I spend way too much time jumping on my bed.

Tonight, my brother has been invited to a Halloween trick-or-treating party. I'm really happy for him. This is his first year of trick-or-treating with people his own age, and gender.

Today, I took pictures of my room, because A. It is clean, and hopefully as of tomorrow I will be changing it.

I'm listening to Ani really loud, I can't get it loud enough. Today I feel super cute. It's a good feeling.

I'm going to go see if my typewriter still works, 'cause I'm a geek like that!

I GOT ZOE TROPE MAIL TODAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This day is far too exciting!!!!! Halloween is so much fun. And I've been dancing around my kitchen with the lovely envelope in my hands and shrieking "I've got Zoe Trope mail!!!!"

Happiness!

The button is awesome!!!

You seem so out of context.

I don't know what to think anymore. I really don't.

It's a good thing though. Possibly I will explore the lifestyle lacking in worry and pain. It's logical. Less ulcers that way. Less of this rock-in-my-stomach feeling. Less of the chewing of fingernails, and the biting of the lip.
Without all that, I wouldn't feel at all.

Maybe I'll stop thinking too.

I have learned, that it's very, very hard to yell in type. It's very, very hard to express any emotion at all. I write large bold scribbled words in my paper journal in black ink, then again in red. Effect.

I don't even know what I am trying to say.

New template. I'm not sure how long it will last. I'll miss the old one too. It was wonderful. This is my current form of artistic expression. It's my original photo, and I played around with photo shop for a while.

Things are a bit better now.

Personals:

JACKIE MY LOVE
I forgive you.
Please call collect.
Love Mum.

Last night it snowed. It started with rain, and then snow, lots and lots of snow. I'm home today, because our garage door won't open and our other car is surrounded by a wall of snow. I suppose I could have taken the bus, and I might still. It's almost 11 and I had eggs for breakfast. I like scrambled eggs now. Mom's are not as good as my uncle Jim's. But they are good.

I've been cleaning. Mom went quilting down the street so the house is mine. The music is so loud the ceiling of the basement it rattling and I can feel the vibrations when I touch the walls. That kind of sound can't be that great for my ears. Or the house's foundation. I don't care.

Today will be the day of productivity and that being so I now must go and vacuum!

i talk to myself. in my head. all the time. if i were ever alone. completely-no-one-within-five-miles alone i would talk to myself out loud. i would yell. rant. scream. sob. my mind is flying at a mile a minute, maybe even father, and faster, it's running away. it doesn't want to be here anymore. neither do i.

i'm drinking white soy milk. it tastes almost the same as the syrup saturated chocolate mix i adore so much. nicole where are you?
my father is talking about scotland. aberdene. i am excited. too excited. emotionless excitement though, don't worry. i won't get hurt.
i love that rob wrote "out of context" on his binder in english. i love it so much.

my kitchen smells like chocolate. and i didn't die from malnutrition because i had pizza (well sorta) and pink pop at lunch. and mom went grocery shopping this afternoon. but she didn't really get anything. said so herself. i don't see the point.

man... i'm sorry guys, stop reading right now! this is terrible tripe.

i am fed up with school. i am a loser. i hate it. i hate me. i am unhappy and i don't have the energy to change it. i'm scared. really really really really scared. i am scared because i don't have any power anymore. i don't have direction or desire or interest. i don't have anything. i'm on zombie auto-pilot and i can't get out. i come home and i sit. i just sit. i don't do anything at all. i can't think of anything to do. i have a massive box of fancy art supplies, most never touched. i can't think of anything to paint, or even draw. there's nothing. today in art i painted red. a whole sheet of red. I didn't have any blue and without blue i couldn't make anything. i can't make anything.

my mother went to 17th ave today. the 17th ave. the same one that i have been talking about going to for the past... 6 months at least. the 17th ave that she told me not to go to without her. she promised to take me on saturday. only because i said I was going on saturday.

i really really really want to be completely and totally alone. i don't think i've ever been that alone. i talk to myself, but not really. not in any sence that you would notice. one day though, i'll snap and i'll be the eccentric lady walking down the street with the oversized purse full of weathered paperbacks, i'll be the one muttering to myself on the bus, and the one sitting on the sidewalk with the paint under her fingernails and no shoes. that will be me.

MALNUTRITION!

It amazes me that the woman who refuses to let me lift a finger to help myself is content with letting me STARVE, because she doesn't want to go shopping "in this weather!"

I want to throw a fit, but I'm much to tired for that. I want to rant and scream and throw wet towels and the frying pan at the windows and hear the shattering of glass.

