Eight days left. Technically seven.

I need to stop staying up so late.

The Senior Luncheon and the Flying Llamma (sp?) Senior Awards were today.
I didn't go to either. I wasn't invited.

I'm not a senior, according to the records.

So I hid in the library and had an almost lonely lunch with Stephen.
went and saw John today. Woke him up; we talked and cuddled, had a quicky before my sister and her boyfriend came over, watched a movie, Beth and Derrick left early, John and I watched the rest of the movie and cuddled, then John fell asleep with his head in my lap and I dozed off easily because I had my back propped in the corner of the uber-comfy couch. I woke up a little after ten and managed to get John's head off of my lap without waking him up. I covered him with a blanket, kissed him on the cheek, and left.
Stupid graduation. I'm losing facial hair because of it.

Nine days. Eight, technically. Untechnically, nine days left.

I am NOT looking forward to this.

Well, today's my birthday. John forgot. I had expected it, of course. He's had a lot on his mind lately, broken toe included, and I can't really expect him to remember my eighteenth birthday. I went over to his house last night, and I had a spark of hope that he remembered, that he was going to surprise me with the knowledge.
He watched TV most of the time I was there. I often found myself thinking, "Hold me, cuddle me, let me know you remember!" After a while, he turned off the TV and I figured, "this is it! he's actually going to pay attention to me and let me know he remembers!" But another part of me was still whispering, "He's forgotten. I know he has. Why am I even allowing hope to build up when I know, I KNOW he doesn't remember."
He and I talked. We touched on the subject of my thoughts of dropping out. For some reason, he brought up my birthday.
"May eighth? Seventh?"
"... What?"
"Your birthday. When is it?"
".... tomorrow..."
". . . Why didn't you remind me?"

Was I supposed to? Am I supposed to go up to my boyfriend of nearly seven months and say, hey, don't forget my birthday. Even though I remembered his without prompting, he expects me to remind him? I should be perfectly okay with it, I mean, after all, it's just another day. It's just the anniversary of the day I was shoved out of my mother's womb. Just my eighteenth birthday.

I remembered his.

Why am I even brooding about this? It doesn't fucking matter!

My thumb is bleeding. For the first time in about five months, I felt blood trickle down my arm. It was... satisfying. The urge to slice my arms open has risen again. It frustrates me nearly as much as it frightens me. For a good long while, I was able to see it from a different perspective, and often I found myself wondering, "how the hell could they do that to themselves?" before I realized that I already knew how. It takes a certain frame of mind to take a razor blade (or steak knife) and cut yourself. The part of me that saw from the outside is absolutely terrified of the idea of hurting myself, while who I used to be is screaming for it.
For some, it is an addiction.
John once told me he used to cut himself with a steak knife. Personally, I'm not too sure about that. A steak knife would.. well, leave a rather jagged wound, because you'd have to saw at your arm, and it would leave a scar because it tore flesh apart. I've only seen very faint scars, and one mild one. I think he only cut himself with a steak knife once... perhaps because he couldn't find a razor blade.
There's something... Clean about a razor blade. A clean cut, just once simple slice. No sawing involved, unless you want to. I guess preference relies on the type of pain you want to feel, and the type of scar you're willing to leave behind.
Why I'm thinking about this at all is... well. I suppose you could say that the fact it doesn't bother me, bothers me.
Last night, I called John when I got off of work, and he told me he wanted me to go to his house and see him today. Told me to wake him up. So today, I woke up around ten and took a shower. I called him around, eh, eleven fifteen, and he didn't answer his house or cell phone. Ooookay. I didn't really have the time to wait a few minutes, try again, wait a few minutes, try again, so I figured it'd have been easier to call him from my cell phone on the way to his house. Man, am I an idiot. So I got in my car, and the poor girl died right after I started her up. I should have taken it as a sign. I got her started and went to John's house. Each time I called, he didn't answer. I got to his house, and tried again. And again. And again. I rang the door bell, and waited. Nothing. It was chilly in the shade, so I stepped off of the porch and into the sunlight. I waited a few more seconds, and, impatiently I called again. Nothing. I cursed. I heard the door open behind me, and saw John glaring. When I went inside, he said, "Have a little patience." He told me he heard the doorbell, and had hobbled halfway up the stairs when he heard me leaving, and then his cell phone started to ring.
I apologized, he laid back down on the couch, and I pet him. He asked me if I had gotten enough sleep the night before. I replied, "Yeah. I went to sleep around midnight and got up at about ten."
"Boo," he said. "I wanted you to nap with me. I can feel the nap coming on..." and then went to sleep.
I watched him sleep. I got up and paced a little. I plopped down in the computer chair, and tried to ease the ache in my back. I fumed quietly while I stared at the wall. A part of me wanted to be angry, and I knew that if I looked at him, I would want to cry. It probably has something to do with my birth control pills.
Finally, I left. I was not going to spend three hours watching him sleep. So I went home to brood.
Have I, perhaps, changed too much? Is he losing interest in me, or was I never worth waking up for in the first place?
I bet he won't even remember...
It's more than likely all in my head. My hormones in their fucked up condition are screwing with my emotions. I may as well be pregnant.
Gaia help me if I am.

