so we can all go out and buy a beer
speaking of beer
it's valentines day
marks alone and sad
messy breakup + mark ortiz = cecilia berry acting as active listener
which ends up with the both of us drunk, almost every time
so valentines day 2006
equals beer
maybe even vodka
i could see that happening
if we had money we'd go golfing

i wish kj weren't grounded
and i wish we could go to a fatty party right now
but that isn't going to happen
but that's okay because
vicodin wave!

I told you people Dick Cheney was dangerous.

Let's all wish a full and speedy recovery for Harry Whittington, the man Cheney accidentally shot on Saturday while they were out in the Texas boonies hunting quail. As for the trigger-happy vice president, let's hope he takes this unfortunate episode as a hint to pack up his shotgun and go home. Lord knows he's done enough.


Ready, Fire, Aim
Let's hope the vice president takes this unfortunate event as a hint to pack up his shotgun and go home. He's done enough.

The man is out of control.

Then again, out-of-control is the way this whole administration operates: Ready, fire, aim. Global war on terrorism, global war on poultry, what's the difference? You see something moving, shoot it.

Sorry, Harry, my bad.

It's been clear for some time that Cheney came to office with a revanchist agenda, and he has pushed so hard in his campaign to assert autocratic powers for the White House that even his allies on Capitol Hill have begun pushing back. No wonder, given the way he treats them. On electronic spying, Cheney has essentially told Congress that if any members would like to discuss checks and balances, they're welcome to talk to the hand.

His uncompromising drill-and-guzzle position on energy makes a lot of oil industry executives sound like tree-huggers. When the subject turns to measures that could actually begin to lead this country toward energy independence, such as conservation and alternative fuels, Cheney begins checking his watch and barely tries to stifle his yawns. But let someone raise the prospect of drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, which couldn't even begin to slake America's energy thirst, and he lights up with such glee that it's impossible not to think of Mr. Burns on "The Simpsons."

Conservation sounds like one of those sissified foreign ideas. Drilling, now that's what America is all about -- at least the America that spends its weekends on a 50,000-acre ranch in south Texas with a bunch of fellow millionaires, shooting at quail.

Typically, Cheney's office didn't bother to tell anyone for more than 18 hours that the vice president of the United States had shot someone. A vice presidential shooting doesn't happen every day, and I, for one, would appreciate being informed whenever the man who's just a heartbeat away from the presidency peppers a 78-year-old attorney with birdshot. But Cheney apparently is taking his cues from Jack Nicholson's character in "A Few Good Men," the ultrapatriotic Col. Nathan Jessep: "You can't handle the truth."

Cheney seems to believe that we want to know far too much about what our government is up to. He doesn't have to tell us who came to the White House and engineered the administration's "Happy Days" energy policy; he doesn't have to tell us whom the National Security Agency is spying on or how it's doing it; he doesn't have to tell us anything about the conduct of the war on terrorism that this administration is waging in our names. Anyone who leaks information to try to keep us informed, such as the unnamed whistle-blowers who told of the secret CIA prisons and the unauthorized domestic surveillance, will be hunted down. (No shotguns involved, one hopes.) Of course, at times when public opinion is trending perilously the wrong way, Cheney apparently is happy to play the Washington game and leak information that bolsters his argument and tears down his opponents. According to press reports last week, Cheney's former aide Scooter Libby now says it was his "superiors" who instructed him to do the kind of leaking that has him facing trial on federal charges.

Foreign policy wise man Brent Scowcroft, who served with Cheney under George Bush the Elder, famously said that he doesn't recognize the man who now occupies the vice presidency. I wonder what happened.

A pop psychologist might speculate that Cheney was shaken by two stunning blows. One of them -- the Sept. 11 attacks -- was suffered by all Americans, but it's hard to overstate the extent to which George Bush the Younger and his inner circle took Sept. 11 personally. The other blow is Cheney's personal health crisis, which has entailed a series of heart attacks and operations. It's easy to imagine that the fear of a new, even more catastrophic terrorist attack, combined with the intimation of his own mortality, could produce the kind of out-of-my-damn-way inflexibility we see in Cheney today.