I'm so frustrated, and tired, I'm really, really tired.

I want out, I want out I want out of EVERYTHING. I have no where to go.

It amazes me that I just managed to lose half an hour.

1. I love Meat Loaf. I always have and always will. He's amazing. If you missed the MMMBIO on him, well it's your loss.

2. Train 48 had me whimpering tonight. I'm not sure why. Maybe because seeing Dana and Sue together makes me really really happy, yet have a stomach ache at the same time, or maybe because Pete scares me.

Dana got her nose pierced. I think. Mom told me I can get mine pierced whenever I want, as long as I really want it. So... how many months until spring? AND, I'm not just piercing my nose because Dana has her nose pierced. Despite what my brother thinks, I am rarely influenced by the media/TV various views and trends and I wanted a nose ring LONG before Dana had one...

Crap I'm being defensive.

I'm going to go listen to Meat Loaf, in my jammies, from my bed before completely crashing.
I have a social unit test tomorrow and I don't even care anymore. I really don't. I think I need to investigate my options.

I smell like pumpkin.

Goodnight.

New links. They are amazing, otherwise they wouldn't be here. Check them out!

Because this seems to work:

I've lost an entire roll of pictures. They have pictures of Riley park, and my sandals. If anyone sees them please let me know!

Thanks.

(Now hopefully they'll turn up!)

7.23PM: Yeah... it worked!

Tomorrow is Monday, that fact is slightly cushioned by the idea of carving a pumpkin all morning. I still don't have a pattern.

I missed several classes on Thursday and Friday and now I don't really know what I'm supposed to be doing. I don't wanna I don't wanna I don't wanna!

Lastnight I slept for twelve hours... I think. The time change confused me. I woke up at 11, then went back to sleep at 1, and just woke up half an hour ago.

Right now, sleep is the most wondrous thing.

Post script: Please.... feel free to comment!

I'm sitting here, in the dark. I can't really see the keys, but that doesn't matter. I have my brothers notsoinsanelylargeheadphones on and I'm listening to the silence. It seems right.

What the hell is wrong with me?


Somebody puh-lease tell me.

It's been a year, nothing has changed, except for the love.

It's not been quite that long, but it's a thousand times amazing.

It's been two weeks... give or take, and I'm loving it.

I really don't know what else to say.

the postal service - the district sleeps alone tonight

smeared black ink: your palms are sweaty and i'm
barely listening to last demands
i'm staring at the asphalt wondering what's buried
underneath where i am

i'll wear my badge: a vinyl sticker with big block
letters adherent to my chest
that tells your new friends i am a visitor here: i
am not permanent
and the only thing keeping me dry is where i am

you seem so out of context in this gaudy apartment
complex
a stranger with your door key explaining that i
am just visiting
and i am finally seeing why i was the one worth
leaving

d.c. sleeps alone tonight

you seem so out of contect in this gaudy apartment
complex
a stranger with your door key explaining that i
am just visiting
and i am finally seeing why i was the one worth
leaving
the district sleeps alone tonight after the bars turn
out their lights
and send the autos swerving into the loneliest
evening
and i am finally seeing why i was the one worth
leaving

Alright, I have my dinner in front of me, a hamburger, lacking everything but the beef, the condiments and the bun, *My meal is entirely void of fresh veggies* and fries covered in sweet and sour sauce because ketchup and fries just don't go together all the time. I've got my lovely tangerine Frutopia from a can and I'm chowing down.

I miss Mike, there is no logical explanation for it. I don't even know him, never met him, talked to him for a while, but now I think he's pretty busy.

Also things are changing. Changing for the good I believe. I'm reaching out, and making new friends, or at least I hope what will be new friends.

Art is wonderful, I will miss it in a few days.

I'm in a wonderful mellow mood, and I can feel the stress creeping back in as the urgency of my school work increases. In a few days I'll be red eyed and tear stained but I will be fine. It will all be ok.

Yoga was awesome today. So relaxing. I came home and pounded on a dead goat for a while, taught Shelley how to do Tofu, and Toast. Mow my fingers and toes are numb. Wonderful feeling.

I'm listening to Clark Gable by The Postal Service because I hear it's amazing, it is.
I really feel like talking, but no one is online, seriously no one, I'm not using creative hyperbole, there is NO ONE.

I shall go exercise my right to be a carnivorous now. Mmmm... Burgers and fire.

I've kind of been not really here. On the weekend, Saturday, I cut down a tree. It was amazingly cool. I felt bad though, and almost started crying, even though the tree was already dead. It was fun, which I never would have expected. I'm pretty sore today though.

