To the point.

This is how I feel about my life as of late. Floor-sprawling self-pity is the only kind that manages to look artistic (with a little help from GIMP). It's also time consuming, so I think I shall endeavour to avoid it from now on.

My planner is rapidly accumulating massive amounts of activities for the rest of my short summer. I leave for school on August 18th, if anyone cares. I'd like to see you guys before then. And Travis--fucking be home when I come over! Everyone says you're badass awesome, but you're never around so I know diddly about you from personal experience.

Also, I need more fucking time. Take it any way you like.

Peace out.

For general reference purposes.

Invisible

But still, in the end, so very there. The last bastion of sensibility, still grasping the slipping firmaments of truth, lest they be lost to the void, along with the rest.

Quickly now, running, racing to beat the bounding fires, tearing at the heels of sanity.

All is not lost.

Because I can't write something new, I'll post something old.

Summarily:

I am born an amalgamation of the Midwest,
not like my brothers who are half Japanese, born
with a culture already inside of them.
I learn early how to shovel,
how to write,
how to deep fry anything I can get my hands on, anything that
was once alive.
At the age of eight, I am resigned to
cancer and at least two heart attacks.
At the house, I am never permitted to help with heavy lifting. My mother
talks a lot, says very little, and teaches me how to do the dishes. She
tries with futile effort to make me remember
where the cheese grater is stored. Even young, I understand that what
you buy and wear
represents you as
a person; I buy
glass bottles filled with sand and
fruit scented lotion and striped shirts and wallow in all of it.
Eventually my family stops supporting my rampant addiction to consumerism.
Years later, I get a job at a small office where the only thing
in the fridge was canned beer.

My first heartbreak, at the age of nine:
my mother says I have to say goodbye to all my
childhood friends, hug their cotton filled bodies one last
time.
Three can stay—I choose to save a white cat,
a blue tiger, and a husky.
I regret having to let the big pink rabbit die. I love him, and
cry to see him put in the trash with yesterday’s leftovers, and plastic
wrapping from my little brother’s newest toys, and too many
used coffee filters. Years later,
I grow up, and hate the smell of coffee until the day I die.

Unicorns are so much cooler

Really.

They are.

And that's all I have to say on the matter.

Still true.

I love Damien Rice.
I want to have his motherfucking babies.

I feel smart.

But you are all going to disagree.

Don't worry. I try hard not to hold it against anyone else. I am at work, and not really thinking to hard about much besides going home.

I enjoy my life there. I want to move on in certain areas. Move in different ways. Career. Life in general. I am in for a change again. Having Amanda live with me was a good change. She makes me feel complete. I just need to change other parts of me to make her and I more comfortable.

Home Base.

Hmm.

I can see where this is going.