But I doubt the vice president would have any patience with this sort of navel-gazing. Just lock and load. The rest of you, don't forget to duck.

It was radio host Tom Joyner who came up with Cheney's Valentine's Day poem:

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Say something I don't like, And I'll shoot you, too.

free piano (santa rosa)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: sale-132425064@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-02-08, 8:48PM PST


oak upright . needs 1 string replaced , and tuning . I can deliver. good practice piano.52'' tall.

CRAIGS LIST!
FREE PIANO
NEEDS 1 STRING REPLACED
BUT...
FREE PIANO!!

he wants to go to new york
i want to be with him
this raises an interesting question

we have to do a debate in civics.
and this will be so very hard for me, because i don't believe in right or good. And i especially don't believe in wrong. So how the hell can i pull this off?
i'm reading watership down kids.
and i have this idea. and it doesn't mean anything to me
but i'd rather take care of myself.
and that means...well
what does that mean?
i wish i were stoned.
i feel like a bitch
i feel like i'm worthless
and i'm wearing a dress.
it's nice.
it used to be really long, but i cut it.

can't wait to hang out with roxxy.
we'll be doing that soon.

this weekend will be watership down
and the last unicorn
and my stupid boyfriend is grounded
which means i'm going to have to steal my truck and pick him up in the middle of the night.
:(
that won't work out.

then again...when kj's in new york won't that change everything?
won't i be completely restless?
and won't a plane be nothing?

well right now who cares
i found the rest of the salvia
smoked it
went searching for something else
nothing
i found these cough pills, comtrex. i looked it up and it has aceteminophin, that guisophex shit, and chlorophorian malate. which basically means it would have killed me if i'd tried to take a crapload of it.
but i guess that applies with everything.
i found hydroxicut.
who the fuck wants to take hydroxicut?
i think what i'd like to find most would be a cigarette.
but my dad stopped (blood clots in his lung and all)
and my mom did as well
so with the smokers of the household quitting, i don't have access to cigarettes.
so i'm kind of like RAWRRRR

but that's not the point is it...?

anyway, i found the virtue of selfishness. i'd been looking for it for so long. i've forgotten why i even wanted to read it.
i totally want to watch waking life.
i've gotta reread 1984...and enders game.
no time.
i could always read enders game for points.
hey hey hey
is that a mirror in your pocket


i miss kj.
i could go to marval!!!!
:( remo doesn't have any gas.
we're just stuck in the fucking house
no gas
no beer
no car
my dad's sitting right there all fucked up on oxygen and blood clots
remo doesn't smoke pot anymore
we eat dinner together now
it's like...since my dad's here...we're this...real...family type thing.
it's kinda nasty, you know?

by the way, marks' been talking about suicide.
he said he always comes outside all pissed off and the thing that keeps him positive or normal is the trees.
and he was crying when he told me that and he got on the subject of the trees and his eyes started clearing up and he was just normal again.
and then he was talking about how he didn't think he was supposed to be here. like he doesn't belong and maybe his Fate is to die by his own hands. and he said, this isn't a cry for help, i'm just...this is how i feel! and he asked if i would understand that, if all his family would be able to understand that it was what he Wanted, to die. and he said, i've thought about suicide before, but this is different i feel like it's Time.
and i said, time... funny thing.
and when he seemed dry of words and tears, i said you know what i think? i think we should go snowboarding!
and he looked so surprised! so shocked taht i would talk about something that wasn't either depressing or like... one of those talks people give "oh it's not all that bad" "well you're not going to kill yourself Are You?" "just remember that i love you"
and he started to laugh!
and he said, hell yeah! we should go snowboarding! remember when you went off that jump and you fell right on your back!
and i laughed
and i said, that was the same day i hit myself on the head with my board because i didn't know how to get up
and we laughed.

then we played with sammy a little bit

then he and victoria and my mother went to san jose because vicky has to go have a check up. and, probably, they'll return with a dog.
a nasty little jack russel terrier dog.
_<


who cares about the future, i don't have time for that right now.
fucking ruby tuesday.

