Think for yourself; 'cause I won't be there with you.

So generally, I try not to write anything in here that has to deal with the negative side of my relationships with people; but this time-fuck it.

Alright, here goes:
I don't care that I am not talking to you, because now I don't have to listen to you talk down to ME ( it's not the other way around, you paranoid jerk.)
I don't care that you started to cry when I told you I didn't want to talk to you for a while, because I know those were crocodile tears-if you were my friend; maybe you shouldn't have talked and talked and talked about me for months-about how I was lazy, manic depressive, a bitch, a failure and a loser. Oh, and also made comments about my family, my beliefs, my other friends, and to my friends saying I don't value friendships.
I do, actually, which is why I stood by your ungrateful, stupid and complaining ass through thick and thin. And there's been a lot of bullshit that you dragged me through and I didn't say a damn word to you-only to have my silence and forgiveness matched with complete disdain and falseness.

What I DO care about at the moment though, is that you almost got us kicked out of the apartment for being a negligent and malevolent host. You can't get drunk and let a part jump from 20 to 40 people, and have then hang out in other renters' public areas, nor let the music blast and have 160 feet stomping around. Thanks for letting ME take that bullet for you, because while you were too drunk to talk to the cops, you sure as hell were sober enough to kiss ass and look real cool to those 25 people in the kitchen. I was home for less than a half an hour and the fact that I'm the one who got reprimanded and warned is some straight bullshit.

And then, after they came, you didn't kick anybody out. WTF? I don't care if you want to be everyone's new buddy, but being arrested and fined and possibly evicted should trump that.

But, what really gets me pissed is that YOU NEVER CLEAN. And you can go and say that this is some sort of revenge for me 'not cleaning at all' during the summer ( which you and I both know is not true because I was home all the time picking up after your parties) but when you tell people that, it makes most think you're just some lazy and vengeful bitch. Which you kind of are. I mean, I thought the mice family(ies) would be enough for you to get out of your bed, covered in soda bottles ( which, btw, thanks for drinking) and a cigarette tray you SLEEP NEXT TO, and help me and the other roommates clean. But, no.
Of course not. You just fucking sit there and let the floor get dirty and blankets get mouse shit on them and everything in the living room is sticky. I cleaned it, and cleaned it. And so did H., harcore, may I remind you. The kitchen is full of mice, and you never put away perishable food, like milk or butter-again, mine. So thanks for letting food spoil. And also for letting dishes from your party sit in the sink for a week, and for not changing the dishwasher, or telling anyone we didn't have any swiffer juice left, so when I got sick of that rotted body smell emitting from the kitchen the other day and tried to clean it, I had to get on my hands and knees to scrub the floors. Also, food you don't eat goes in the trash, or the fridge. Not left on the stove. And when a dish is dirty, you clean it...not place it wherever you like so it begins to rot.
We've all asked you to clean.
But you don't-you leave the house when we're about to start-because your busy. ( Really? you work 15-20 hours a week. I work 30 in the span of 2 or 3 days. I still have homework, and school and friends. I still clean.)
And I end up picking up the slack, because I'm ashamed to have people over because you're so piggish. Thanks for clogging the toilet, spilling hair dye in the sink, letting the toilet rust, and mildew grow in the tub. And also, thanks for leaving half drunk beers out in the sunroom, along with glasses and about 100 cigarette butts. Disgusting.
I'm pretty sure we're going to get cockroaches because of you. I hope they crawl on your bed when you sleep-maybe then you'll realize the value of sanitary conditions.
Anyways, I have a 118.00 and another 28.00 bill to pay because you never gave me the money so I couldn't pay it. So I have that to take care of. Enjoy sitting around in your pigsty.

Oh, p.s. No one needs the heating oil on this early into fall/winter when they sleep. You're costing us money. Money that I'm pretty sure you don't have because you seem to overdraft alot on booze, cigarettes and cash for weed. So please, when I shut it off at 11 or 12 when everyone is in bed; don't get out of your bed to turn it on-it's not just spiting me, it's hurting you too.

And maybe if you unblocked your ears and tried to listen to what people say around you instead of convoluding yourself into thinking what you say is fact and is sincere; you'd know that it's not just me and the other people you've 'outgrown' who aren't too pleased with you. Keep talking about them and their foibles and you're going to be back at square 1.
Also, don't cry to Mommy about everything, because you haven't been giving her the whole story. But I guess,no mother likes to hear how filthy and uncouth their child is.

Ey, yo.

