only you

there are too many people i write vague you posts to. this is not to the same person i have writing them to lately.

i'm tired of always feeling like i come second to everyone else in your life. stay here? no you'd rather stay with mindy. tech with me? no you want to be with trent. it may be completely ridiculous but i'm sick of it. never any time for me and always time for him. and i understand that you are close but i am your girlfriend and would like it if maybe once or twice i came first. not trent, not mindy, me. is that too much to ask? i need to get better at expressing myself because i have a feeling you have absolutely no idea i feel this way. even you make me invisible. silent. one day i will speak up and surprise you and what will you do then?

miss

after my brush with lawlessness [which thank god they beieved was accidental] i have been sentenced to one day of in-school suspensions. my tasks: to write an essay on the incident, talk to the school counseler [old dirty curls herself, whom i have managed to avoid for nearly three years], and devise a solution to the problem of people stealing from the bookstore. the talk with dirty curls is the least appealing of the three. there's something to be said for avoiding detection for a long time - they see this as an isolated event, not the latest event in my adventures with minor kleptomania. i'm torn between telling dirty curls what actually goes on in my head and lying through my teeth to appear normal. in a way i want to talk about it, but i haven't had much success with that in the past and i'm not sure i want to know what she'd say. i miss the easy days.

goodbye.

invisible in trouble

just my luck that the day i space out on writing down bookstore stuff some nosy little middle schooler had to be watching my every move. she could have run after me, or said something when she saw me walk out; i would have realized how spacy i was and gone back to pay (on paper). instead i am now facing judicial for being a little overtired and making a mistake.

i think i'm getting a little too sure of my invisibility. obviously people can see me. not sure whether to be relieved or pissed, so have settled on flip-flopping between the two at a ridiculous rate. this does not bode well for whatever sanity i had left.

virtue in relying on not trying to understand

thoughtful. contemplative. listening to my freshly-burned copy of the 'emotional turmoil mix'. i get responses, which is what i wanted. why am i so inherently suspicious? i never believe that people mean the most honest things they have ever said and then i realize that i should believe them and i believe them too much. i don't need to tell you what this is about, or at least i shouldn't have to, but i wonder. you're there. you're breathing. i'm dreaming. dreaming of you. dreaming of the past. the present? who knows. and who knows what the future will bring. but i live in the past, in a world of music and memories. playing the guitar is a really good outlet for all these feelings i struggle to express. keeps me sane and safe. last night i sat down and taught myself how to play 'untouchable face.' thinking is easier when my fingers are on the strings. but a lot of times i don't have the guitar. i slipped yesterday, and the worst part is that i knew exactly what i was doing. i can't let myself fall back into this. i think i'll be spending a lot of time playing in the next few weeks.

who am i? ...bet you can't even tell me that much.

don't close your eyes

i know you've told me not to come to this conclusion but what other conclusion can i reach when faced with what i see? i don't want it to be this way. no matter what you say i have the gut feeling that i have imagined it all. that it was never really true. and dammit, you weren't supposed to go away and come back hotter. i am getting nowhere with you and i can't let it go and i can't get through.

are you still there?

dropped from a four story window

when seeing a picture can cause me te be entirely unable to pay attention all day, i know i'm not over you.

beautiful dreamer

written, rehearsed, and performed within twenty-four hours.

twenty-four hour plays. wonderful things.