maybe i should be a nun
maybe i should be mother theresa
maybe i should be the bloke on essax road with all the answers
maybe i don't know how to add

it's hard to figure out what is important.
it's hard to figure out the meaning of life
<mans search for meaning> when there doesn't seem to be one beyond what you make it. what i make it.
i feel like i'm...floating away
like i'm every color in the world.
like i'm not made of emotions or flesh or even water. like i'm made of electricity. One electric thought.
one flash.
one instant.
that we like to call cecilia berry.
right now.

so there's a sex abuse victim carrying U.S. colors for the olympics. and it's just kind of symbolic to me. like the U.S. is being molested. i'm just talking about policies, forms, it all reminds me of the Vogons. and it reminds me of molestation and tax reforms and the National Security Agency. and it makes me smile. not to say actual sex abuse is a funny thing.
it's just relative.
and that's funny.
even rules are relative.
equal education?
equal rights?
it kind of makes me wonder about those elephants.

i was watching America's Next Top Model, because Carla sent me a crapload of it. And it was so...brainwashing for lack of better word. All the criticisms given to the model were so...simple. I mean, any girl watching could say I can identify what that model's doing wrong! then they go, well I could be a model! and then they're in advertising school learning about make up application and bringing the emotion from within. Like Carla.
But it's all wrong! because all that money they give to the girls on the show...it doesn't really exist. that's not going to happen to everyday girls like carla.
the best thing you can do, cecilia, is go to college, or at the very least get some college reading material, and learn poli sci, and get into the True system.
not the shitload of ants, bumping antenea off eachother.
i mean Real.
where you know what you're talking about
and you know what they're talking about
then maybe there's something you can do about it.
but this is serious business and serious business doesn't include New York.
the only thing...is that i'm unfamiliar with that place.
why go start all over there when i have the... beginning, you know?
it's like pulling apart a sweater.
or like when you're about to start one and you're looking for the end of the yarn. and you find the part that will make the ball spin and spin and spin and spin. that spinning will get heckah annoying, so you might as well just reach in and grab the other one.
bad metaphor. that went the wrong direction.

when i say these people are in the wrong direction.
i know i'm not in the right direction.
and it's hard when there's no left
and it's hard when there's no right.
especially when your metaphors do backflips.

in other words, i'm not going to new york, no way jose.
my family is too important to me, and i don't got no familia in New York.
it might not seem like it but i have a plan
a simple plan, but a plan nonetheless.
i will get a simple job and will ride a bike to get there.
this has been my plan since the beginning, when i thought i was going to move to ireland
before i wanted to be a mortician or a dentist
or a cute little wife in a cottage.
which i've never wanted to be for the record.
but i want to live with carla, sort of. i think me and her could live just the quiet life we need for inspiration.
because i'm not alive unless i'm inspired.
not that i'm ever inspired to do anything useful, but i'd still rather be inspired than uninspired.
not to say i'm ever bored.
rarely bored, right?

i remember in freshman year when i had that counselor, the same one that said where you sit in a room has nothing to do with anything, she said that you have to go out into the real world and get a job in order to be independant. and i said to her, well that would just make your more dependant, wouldn't it? and on people you have no reason to trust. she didn't have much of an answer for that. and that was enough for me, then, to flunk my cephelopod tests without a second thought. since it doesn't matter anyway.
basically i've always had the wrong attitude
but recognition does necessarily lead to change.

rarely, in my case.

i guess the thing is that i'm not paying attention to the right things?
or are they not being presented to me?
and what does it matter since....(all we are is dust in the wind)
the way i see it i have a purpose: to help my brother, my nephew, my sister, my parents, myself.
jesus ....



i don't want to be a number. And i hear pennywise "land of the free! free to control your lives!" and i know that i'm already a number. but not if i...have all the right information. what do i need a number for if i know already?
i should get skilled in hard labor. that's useful.
i get the feeling it's coming to an end.
the money, the ways
the world as we know it.
i'm prepared for disaster
unfortunately that's about all i'm prepared for.