Today I took some pictures which made me feel so happy, and I'm going to re-decorate my room. I need to go poster shopping, I need to budget... I got NEW new pants! Hurrah, also my shirt has a turtle on it!

680 words and counting. It's rather depressing. I am writing an essay about the flaws of the education system for my eleventh grade English class. I'm proving in the essay all the reasons that I should not have to write the essay... but not in those words exactly.

I'm stuck... there is only so much you can say without sounding redundant. I have a page and a half to go. Or half a page depending on the spacing.

700 words and counting...

I finally figured it out. I'm an all or nothing girl. I'm not entirely sure what that entails yet, but I know that because of it I'm doomed to burn bridges leading to the only slightly committed type, and either live happily and successfully with an equally committed all or nothing girl. For now, I believe that I will work on the in between parts, the only slightly committed parts.

I believe a few casual calls are in order, I wonder if your number is still the same?


Thanksgiving was lovely. I spent the weekend sleeping when not walking, and walking really was just climbing the mountain, up to the snow covered part. Wildlife sightings include a black bear, and a bunch of birds. Kelsey's at the Griz Inn in Fernie made us the most wonderful turkey dinner, because we burned ours... doesn't that sound fun, American but still fun. We actually didn't bother with our own this year, because we were lacking in all basic ingredients, and the paraphenalia of which to put the goods. My eating, and sleeping habits, - those being that I can eat almost any portion at any time, even after three Oreo's, and that I can sleep for three hours in the middle of the morning and then for four hours on the way home, and still be tired - amaze our guests. Speaking of which, I crave a night in my old bed, but the sawdust mattress is serving me well, better than the 4 foot couch I was sleeping on all weekend.

I have no idea what I had for homework, and so none of it got done. I feel guilty, and as in the words of Zoe Trope, it does taste like lead water. There are children in war torn third world countries who lack proper education and here I am in my fancy Canadian school which hands out diploma's to young adults who don't even want them. Lead water.

Sloppy confessions whispered in the confidential hallways. "I am fine," I said, and she said she's proud. I'm beautiful and strong and well adjusted. But it's all the same to me and I can't tell the difference. It doesn't matter as much to me as it does to everyone else and I don't understand what the big deal it. I'm well adjusted, and self assured... but really, does it matter?

Hysterical waving in the airport arrivals gate, and exchanges of Forrest Gump style greetings. Round and round on the carousel, and Running-man to the car. Smelly feet in the car, and children on our doorstep, flashing lights and loud sirens and the confident red, and blue.

I'm happy. Things are good.

We are just Playing God
Vinyl

This is just war,
We are just playing God,
In case of bombs,
In case of guns,
In case of nuclear holocaust,
Crawl into a door way,
Cover your head,
The officer will check that you’re gone,
Go out in the streets,
Stand in line for bread,
Pass the snipers,
Pretend you are not waiting for,
The world to end,
When the alarm sounds,
When they shove you away,
Run across the cement,
Rush inside.

This is just a war,
We are just playing God,
Sit down at your desk,
This is just a war,
Open your books,
We are just playing God,
Read chapter ten,
In case of bombs,
Take out a sheet of paper,
In case of guns,
Use a pencil,
In case of nuclear holocaust,
Put your name at the top,
Crawl into a door way,
Crawl into a door way,
Wait for the world to end,
Wait,
We are just playing God.

I just saw the most amazing thing. It was a documentary on female journalists in war torn countries. Sure, it's conveniently coincidental that the world seems to be torn by war at the moment, and sure, for publicity sake, airing that particular show would probably makes someone, somewhere some money. But it made me cry. It made me think, it made me feel, it made me realize a lot of things. It inspired me.
One could say that I had altered the course of my life... Maybe not forever, but for this week.

Dinner is potato chips and store bought cookies, the kind with the big chocolate chunks and the little bit of crumbly biscuit.
This afternoon I wanted to cry over all the things I could not have. Stepping of the bus and out into the real world where people didn't converse on street corners, unless they were good friends. Where people wait awkwardly at the bus stop, sitting as far apart as possible on the wooden bench, almost falling off the hard colorful wood surface.
I hate my lack of communication.

I am wired and I crave the opportunity to yell, not a high pitched shriek but rather a deep throaty yell. Yelling the lyrics to the most emotional song I listen to these days. I want to jump on my spring loaded mattress and thrash my head making my blonde hair fly around my head. Instead I turn up the base, and the volume on my stereo and sing along with angry emotion. I put on my wings and I jump up and down in place until my mother walks in and asks if I need my pills.

