So this "hidden flirt" thing seems pretty stupid.
Look, I'm still alive.
I feel antisocial and lonely.
Talk about a contradiction in emotions. e_e
Lookit, I'm still alive and uncommited, instatutionall
I want to have sex! sex sex sex! Intercourse! ARGH!
I can see your smile. Your eyes shine with the light of your joy. Your touch is gentle; your kiss tender. The warmth of your arms around me is an intoxicating comfort. I would drown in the depths of your eyes if you weren't holding me so close. The soft texture of your lips overwhelms me. When you smile, I have no choice but to return it.
I can see your smile, but your eyes are void of the emotion you are imitating. You will not touch me, and I am left with the chill of loneliness and your silence. I would drown in the depths of your eyes if only you would look at me. The softness of your lips is no longer mine to kiss. When you smile, I wish you would not hide.
Well, today I find out whether or not my psychologist thinks I should be thrust into a straight-jacke
If I'm not seen for a month or longer, it's because I got committed. I'll try to leave word or something to anyone who happens to care, but, y'know. *Shrug*
I wish I could scream. I wish I could ignore the compeling urge to slice my flesh open.
I wish he hadn't left me.
I really, really fucking wish I knew what I did wrong.
As you can tell from my "mood", my modem isn't working. There was a lightning storm a couple of nights ago and it fried the modem like an egg at Waffle House. e.e; So until I can buy a new one, I'm without internet... Hello, world of video games. *Sigh*
I wish I could scream. I wish I could just go to sleep and never wake up.
I wish I could stop thinking.
I wish John would talk to me...
Once again, names have been popping up on the visited list thing, so I figured I may as well update...
School started, and that sucks. I was going to co-op, which means I'd be able to leave school after third block. However, since I'm back for only one semester and I need all four credits, someone somewhere doesn't like me and decided co-op isn't a credit-worthy class anymore, so I had to switch to being a teacher's aid. Once again, I'm an aid to the art teacher... 's just a different teach this time, and with a much larger group of freshmen. Since I'm usually bummed out at school, I have the "Classical Creasman" additude, I guess... the whole "I honestly don't care" thing. I grew up some during the summer and high school drama is honestly a load of bullshit to me now. Thank you, John, for bestowing that upon me. I'm certain it rubbed off on me.
I bought a pack of Salem Black Labels today... Well, more accurately, I sent a driver at work to get them and paid for them. Usually I'm a pretty light smoker... two or three marlboro lights at work... But a ton of new stresses have entered my life and I need something with a punch to it. I used to smoke Salems on a regular basis... killed my lungs, too, 'cause they're menthols and I have asthma.
*shivers* It's cold. It's also 3:00 in the morning, and I have to be at work at 10am... an' I'm not scheduled to get off until 8pm. *sighs* overtime, here I come... hah, though it's doubtful, now that I'm back in school and my manager is actually concerned with my grades and whatnot. cool.
well. I should try to sleep. I should probably call John, but.. 1. he might be asleep, 2. I don't know what I'd say and 3. it'd be pointless.
Quick note: If anyone's actually paying attention to this stupid little diary (I occasionally see the same usernames pop up without leaving a message of any sort, so I figure maybe they're checking the diary.. *shrug*) it'd be better if you looked at my livejournal account, because it gets updated more often... http://www.liv
well, there it be, either check it out or don't. I'll warn you now, I have a tendency to go on really long rants there.
Moving on to actual stuff...
My manager asked me what I thought about being a shift leader, and I replied that I didn't. He went on to explain just what a shift leader is: the first step in management. A shift leader comes in and runs the shift so the manager can actually run the store. John had been mopping at the time, and looked at me and mouthed, "I told you! Go for it." So I told my manager I'd give it some thought. My last semester of school would certainly put a dent in that, but it would also give me the time "under my belt", as they say, that I would need for such a postition. After all, I've only been working there for three months. <_<
In other news, I've got my car back. <3
I was off today, and I'm going to have to go back and close tomorrow, yukk!
ah well.
MY CAR IS BROKEN AGAIN!! >_< The Transmission they gave me didn't work... That angers me. I should go over there before work tomorrow and beat the utter hell out of them.
Or say nasty things to them.
Or stand there and stare at them until they're uncomfortable.
Yeeeeeess.... I have a plan.
Now I just need to borrow Mom's truck an hour early.
Grr! John just got hired to the Pizza Hut I work at, and he's getting better hours than me. >_<
Ah, well. I suppose it doesn't matter.
I feel homesick.
As I look out the window at the predawn light, I feel a vague ache in my heart. The light makes everything look blue, so that it's almost surreal. I look out into the world with a faint sense of longing. I feel tired, but I don't want to go to bed. After I while, I realize why: I don't want to go to bed alone.
Sure, sex with John is, well, orgasmic, but... Waking up to him makes me smile. I feel at peace when I'm around him. When I think about it, I realize that I don't absolutely HAVE to be around him every second of the day... But when I am, it's nice.
I've lost my CD case again, dammit. I need to clean my room. >_<
Yay, I'm off work today. Gots a psychologist appointment at 5:15, though. I hope my car can make it to Trusville. o_O She just got out of the shop, so she's actually moving now. She's still jerking a little when she shifts gears, though. Poor little escort.
My sick, twisted dreams are calling to me again. I suppose I should answer and submit.
ARGH.
Graduation is tomorrow. So far I've managed to be at least kind of cheerful all day, though I was a little peeved with John for some reason. I still can't figure it out. Must be PMS.
I have a really bad headache and I've felt really sick all day. I don't think Midol and Celibrex get along very well.
Need to get money to Josh for some... stuff.. that I desperately need for tomorrow night...
yeah. anyways. I'mma go. I have a killer headache and my stomach still hurts from taking too much medicine on an empty stomach several hours ago.
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.