on new years, when ana was panicking because she thought the world was going to end, i was oh so calm. i just nodded.
pity to die on coricidin.
now...
coricidin sounds like a plan.
a plan that complicates all the rest of my plans
because it just leads to erratic thoughts that make people think i'm nuts. what does that matter, my thoughts are already permenantly erratic.
proof of that EVERYWHERE.

bored bored bored all of a sudden.
45 minutes left of class.

dang i'm sick
i got the chills
i got the sore throat
i mostly got the chills.
fuck chills.
FUCK CHILLS!
you know what chills reminds me of?
thrills and chills!
fucking chollet, right!
fucking Coricidin Cough and Cold HBP status right there.
i have a cold
i have a cough
*cough cough*
i have the chills
i feel like...
some coricidin!!!!
and i hear in my head
papa smurf could i lick your ass! yeah lick my ass bitch
and i'm laughing and laughing
and i says to myself
you're going to the mental institution

i just got home
i'm on the scholars honor roll with a whole bunch of other people that aren't likely to amount to anything.
a grade is just a grade, it doesn't mean you learned anything.
maybe that's the difference.
i feel less sick than i was during school.
Much less pissed off.
i'm just a nutcase!
i'm just a teenage dirtbag!
but who cares?
i'm so excited!
and i'm so happy!
and i'm watching seinfeld, a rerun i've seen run and run and rurunned.
i gotta paint my nails.
boy oh boy
the end.

am i just a fucking nutcase?
well yes if you're going to act like one.
well who listens when i try to do it their way
silly girl you never try to do it their way
so you're saying i'm wrong
so i'm saying it's all wrong and right and left and right and basically it doesn't make a blip of difference.
so it's all about the conduct? but how do people get their attention? you're supposed to talk politely. nod your head. cock your head respectfully, all that jazz?
well you can't exactly go around screaming, because people don't pay attention to what you have to say, only that you're acting out.
but GODS! what are we supposed to do if we don't act out! how am i supposed to...
you don't care! GOD! you don't fucking care! i dont fucking care!
that is a very big lie cecilia.
you care a shitload.
of course i care! it's....life! this is people Learning in School that it's okay to be punished for other people's mistakes. This is the new generation learning from Teachers that it's okay to be forced out of somewhere comfortable just because They Said So. they put up their little signs and they sent out their little patrols
i say to myself ceci!! can't you see!? those bastards DO leave a big mess and they ARE obnoxious and loud!
and i say yes, of course, but why does that take MY right to sit in the hallway away!?
So yes the people in chorus don't pay attention and maybe their right to an extracurricular class such as that should be taken away, but maybe I'd like to learn about it!
it's just not Fair to the little guy.
it's just not fair to everyone.
and that just proves to me that nothing is fair.
and everything flies through my head
blood clots
drugs
molar pregnancies
truth!
you can seriously eat morels. i'm not just making shit up.
then there's raul duke dancing with the flag on the beach
Not. Fair.
and of course it riles me up. i mean, i definately broke out at the wrong moment at the wrong people in the wrong situation for the wrong reasons.
but in whole, it's true.
and it's how i feel.
and i'm sick of feeling like that.
because NO ONE ELSE CARES!!
they fucking get over it
i don't know why life is like that.

why don't i care enough to get a scholarship
why am i so...pissed off?
i don't know why i can't get over it.
why can't i just...
maybe i'm just pissed off because i have ringworm
maybe i'm just an angry person.
maybe i have a serious problem and i have to go to anger management.
then there's marks voice in my head THEY CREATED ANGER MANAGEMENT!
because aren't we supposed to get angry?
i sense closure.
i'm not sure if i mean the end or just a cage.
i don't care.
i've just had enough of False freedom.
I've had enough of the bullshit.
why can't they just be honest.
why can't everyone be honest???
i try to be honest but i get in trouble for it right?
honestly honest?
the real bitter honest in the movies the climax moment where they scream their true feelings?
i feel like that every fucking day
but i can't do it
social norms, you know?
i fucking hate it.
and i hate that no one else hates it
and i hate that those who do hate it can handle it and keep calm.
and they can keep their heads
and they don't blow up for no reason.
and so i feel...left out.
i feel...like nobody cares.
and i feel like crying for everyone else.
but on the other hand i would never put this on them. this fucking...whatever i am.
caring about stupid shit.
trying to be real all the time.
i'd never wish that on anyone because it's so...lonely.
who knows what they care about.
i wish i could blend.
cross out cc berry.