Slender, sweating bodies tangle together, movements coordinated through subconscious instinct alone. Hair, matted with sweat and rain, is plastered to both pale faces. Legs lined with muscle move into impossible positions, their torsos twisting along in a dance that is laced with life and death.
Their breath, coming fast and heavy, is punctuated by their swift, sudden movements. The rain rebounds off of their flesh, defining every curve as they slide together and apart, defining every sudden jerk of movement. Their hearts pound in unison, responding to the beat of the eternal dance they are caught in. Moving away from each other only to clash together again, the pace of their dance quickens. They are both beginning to tire, but neither dares to stop for fear of the consequence.
Time seems to slow from adrenaline, and each movement is accented by the feeling of cutting through the air, the rain splattering away and hovering in the air.
For a breathless moment, there is nothing but the feeling of one body launching itself into the air, twisting around to deliver the darker side of the dance.
His dance partner is still, and then falls to the ground, her face pale and stained with mud. Her vibrant green eyes, streaked in one single area by brown, stare lifelessly out into nothingness, unblinking when the rain falls into them.
He stands, staring for a moment, then turns, his long, amber-streaked hair clinging to his shoulders and face, directing the water flowing through it down his back in cold torrents. His expression cold, his pure brown eyes empty of all life, of all humanity, he walks away. The rain, pouring down in sheets already, falls heavier; obscuring his vision even more. Stepping out of the woods, the crunch of small rocks beneath his feet nearly impossible to hear over the roar of the rain, he stops just short of a cliff, and looks out over the sheer drop. The clouds break, but the rain does not, and sunlight explodes, turning the rain into liquid fire. His hands find their way into his pockets. Rain washes over his face, and he looks out over the beautiful scene without really seeing it.
For the past three years, he had thought she’d be the one. She had shown such potential. Alas, she had fallen short and had failed. Such potential... but she didn’t have the patience to train her body properly, didn’t make the time to learn as much as she possibly could. In the end, she was too submissive.
Would he mourn, or would he continue his endless search for one who could best him in the dance, for one who could find the strength to unbind her wings and fly? Is there such a woman, or is the search in vain?
Only the rain knows, and it offers no answers.