Two months, almost since I last penned an entry.
Life's been busy-mainly because when I'm not at school, trying to figure out math equations, what happened to ancient civilizations and the meaning of my existence; I work thirty or so hours a week in the span of three days.
And thus, the life of a writer. To survive, one must work. To write and create, one must not have the tedious tasks of life whirling around them. F.m.l., am I right?
So basically, here's whats been going on in my life:
I was going to transfer schools, but then I found out that I look like a genius in a good third of my classes-why would I leave that inflated air-space?
I'm planning on studying abroad next year-Ireland. Can I get an amen, brother?
One of my favorite high school English teachers was arrested for doing 'shrooms and got fired-my high school lost a great man due to stupid, archaic mores.
I registered in MA to vote-as a socialist, no less. Hope you enjoy listening to my nonsensical phone conversations, government.
I decided that I'm going to find an asp and Cleopatra myself if McCain wins, dies and then the polar-bear killer gets to be president. Fuck that.
I'm the queen of art history.
I've been doing alright, ok, fair in keeping in touch with people. It could be going a lot better...
I've gotten used to my fingers freezing, the smell of stale cigarettes wafting into my bedroom and giving me the dry heaves, and cleaning up all the messes my roommate leaves around and just letting the sweet, sweet anger build inside of me.
I lost weight, apparently, enough so that I have a sixty and seventeen year old trying to get on my shit. It's weird.
I've been writing up a storm of beautiful half-works.
I realized that I have the unmatched ability to wear a purple polyester dress with stripes, white heels after labor day and red lipstick-at once or all together.
I hate John Lennon, and me and H. are going to have a Christmas party. We're inviting Paul, Elton, George M. and DMX.
Also, no one can outcrazy me. Try it. You say " There's that baby I killed". I say " Well, there's a good chance I might Plath myself senior year". Then you continue my academic advising session.
Yeah.
Fear and respect me.

Blush.

How I love thee, sweet Carlo Rossi jug of Blush Wine.
I can drink you straight from the bottle, by the cupful-anytime, anywhere I am ready for you.
However, sweet wine, it appears you do not care about me and my friends too much.
Combined with that bastard Captain Morgan, Blush, you turned against us and made for quite the deadly combination.
From blacking out, to puking in a handbag, the inability to chew eggs up, to drawing kitty-faces on friends, to encountering very eager 17 year old boys and hardcore sickness and hangovers-You two alcohols really fucked The Crew up.

Adventuring.

I hate mornings, especially when I don't know what time I'm going to be woken up at. Today it was at 9:30 after I went to bed around 4-ish. I had to catch the bus to Davis in about 15 minutes.
It was like Die Hard.
I had to run through my house looking for what could slightly resemble presentable clothing and something to clip my hurr back. And then grab all my junk plus unravel the secret hiding place to get out the 155 dollah, dollah bills for A.
I made it. And I felt like death. I had a sweater on because I couldn't remember if I had a bra on or not ( Thankfully I did), ran into Crazy Mike waiting for the bus, almost cracked my skull open because I didn't hold onto anything as the bus barreled down the path to Davis-and then finally made it and had to wait 20 minutes for S. to get there.
I gave her the money, pulled down her dress like a good grandma because she was just showing too much leg, wished her luck in getting A.'s whatever, and congratulated her on getting the new job all in one fell swoop.
And then leapt back onto a bus, got home-and meet H.'s crew. And they are having breakfast now and I am typing this. They were supposed to make me an egg over easy, but it's alright. I'm going to go back to sleep, forever probably. And if not I'll wake up in an hour and a half and have my own egg/ maple sausage and toast extravaganza. Like how I planned it out at 4 a.m.

"What's that?!"

I found a pair of man-ties on our balcony yesterday. No men live in my apartment, nor were there any male visitors that night. And they got there between 6 and 8:30 a.m.
So...
Seriously, I live in a collapsed continuum, a particle accelerator of oddities.
And I bought a huge cake last night with A. for 8 dollars. It was so worth it, just to see the FAB! Christian fellow ogle it and start a witty repartee with us on the bus about diabetes.

" I think I see the light."

Sweet Jesus, how I love Cat Stevens/ Yusuf Islam.
Nadia gave me her dad's c.d. of Cat's Greatest Hits, and then I saw Harold and Maude.
And then my life changed forever.
Basically, that's it.
I simply wanted to proclaim my deep and passionate love for the lyrics, music, ideals and messages of Steven's music. Past and present, I really like An Other Cup.
He speaks about a whole generation of youth who looked for love, happiness and away to deal with what surrounded them: Depression, Clashes of thoughts, and the usual inability to express what they were feeling.
And I don't think I'm the only one who adores him ( Rod, Sheryl...I'm looking at you.)
Whenever I hear " If you want to sing out, sing out" my heart leaps a bit in my chest.
Thank you so much, Yusuf Islam for making such beautiful things that make my heart-strings vibrate and my brain dance.

Wonderland

No, not the blue line stop.
Nay, this weekend I traveled down the fucking Rabbit Hole of the Space and Time Continuum, where time is actually non-linear, and it's almost impossible to leave.
What to do in such a place?
Drink. A lot. And frolic freely by the ocean, playing with old and new friends, including a seagull and a couple little yip-yap dogs. And some bunnies, crabs and townies.
This is my life. Day-tripping to non-existent places in the Universe, warping and teleporting to the unsearchable recess of the mind with a couple of good friends in the South Shore.
As A. said " What is my life about?"
I don't know, I don't want to know-but I believe it's going to be beautiful and amazing to look back on my youth.