it doesn't matter.
i'm not intelligent.
just...angry.

i whisper, almost surrendering, but i'm not angry. it's because i love the world so much that i dont want to go down without a fight. and it's a fight for my right to sit in the hallway!
FUCKING IT'S JUST A HALLWAY!!!
i feel like they're stupid
like the whole idea is stupid.
like going out to go to the bathroom, and getting all the trash and spreading it through the hallway.

but...where would that get me?
in detention, probably.
is it just?
fair?
of course not, but it would be hilarious. it would be a fantastic In Your Face.
but it doesn't get me anywhere...
nothing can get me anywhere, i'm made of lead!

why can't i just surrender. well, it's a just punishment. they fucked up the halls, they have to deal with it.

then why do they complain if they aren't about to do anything about it?
i'm just a fool.


i miss carla.
her english teacher said she should write a book.
i agree.
she also said i should write a book
that's kind of odd since i've never even met this teacher.
carla says she feels like the fat kid that runs after the bus. that makes me feel bad for her. i wish i were running along with her.
i wish i were with her now.
her crazy antics
my crazy antics
monkey in a cage
wearing a fucking ballerina dress
and with the sniffles!
i'm just....a girl in the world.
and i'm missing my buddy, and i can't wait to see her again so we can drink and we can run and we can climb the hills together. but..even carla's not the same anymore.
she has pleurisy
she's stopped taking coricidin
i want someone else just like me, my twin sister, to do what we want to do and get caught up in our truths.
our stupid truths.
those truths that make no sense
well i'm not an elephant am i?
truth- water is love.
truth- i am zen
truth- wonder is mine
and they are of course not truths.
check the critera.
Zero.
but who cares?
not my twin sister!
carla understands, but...we can't add to it. no more pills. no more outbursts. yeah right.
if i were in a mental institution they'd have sedated me and put me in isolation.
thank god i'm only free!
all mr grey said was what was that all about. and i was all emotioned out and i said i'm just sick of all the bullshit and he said what and i say we go to class at a specific time we can't go to the bathroom until 40 minutes go by and he tells me about his son having bladder problems and he says just talk about it. and i say right, i'm supposed to talk not scream.
and i repeat that to myself talk, don't scream
talk. don't scream.
talk.
don't scream.

if carla were here, she would say fuck it! scream ceci!
and i could say HELL YEAH!
and we could drink the bottle of brandy and get kicked out of the party.
fuck
i'm going back in time.

cecilia, you nut.

medicate me i mutter.
and i hand myself some pills.
there you go! medicated!
what are these?
who cares!
there i am fucked up in the backseat of the van. and who knows where we're going.
oh we're at dennys.
oh we're eating pancakes
oh we're getting kicked out.
oh god i'm drunk
then i'm on my bed and i'm saying to myself i love kj so much and i'm so sorry i'm so worthless and rude!
and then i'm crying because i Do want to amount to something. but i don't believe in myself.
and when i'm old, i'd rather think back well i had all that talent and i put it to waste! than think i tried my fucking hardest and i was a failure.
i'd rather be potential than a failure.
i'd rather be a waste than something that didn't work.
and that makes me feel very pathetic indeed.

and i hear kjs voice saying something about that's my problem and it's scribbled out because i'm trying to cross out the proof. it's like distorted, so i can't hear the meaning.
and i hear my dad laugh. Kill the bastards!
and it goes kill the pig! slit her throat! and mark Stick it like a wild boar.
and the canadian with the same tune on his acustic
and i say life.
ah, life!
you're so beautiful.
yet we try to control you so.
and we make it so ugly! with the order and the rules and the superiority. false superiority.
and i say cecilia you sure have big ideas.
and i say yep big ideas that will never change a thing.
because apparently...
i don't know
whatever.
i'm bored with being pissed off now.
uh i need to brush my hair!
it's so nasty! it's like blech!