Slender, sweating bodies tangle together, movements coordinated through subconscious instinct alone. Hair, matted with sweat and rain, is plastered to both pale faces. Legs lined with muscle move into impossible positions, their torsos twisting along in a dance that is laced with life and death.
Their breath, coming fast and heavy, is punctuated by their swift, sudden movements. The rain rebounds off of their flesh, defining every curve as they slide together and apart, defining every sudden jerk of movement. Their hearts pound in unison, responding to the beat of the eternal dance they are caught in. Moving away from each other only to clash together again, the pace of their dance quickens. They are both beginning to tire, but neither dares to stop for fear of the consequence.
Time seems to slow from adrenaline, and each movement is accented by the feeling of cutting through the air, the rain splattering away and hovering in the air.
For a breathless moment, there is nothing but the feeling of one body launching itself into the air, twisting around to deliver the darker side of the dance.
His dance partner is still, and then falls to the ground, her face pale and stained with mud. Her vibrant green eyes, streaked in one single area by brown, stare lifelessly out into nothingness, unblinking when the rain falls into them.
He stands, staring for a moment, then turns, his long, amber-streaked hair clinging to his shoulders and face, directing the water flowing through it down his back in cold torrents. His expression cold, his pure brown eyes empty of all life, of all humanity, he walks away. The rain, pouring down in sheets already, falls heavier; obscuring his vision even more. Stepping out of the woods, the crunch of small rocks beneath his feet nearly impossible to hear over the roar of the rain, he stops just short of a cliff, and looks out over the sheer drop. The clouds break, but the rain does not, and sunlight explodes, turning the rain into liquid fire. His hands find their way into his pockets. Rain washes over his face, and he looks out over the beautiful scene without really seeing it.
For the past three years, he had thought she’d be the one. She had shown such potential. Alas, she had fallen short and had failed. Such potential... but she didn’t have the patience to train her body properly, didn’t make the time to learn as much as she possibly could. In the end, she was too submissive.
Would he mourn, or would he continue his endless search for one who could best him in the dance, for one who could find the strength to unbind her wings and fly? Is there such a woman, or is the search in vain?
Only the rain knows, and it offers no answers.

*sings, slightly off-key*
Where oh where could my boyfriend be? Oh where oh where could he be...?
So the Joshi-Poo is engaged and about eight and a half months away from being a father. My respect for him has dropped a little further.

I worked today. It went well, and once again, I enjoyed it. The fact my back is hurting like everything isn't all that great, but I'll survive, y'know? Nothing a little biofreeze can't help... Today, Robert and I didn't fight over the dishes. heh. Poor Paige was pissed by the end of the day, though, because the other cook, who's name I can't remember and who's about, eh, nineteen, twenty, left early, so she was left working alone again. I feel bad for her. Lessee, John had a pizza, and I ate some of it. Cheese stuffed crust. On an empty and grumbling stomach, it was heavenly. Jamie was wheeling a cart through earlier, and it had a box of fresh, raw mushrooms on top, and she stopped and asked if I wanted one. Drool! She was a little surprised that I liked them, but gave me two big ones nonetheless. *purr* And David The Scrawny One asked me if I had a cigarette he could have. ;>_> noooo, David, I don't.
Jamie has this horrible habit of coming up behind me when I'm concentrating on something, like scraping dried dough off of something, and scaring the hell out of me. The second time she did it, she started walking away and I smacked her. I hit her a bit harder than I meant to, and she kept glaring at me whenever she saw me, and saying, "payback's a bitch. I'm going to get you with a hose, or something." o_O I'm doomed!
oooog, I have a headache x_x Yeah, I'm well fed at the moment, but argh, my HEAD.
John was a sweetie and came over yesterday. Granted, he came over after Cracker Barrel fired him, but he still came, knowing I was still home alone. He left around, eh, 10:45 that night, leaving me to my second night alone here. It's cool, though. I wouldn't expect him to cancel his plans with Boe, and I hope he had fun. When I think about it, though, I'm still a little miffed about him asking me if I wanted to go with him and Boe. grr. Nearly curfew, got school AND work the next day, and he asks that. Of course I WANTED to go, but I couldn't. Stupid sense of responsibility.
I work tomorrow at five. Friday. At Pizza Hut. That's going to suck.
I just heard about the most fucked up thing. You all know how much I love cats. I was told by a good friend of mine that one of her cats was mutilated and killed by a rapist/molester's friends.

If I find them. Any of them.

Well, I'm going to go. I've still got some energy left, and I'm going to clean my room up a little.

