lights and buzz

I'm coming home from my hardest year. I'm making plans not to make plans while I'm here.

And time, time, it stops for no one. The seasons come and go, and that's just time. Yeah, time, it stops for no one. The seasons keep on going whether or not we're blind.

light

"Light is the measure of everything. It is absolute, mathematical, physical, eternal. There is an absolute speed to it, you can't outrun it; that's what the theory of relativity is about. Stand here and remember what you can. What you remember is in light, the rest is in darkness, isn't it? The past fades to dark, and the future is unknown, just stars."

one week of danger

We're best friends. We hold hands. We're in love. You're my man.

Darling no. That's not me. I'm a ghost in the sheets.

Well is there something that you like about her? Yes. I like the way her body bends in half. And is there something that you love about her? No. There ain't no woman in the world I won't let go.

Come on baby, we can belong. Please don't you spoil it. Don't state what's wrong. Let's get together, and get it on. Let's get those clothes off before I'm gone. You talk about me like you own me baby, that's not fair. I told you I had somebody else, you did not care. And now you're talking on the phone, you're telling all of your friends, "We love each other."

Well is there something that you wanted from her? Yes. I want her legs, her body, and her cash. And is there something that you needed from her? No. And if she's playing hard to get I'm out the door.

Come on baby, don't say it's true. Please say you love me, like I love you.

Come on baby, we can belong. Please don't you spoil it. Don't state what's wrong. Let's get together, and get it on. Let's get those clothes off before I'm gone. You talk about me like you own me baby, that's not fair. I told you I had somebody else, you did not care. And now you're talking on the phone, you're telling all of your friends, "We love each other. We love each other. We love each other."

dealing with adult matters

If you haven't figured it out yet, this is something I'm legitimately upset about.
I'm good at keeping my emotions in check and smiling every day even when I feel like the world is falling down around me.
I wish you would ask me how I actually feel about it, because as a best friend, you should be able to tell when you need to ask how I am.
I've been trying very hard to keep my chin up, keep my laughs loud, and keep my spirits high.
But courage is something I need now, and I'm afraid that I don't have enough of it in myself.
I need to borrow yours; I need to borrow your ears and your heart as well.
What you don't know or see or feel is that late at night I cry about it.
Not only just about the situation, but because I feel like I can't turn to you because maybe you don't care anymore.
I understand that we're young, but I also know you're empathetic.
So even though you have absolutely no idea what I'm going through, you can still be here for me.
I wish you could see how much this has consumed my life, and how hard it is.
And my other best friend, my mother, is not someone I can turn to right now.
The one time I really need you, I can't find you anywhere.

The one thing I wish for absolutely every single day is that she was like she used to be, and that my mother and I wouldn't have to go through this in the first place.
I miss her every day.
The worst part is, she's not even gone yet.

Sometimes I catch glimpses of how she used to be.
It makes me question whether or not we are doing the right thing.
And then she turns into the person I don't recognize again.
One with the same face, hands, smile and eyes, but one with an alien personality.
I never saw her be angry, frustrated, cry, shake, refuse, be mannerless, until this disease stole everything from her.
I've been holding this in for so long and I've been trying so hard to be strong for mom and for her.
But I know the second we leave her, the second she's there, the way she acts is going to break my heart.
And once that is done, I won't know what to do.
My worst fear is that once she's there, she's going to lose everything she has left.
There won't be those infrequent (but beautiful) glimpses of how she used to be.
And what will remain is the shell of a person I used to know.

Best friend, I need you more than ever.
Please don't give up on me right now.

waking up

All I ever seem to do is drink a lot of coffee.
Lately I've been getting up really early.
It feels good to have a routine again.
And when the sun comes up, I don't find myself turning away.
I find myself turning toward the day.
Toward light.
Toward life.
I'm finally choosing life.
It's beginning to feel real.

Don't let me down.

I'll need all the strength I can get this weekend.

dirty kids, man thongs, and ballsacks

So I'm sitting in my night class, being absolutely pissed off, fingers flying over the keyboard, trying very hard to diligently follow along with my professor who is speaking in tongues at 125 kilometers an hour. I glance over at a man, fully grown, probably close to thirty years old, stand up to see the bottom of an image being projected at the front of the classroom, and what do I see? This guy, this close-to-thirty-year-old guy, wearing a speedo-type thong. I am not kidding.
A few minutes later, the door to the classroom opens and a guy who has sat in front of me two weeks in a row, with a gigantic head that I cannot see around for the life of me unless I stand up, sits in front of me again. But before he sits down, what do I see? A giant rip in the crotch of his shitty pants, and his ballsack through his boxers. I am not kidding.
I'm sorry, but don't people look at themselves before they leave the house? Don't they even consider the fact that, yes, I can see your thong, and yes, I can see your ballsack through that giant hole in the crotch of your twelve year old jeans.
I've come to the conclusion that art students are the worst for this. Never do I see "normal" kids, or science students dressing like this. At least they have the decency to hide their man thongs if they are wearing one and not wear jeans with holes bigger than my head in them. There are always those "alternative art kids" in my art history classes and studio classes who never shower, have not yet discovered deodorant, and still have mushroom cuts or shaved heads with hair just left on the top (like the guy whose ballsack I just saw). They wear terrible old muddy running shoes, corduroy pants, and graphic tees they think are great but would more likely be cool to a thirteen year old.
One: Grow up.
Two: Visit the thrift store and get a new pair of jeans.
Three: If you are going to wear a man thong, wear pants that cover it.
Four: Deodorant, or even Axe. Either smells much better than B.O..
Five: Get a new fucking haircut. Yours is stupid.


Fuck. This post doesn't even deserve a picture to go along with it.
By the way, I'm STILL in this class.
Kill me.

canada

NOW THEY KNOW
WHO'S GAME
THEY'RE PLAYING.