i feel like a fool!
and i says to myself i says Cecilia, you are a fool! and you have every right to feel like one!
but i say to myself, oh the conduct!
oh the atrocity!
oh how inhumane!
and i says to myself, well cecilia is it humane? is Anything they do humane?
and does it make a difference
the criteia of truth
democracy
having to wait 40 minutes to go to the bathroom
go to class
time to eat
i just get really caught up in it.
REALLY caught up in it.
it doesn't even affect me.
but the way i look at it, how long before what i do care about is affected.
if i don't stand up for other problems, who will stand up for mine?
i don't know why i do this!
i don't know why i can't stand it!
why i scream and rant.
because like mr chollet says you can scream and scream but even if you're right they won't listen.
but the way i look at it, it's better than...it's better than just Sitting there! when you care!
obviously they care!
and it pisses me off!
and maybe i want to sit in the halls! at the very least have the Option!
the option that we abused by fouling it up right with our noise and lack of cleanliness!
and you call yourselves Punk Rock!
where is pennywise!
the days of stickin it to the man
maybe i'm just too far in my head.
maybe i'm a fucking romantic
and i'm way out there
and connecting things that aren't connected
and maybe life is good
and who needs to eat indoors anyway?

and i want SO bad, someone to tell me i'm wrong.
i want SO much.
i just want someone to say No, you're fucking Wrong. we're Supposed to sit outside it's RIGHT for them to do this.
because at least then i...won't feel like i have to do something.
and i hate when i do something.
because the something's i do are fucking stupid.
and then I feel stupid because i'm alone.
alone.
completely alone in a hallway eating an apple trying to stand up to mr haines with his sexy room while he handles a situtation
fucking ants bouncing anteneas off eachother
what RIGHT to I have to pretend that i have right?
stupid drug addict!
stupid fiend!
stupid girl who thinks she's right!
no.... i don't think i'm right
and i don't really think they're Wrong.
i see both sides i just think it's outrageous!
and so i feel outraged
and i act outraged
because there is something wrong with Me
and some glorious pennywise would do me good right now.
and i'm sick of being looked at like i'm crazy.
i'm sick of being regarded as a fool.
i'm sick of kicking cans and screaming though my throat is raw.
i'm sick of wondering what the hell.
what The HELL?
stupid stupid girl
but i says to myself that's history!

i feel like in my life
it's always giving something up
but everything is equally important
but i have to do something
and i make the wrong decisions
and i don't turn things in on time
and i waste all my time
and i kind of hate myself
but i know i shouldn't think like that
becuase fuck! my dad's still alive
and think about the chances of that!
and there he is walking around
and so what he has to give himself shots every day in the stomach!
what's cool is that i get to watch him.

i feel like everything is important to me
and i feel like woah what does that mean
so i says to myself
the ongoing Wow is happening right Now.

and it makes a shitload of sense
and no more cigarettes
we don't want another pulmonary embolism

that's good anyway, cigarettes also make your psoriasis worse.
and nasty teeth
bleck.


i wish things made more sense

monday appointment
for the deringwormification

and now here i am to say!
I LOVE THIS WHOLE THING!
like i love the whole everything
i want to throw my head back and howl at the moon!
and my dad's getting out the hospital.
and i'm gonna eat some bacon
and that's the news of the day
but i still have ringworm
:(   boo.

cecilia berry, full of complaints.
sometimes i just want to wring your neck.
and oh oh oh i mean it.
sometimes i wish i had the ability to wipe cecilia berry out of the books the box the minds the face of the planet.
that! is what i want to do!
obviously!

that or some mushrooms.
i mean
me + drugs= a very happy girl

then again
ahahaahahha!!!fucking at that nasty roachy motel, the economy inn, when mark puked in the shower, and when remo was only one person, and when victoria was a cowgirl that lived in her purse! i was on drugs then right? yet i was very very unhappy, and i was saying i wanted to kill everyone and i was saying charlotte was my only friend!
silly girl!
silly world!
what a contradiction!
mary mary quite contrary how does your garden grow! with silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row.
so my mom used to always say i should have named you mary!
and i say don't you know that song was about queen mary and it was all about death death death!
and i whisper, silly girl don't you know what You're about?