I have a major headache and I feel like I'm pissing John off because I told him I felt like he blew me off to play video games with Laura.
Fucking hormones.
I never used to cry.

It was slow at work today. I mostly stood around muttering that I was bored, or paced. Eventually my manager told me to clean and shine the sink. So I did. Along with the table meant to hold nasty dirty dishes. And the dish washing machine. I stood around some more, and my manager was like, "... You can go home at eight." So I did, and now I'm going to bed because I am tired.

my day off was okay. I slept through most of it. ^_^ around 3:30, I went to John's house and crawled into bed with him. He woke up, rolled over, and actually stayed awake! wow. Heh, he was nekkid. Such a sexy body he has. ^^ an' it's mine, all mine. bwahaha.
We talked and played around a bit (in other words, he put on some pants and tickled me, baaaah), and then he went to work and I came home and read for a bit then went back to sleep.
My concussion is getting better. I'm not having dizzy spells anymore, which is really good.
I still think I have an eating disorder. Mild, yeah, but still. I look at myself in the mirror and I feel fat, even though I KNOW I'm not. When I get upset, I either eat like crazy or starve myself. either way I usually end up feeling fat. e.e; I really ought to bring it up with my psychologist. My next appointment is May second. Here's to hoping I don't forget. eek, augh, my computer is lagging! and now I've lost internet connection! bloody hell! good thing Elftown is nice to me and doesn't log me off when that happens. I <3 you, elftown!

So I'm offically part of the working class, now. I started working at Pizza Hut last night. I have found my new personal hell, and it involves never ending dishes and waiters/waitresses not dumping crap off of plates before leaving them to me.
My feet, knees, back, and arms are killing me. And my hands are really dry. At least I kind of enjoy scrubbing things until they're clean. There's two guys there, though, that I don't feel totally comfortable around. They're not bad guys, I just don't feel comfortab;e around 'em. Good thing I'm not around them a lot.
One of the cooks took up for me last night. It was really busy, and the servers are supposed to dump uneaten food into the trash so I don't have to worry about it. I didn't know that. I just knew that every time I turned around, there was a bunch of dishes with trash and partially devoured food on them. Paige, the cook, saw some of them abandon the food-covered plates, and started bitching at them, which in turn brought the manager down on their asses. Heh, Hell hath no fury like an angry cook. ^^
Judy, who I'm pretty sure is a sook and Acting Assistant Manager, is really nice. She might be loud, but she's cool.
My manager, Glenn, is pretty cool. He's got this raspy voice that carries like the voice of god through the noise of the kitchen. Last night he told me that each of his employees gets one single personal pizza as a free meal. Last night I just wasn't in the mood for pizza, so I declined. Tonight, I tried to decline. I wasn't hungry, even though I hadn't eaten all day. I mentioned the fact to Judy, and I think she told Glenn, because a few minutes later, he saw me and asked me if I wanted something to eat, and fussed at me. "What, you don't like my pizzas? Is that it? Come on, you look hungry, eat something." So I had pizza for breakfast around, eh, 7:30 pm. We get free drinks, too. THAT's nice. I might work in a very moist environment, but I still get thirsty. ;>_>
And now, I'm going to go take a hot bubble bath and then go to bed and sleep in. I don't have to work tomorrow, woo hoo!

Went to the doctor today. He said I've got a minor concussion and should most definately avoid anymore head injuries like that. With my luck, Tuesday Mr. Judson will forget all about it and take me down again, no headgear mats or anything, and the same thing will happen.. and I'll go into a coma that night when I go to sleep.
At least it's after Prom, now. So it's okay. I got to see John looking all yummy, and I got to make fun oh Philip in a tux. I am appeased and can die almost happily. I'll probably never say what would have to happen before I CAN die happy. So. Hah. Better hope I don't forget.

