And you know what? You're fat.

But so am I.

Goddamn swingers.

Why do I set myself up for these trainwrecks?

The very worst part of it all, I still want to call. I think when someone treats me like a complete douchebag, I just want them so much more. It's really sick.

SO other news, I am a failure in most aspects of my life. I work so hard at my stupid dead-end job and all I receive are criticisms. I scrape the doorjamb clean, clean under the ice maker, and it's never enough. If I didn't love living so decadently, I'd walk right out.

Radiohead is so beautiful. It makes my ears dance.
Mr. Yellow is dead in the water. I'm no closer to becoming a musical sensation.
I wish with all of my being that I was a better person.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

Fumes

With a swift flick of a thumb,
I set the eye to burning slowly away at its own flesh.
The water-spotted windows rolled partially down,
Familiar tunes drifting lazily in and out and around,
Plumes of sweet smelling grey rise slow and twist into columns,
Fingers go numb, body gets fishy,
And the relief of it!
My mind like a bright balloon, up up up into azure sky,
For one moment, the swamp of responsibility,
The neverending mire of flies and gnats gnawing vicious,
Gone.
I know,
My poor alveoli, charred and crumbling,
I know,
Destruction, damnation, cancer and carcinogens.
Smokes weaves its way out the window,
My breath mingles with clean sky,
I smile and snuff out its life.

Misery makes bad company.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to write about, just that I wanted to write something. I think that I've begun the slow road to madness. It's not as glamorous and interesting as I used to imagine. Sylvia Plath, that Girl, Interrupted book, The Snake Pit, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest were always my favorites.
Now I'm not so sure. It's one thing to enjoy how strange the perspective of a crazy is...It's another entirely to experience the loneliness and self hatred that lead to these trains of thought.
It's just one of those life lessons.
Or maybe life's cruel jokes.
Once you get there, "it fucking sucks." (I'm just quoting my mother, another madwoman in my family.)
I could have had bliss and love for years and years. I let some ridiculous idea fester in my head; and it branched off and grew into a sickness that I finally succumbed to. I made the love of my life let me go. I tortured him for weeks and weeks before he finally said, "Goodbye, I love you."
Maybe it was for the best. A nutcase like myself should spare others from my company.
They don't realize that. They only see my "lovely" exterior. They only notice that I'm fun, witty, and quirky.
And I am. Even in the depths of depression I can summon up remarks that make people smile.
But I'm not stable. I can't be trusted. One minute life is going swimmingly, the next I've become convinced that I need to wreck it to make things interesting.
Oh well.
Things are interesting I guess.
(And the picture I put up is just something freakish I found on the internet. Who would dress their child up like that?)

There's good in everyone right?

Maybe not.