and i surrender.
you're right.
i have no idea what i am talking about.
and i have no idea what i am about.
and i hate when other people say they do.
and i hate when sean broke my heart, broke my spirit by hitting the nail on the head.
(the first nail that stands is the first to be struck)
except here it's laying down
because you can't lay down on school property
HORSE SHIT!
and what do we even care?
i wish i could explain mySELF. i'm sick of hearing other people explain me.
i'm so FUCKING...weak.

And I say to myself Yes you have a good life you selfish bastard! How dare you put up your foul little complaints! You’re not even worth complaining! And I mean it. Like…it’s pity, you know? That’s why people do that shit. You don’t just casually mention something unless you want some pity for it, some kind of reaction.
So part of my says Cecilia you fool, of course not. Sometimes you just have to let things out.
And I scream what things!? No things. And I say fuck that. Fuck that fuck that, and it’s like I’m whispering to myself and shaking my head. Crazy, we like to call it. But guess who says I’m not crazy? I mean, it’s their job right?
So I says to myself silly girl you were in counseling for like 2 weeks, and you never opened your mouth to those counselors. And everything you did say was a lie. Ever done drugs? Nope. Did you have a good childhood? Spectacular!
You can’t say you can’t remember because then there’s something wrong. And what are these if not memories. If not things you saw on home videos.
I’m confused. Very confused.
And I’m wondering who is more important.
And my stomach is hurting again.
And I really really wish I could inject myself with pep. I wasn’t kidding about that one.
Today is Friday.
Today remo and Victoria are going to san jose. Today they will get some things from Carla for me. Tomorrow I will know whether she’s the best friend of the century or just a girl who’s giving me stuff. And I’m not even sure which of those makes it true. If she gives me coricidin does that make her a girl that’s giving me drugs? Or does that make her my best friend. Consider, she has arthritis in her chest. Consider, she has pleurisy. Consider, she knows what that shit does to you. Consider how much I want it. Then on the other hand, if she only gives me nice presents, does that make her a good friend? Because she’s Not giving me the opportunity to poison myself.
And I say to myself I say who fucking cares, as long as I have those pills!
Saying to myself you Stupid idiot! And here you are talking about that shit when what right do you have? Just a girl in the world that’s all that you’ll let me be. Doo doo do do do doo dooo doo and I say why the Fuck does my stomach hurt so bad
And I feel like the stupidest girl in the world
You’re still talking about that shit
And I say and so are you!
There’s no difference
I thought everything changed, but nothing changed.
Bush is still president I’m still wanting drugs, I’m still alone and I’m still talking shit to myself!
What did that change exactly?
Should I change my clothes? A tire on my bike?
I says to myself I don’t even have a bike!

It’s back to this whole library aiding thing. Why does it seem like every day is the same thing if every day is not the same. When it’s different. When yesterday was rainy and today is sunny. And every day is the same thing. Which is hard to prove. So what I was supposed to write that essay and I got drunk instead. So what if I’m supposed to go home, but I’m going to go to the play instead. That’s bad. I shouldn’t do that. We’re talking about seeing my dad in the hospital. We’re talking about getting some help for fucking ringworm. And she knows what’s up. She said I think seeing your dad in the hospital and you going to the hospital for ringworm is more important than extra credit. She said go tell Mr. Chollet that look, my dad’s in the hospital I didn’t really have time, I’ll have it by Monday. Just to express that you’re working on it. And I say I should. And I know I won’t. and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me, and that makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with you. And that makes it hard for me to understand completely what I’m talking about. But I know I’m not going to act on it anyway. I’m just wasting time. I love to waste time.

i have a good life.
i read the things i've said
we may be in the life but we aint shit
but it's not helping.
i agree.
i just don't feel it.
i feel like sobbing.
and fucking scratching the hell out of my boob
with ringworm on it.