My instructor hit my bad knee today. Mind you, it was with a plastic stick covered on all sides by six inches of padding, but I hadn't tensed my knee up to keep the kneecap from moving and it hurt like a mother fucker for about half an hour. Let's add this to the head injury from last week.
I think my instructor is trying to kill me. e.e;
Let's see, did anything else interesting happen today? *thinks* nope.
Oh, wait. John talked to my sister during some part of the day and was worried about me because I hadn't called like I usually do. I figured he needed some space. I guess he just wasn't used to me not calling, I dunno.

raarrr. Prom sucked. But, hey, I got to spend a lot of time with John and got to see him in a suit. He looked really yummy.
I also told him I had a past with Philip, and he said he didn't care, 'cause he knew without a doubt that I'm completely and totally his.
an' he's right. I barely belong to myself anymore.

yuck. Head injuries suck major sack. I was in TKD class, and the instructor was demonstrating a takedown move on me. When he took me down, he did it harder and faster than usual, so I had no time to react... As a result, the back of my head hit the floor (carpet over cement) really hard. I was instantly dazed and felt ill. I don't think anyone really noticed I hit my head, because they asked if the wind was knocked out of me.

I didn't take the interstate home, and now I think I'm going to go lie down. Here's to hoping I didn't do any major damage.

Josh found someone to give him rides to work in the morning, so John's free to sleep, now.
So now he wants a day job.
I'm opposed to the idea, I think his health is going to suffer and he's going to get even less sleep. However, I can't do fucking shit about it and I'm not even going to try. Listen? To ME? My CONCERNS? Ludacris. Illogical.
I'm more concerned with his imminent failing health than I am about never getting to see him... I hardly see him awake as it is, now I'll just never see him at all.
In far less important news, I got my senior red belt today. By the looks of things, I'm just a testing cycle away from being a black belt.

... So, yeah, John's blameless and innocent...

and I'm a gullible idiot who jumps to conclusions. e.e; shut up and lemme alone.

I called John when I got home from school today and mentioned it, and he reassured me that he wasn't home most of the day, and had an alibi. He's off the hook, and I even went to Wal Mart and bought some flowers for him, and I plan on kissing a lot of ass. -_-;

a LOT of ass. -_-

... John. He lied to me.

it started out with a call from my stepmother, said Beth just walked out of her job and vanished. Well, I called around, asking various people if they'd seen her. I included John in that list, because she knows where he lives and there's always a chance she'd go there. He answered and said no, he hadn't seen her, and he gave me her boyfriend's cell and house number. He then he said he was going to take a nap 'cause he was tired. So I told him not to be late to work and he said not to worry because there were people there to wake him up. So I searched all of Leeds for her. I even went to Ruby Tuesdays and talked to her managers and coworkers. Around six, I got a call from Dad saying she was home and safe, so I asked where she had been.
"John's," he replied.

He lied to me.

When I think about it, when I called, he should have been the only one home.He didn't have Beth's boyfriend's numbers before. why now.
because she was THERE
he LIED to me

He always spoke of how he hated liars, despised them with a passion.

And he lied to me.

's how it always starts. I'm on the verge of losing him, aren't I. It always starts with them distancing themselves, lying... I wonder if he'll break up with me before he cheats on me.

I wonder if I'll be able to do anything other than wait for him to do it.

Probably not.

Suddenly, I'm seriously considering bleaching my hair then dying it red. Like... Red red.

I'm so fucking pathetic.

I need to spend the money in my wallet as soon as possible so I'm not tempted to buy cigarettes.

I'm having another one of those stupid "I feel like a worthless piece of shit" moments. Probably because I feel like utter shit because I can't eat fried chicken. Just the other day I was thinking about how I'd never had dinner with John's family, and tonight I had the chance and I BLEW it because I have a fucking weak stomach. Why didn't I just say, sure, I can eat fried chicken and risk spending then night in the bathroom throwing up and worse?

Worthless, worthless, worthless...

I need to binge on something but there's no food here to binge ON. Maybe raw potatoes... ugh, I dunno. I feel so sick. I think I'm just going to go to bed.