I want to be an arcobat.

It's Sunday night, I'm cold because I'm wearing my pretty, new, thrifty sun dress... Who said I was into seasonal shopping?

The internet is dead. I've discovered the brilliance of livejournals and spent most of my free time today bouncing from one page to another. When I say "free time" I mean all the 15 minutes of it. I studied all day. Social, the conquering of Napoleonic France, and how to drive a stick. Tuesday is my date with the registry office, so wish me luck, and Wednesday is the day Shelley gets here, I couldn't be more excited.

Acrobats are brilliant... I watched a Cirque show on channel 11 [the French one] and I want to fly too. Or at the very least stand on my hands.

Amazing.
I've found my artistic god.

Words are pouring out of my head too fast and I don't get a chance to write them down before they rush away and are gone. They flow from my mind, while I stand in the shower. Not even spoken and they wash down the drain along with the god forsaken Styrofoam and the stains from the cement on the bottom of my feet. I am becoming a person who needs to write lists of tasks that demand my immediate attention in order to accomplish anything. Scheduled leisure time takes a back seat to the urgent academic tasks.

Solitary is a word I haven't had the privilege to enjoy lately. It rolls around in my mind with a temptation similar to that of a Friday afternoons anticipation of Saturday in late June. I grasp desperately at any opportunity to be alone, even alone among millions of people. I crave a day to myself, the opportunity to make my own decision on how to carry out the activities of my day. This afternoon I ran away from everyone. I told my mother to expect me home by three, I was two minutes early. I spent my stolen freedom at the university, pretending that I belonged there, and that I knew who I was, and what I was supposed to be. I went to London Drugs and purchased a note book, and chocolate for my mother. I walked barefoot across the field towards the back door of my own personal hell, my own fortress of pre-teen torment. I smiled when I received compliments on my health and my personality. "Oh you must have so many friends" he said, and "oh you're looking so lovely" It's been years but I still secretly wonder if he's gay.

I don't know what to say, because the words are running away from me. I am wasting them like expensive Champaign down the sink. I feel pretentious when I write like this. I feel fake, phony. I am a pancake. It's happening all over again, and again, and again, and yet I still plan for it to happen again soon. Don't forget that I care about you. Don't forget that I once wanted to be your friend, possibly more than that, but you're leaving again and I can't get attached because you're leaving and you'll take my heart and I won't let another person walk away with my heart in their back pocket. I won't forget you, but don't expect me to cry in the back row at your funeral.

I need a day. One day, and I'll be me again, I've strayed so far in the past five minutes that I can't tell if what I have just wrote is fact or fiction.

well it's tuesday
i'm draggin my heart around
the boy at the market hasn't looked at me the way i look at him
yet
but there's still hope
because the gas man left me a note
it said
something i won't tell you
because it's much too personal
and the other day i saw that girl in the streets
and i greeted her
i said hi to the guy on the hostess truck
i said hey to the boy on the bike
i think i am on my way
to getting a life

My mother is in full smother mode. I mentioned that I wanted to do something after school tomorrow. "Oh, I'll go with you!" I mentioned that I wanted to go alone and there it was, the guilt trip, the anxiety and the raised voices. I'm going anyway, I'm not listening to her anymore.

I went to the fortress of adolescent torture this evening. It was fake-phony-liar night. I ran around the goal posts and read my book while walking down the hallways. I propped my head on my brothers shoulder because the night was long, and I like the idea that he is my brother. But only when in public.

Tonight was homemaker night. My mother left this place of unrelenting filth, my father fled to the garage to make music with the man in the spiderman hat. I washed my clothing, and baked brownies. Now I am trying to make the French revolution sound interesting, and the coup that Napoleon staged sound like brilliance, but I can't because tomorrow is my best friends birthday, and my tooth is throbbing and Ani has stopped talking to me and now my ears are full of pipes and drums and violins.

"A word of caution is in order at this point."

I have this undying urge to describe everything around me in vibrantly colorful words. I compose paragraphs of descriptions in my head but when I go to write something down on paper everything is gone. My life seems like a series of paper and pens and heavy books with big words and Fiona Apple screaming at me and cute, nameless girls in the halls and in my classes and on the bus.

Today is my Grandmothers 80th birthday. This makes her sixty-four years older than me. She is from the generation which covered their large blocks of lake ice with sawdust and hay instead of using a refridgerator. She walked miles to school every morning and fed the horses before leaving the house. Today, I have sympathy for her, in these days of Whirlpool appliances and public transportation. It must seem like a long time ago.