290410

Dear Diary,

Todey i saw LOTS!! of fishies. They wer in verry prity collors i saw blu ones and yelow and green and red onse with dots on em!!! dose were my fevorite!!! i eeven saw a barakooda wich was pritty scery. i was suposde to gredyouate todey (Bob (my daivin instruktor!) sed it was riely good dat i was dooin it in TOO dais insted of FOOR!!) but ther was a new boy with us todey and he was riely stupid he did a summersold under water and got al konfused and hit me with his fliper! but bob sed i cant sey fliper i haf too sey fins an stuf. but dats wy i cant gredyouate an i haf too toomorow. stil good of me becaus its one dey les! mom is riely proud. tonight i ate lobster an dere was musik and peeple dansing on a bowt. oh and i HATE muskeetos! i haf 23 muskeetobites and dey itch!!!!!!!!!!!

i riely mis my boifrend but he seys he mis me too wich is good, hihi! i love him soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo much!!!!!! he sed hes guna pik me up at teh airport so il see him den! Il giv him suuuuuuuuuuuuuper many hugs, cent wate!

mom seys i haf to go sleep now cuz i haf to git up at 8 wich is riely urly.

il write moor latR!!!


~xoxoxooxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxox~

I had my first hangover..

"Well, goddamn. She slammed the door shut behind her and sighed at the flight of stairs. She’d never thought of stairs as lethal before but these might just kill her. As she almost dragged herself up she heard Cobain’s motorcycle engine roar as he sped down the street. A proper bikerfangirl, she pouted realizing this was probably the first time she didn’t think riding was the best thing in the world.
Better than sex, even. Lots of firsts today. Last few steps. Keys. Middle one. Insert. Twist. Stuck. Pull door. Twist. Open. Keys on counter. Bed, need the bed. Collapse.
God, she smelled. Heels off. Jumpsuit off. It smelled of beer. Eyes closed, hands grasping around her. Laptop found, turning on. Life. Facebook. Whoah, lots of letters. Glaring screen. It hurt her eyes, it did. People talking about last night, people asking if she’s okay. She ignored them. She tried to find the words to best describe her situation. She typed ‘is dying’ and pressed Share. That’d answer their questions.
She’d never drink again. "

At 18 years of age.

Just found..

"Ace is one of those girls who thinks she’s not one for therapy. Who thinks therapy is manmade, therefore can not help her as she’s human herself. And if she can’t do it, who the fuck can? They don’t even know her.
She’s tried a psychologist once. The pompous bastard didn’t even take the time to get to know her, he projected his ideologies and ‘experiences’ onto her like she was an empty canvas on which he’d paint solutions. Non-explosive in nature as she was, she lasted through the second appointment with her temper on a tight leash. When he was adequately satisfied with his own conclusions –which basically were a continuous ‘go back to school’- and wanted to schedule their next appointment she promptly stood up, having gathered all her things while he was talking, put both hands on his desk, lowered her face to his and said ‘I don’t think so.’ after which she stalked out of his office on her absurdly high heels. Because that’s what you wear to a meeting of this nature.
She wanted someone who would become engrossed with her troubles, who would live to find answers to her questions and who would guide her through life on an adventurous yet safe journey through her own head. Someone untainted by systems, society or other deadening dreadfulness.
Someone who cared.
Once, in a drunken state of mind, she’d had a lengthy discussion with a stranger kind of friend about artificial intelligence. She exclaimed that they’d better get a move on, be damned with the moral issues and get the damn things on the market. They’d best start with three prototypes; the Lover, the Maid and the Shrink. The Lover would help all the sexually depraved, which would in turn lower the amount of perversity spilling over the edges of the shadows reaching the yet uncorrupted. The Maid would be the greatest asset in the lives of pretty much everyone she knew, some exceptions excluded. However, the greatest of the three would be the Shrink. People could learn how to clean or how to find love, but if truly stuck with oneself what is greater than having a whole being on earth whose sole existence is taking care of your mental health? Wondrous conversations into the depths of nights whenever you wished, a hundred percent guaranteed concentration on what it is your words are actually trying to say and best of all, no pompousness or ‘know-it-all’ attitude."

Something I wrote 2 years ago.

Bubba left us.

Fuck you, Nostalgia. Fuck you.

Time and I.

So I looked at the time like other folks do but as always it didn't
tell me none, I looked again and then once more but I just can't seem
to catch on. It pulverizes, elongates and banishes thoughts for fun,
I'll be damned if I let that cunt straight up do me one.

I ain't got time to care about it and time sure ain't got me, but man
do I feel it's claws stretching out to make me see; why I should live
by his laws like a divorced husband-to-be.

Well look here boy, we ain't wed or none, and it's a real awful idea;
We'd be having awful sex what with that third degree. We'll keep our
homes and friends and beds and go out for coffee, I'll even wave and
smile a bit as you walk straight by me. Keep walking though, you know
damn well I like to be this free, occasional acknowledgement is all
we'll ever be.