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August 13th, 2013

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I haven't updated in forever. After my friend flew me out to California for a couple weeks (I had never been there before) I realized that Oklahoma was UNACCEPTABLE. So my parents agreed to get me a lease on a condo (at the coast of North Carolina) and a vehicle as long as I get a job. I, surprisingly, got a job very quickly as a barista and am happy and living it up as much as I can. Things are looking way, way, way up.

March 26th, 2013

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My ex, 026 committed suicide today. He was 26 years old. Today is the 26th of March, 2013. 13 x 2 = 26.

He told me he was obsessed with this number years ago and suggested he would do this and I really thought everything would be fine, but now I know through facebook that he's gone. The fucked up feeling I have is that I can't talk to anyone about it because he lives so far away now and I don't think anyone would appreciate how insensitive this numerical revelation sounds.

The last thing he said to me, a few months ago, was that he'd see me later.

I don't know how to react.

October 30th, 2012

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I'm trapped...

ABStartSelect
ABStartSelect
ABStartSelect...

Let me save and exit

September 13th, 2012

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It's my eighth anniversary of having this journal, and I'm grateful that I've had this forum as a way to store and share my memories. I can't believe it's been this long. This is actually the second journal I made after spending two years as Classicstruggle... so I've had livejournal in my life for almost ten years. I was a terrified fourteen year old girl on her way to boarding school when I first became fascinated with livejournal, and today I'm surprised to admit that I'm very much the same person I was then.

If you still follow me and/or are reading this, I appreciate your company in this unique forum. Friendships and moments were made possible from this site when I was in my darkest hours. Though I don't write much anymore, I still read my friends' posts and remember the "good old days" of wtf_stupid and our eclectic company like it was yesterday. Sharing personal things with you strangers pulled me out of loneliness and into the world of online friendship, which helped me immensely when I felt truly alone. I've poured every emotion available into the posts of this journal and exposed myself in the most raw ways, yet I still see this as a safe haven to share my feelings whenever I need to express myself.

Thank you all. Thank you Lampetia, for driving me to the date with some OKcupid guy that one time at the WKUK show in Raleigh where we joked that you and James were acting like our parents. Thank you Shannon for still keeping in touch. Thanks to James Wright and Sarig who were my overseas chat buddies when I was up late and in need of conversation. And thank you Morgan for those unforgettable weeks we spent traveling the east coast couchsurfing, reveling in the wonders of the world, and sharing words and the sweet mountain air. You changed my life more than you may know, and that's only because you found me since one of my interests was "dreaming".

None of that would have been possible without LJ.

August 13th, 2012

Money spent is a vote cast
for the world we want
We didn't spend a dime
We just spent time, so we're the peaceful ones.

I am my own worst enemy. I am my own best friend.
It used to be you but now we have to pretend
that nothing ever happened.

That's no small feat
considering everything
Long nights on the phone
trying to find our way home.

Who was the one you called when you found God?
Who listened to you when you needed love?
Who never doubted any of the words you said
or shot down the ideas that you shared?
Three years. Three years ago.

It hurts when someone has a mindset
That your mind's set on remembering them by
And we say that we can change
So it's not so strange that we actually evolve

And if you thought you were bad then
Then go ahead and kill me for my sins
I'm a madman to you now I guess
With a damn disposition to sometimes regress

You found me through some key words
And it hurts to hear you say
You were worse off when you knew me
three years ago today.

Who gave me hope when I was wild and lost?
Who comforted the war-torn and tossed
Crazy little girl with wild oats to sow
And tried to teach me everything that you know?
You did.
You did three years ago.

September 4th, 2011

Fin du Monde

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Last night I was nervously trailing behind my parents after my father got out of some important meeting.  My mom’s hand was holding my father’s, head resting on his shoulder, all while giving him worried whispers.  Many of the meeting’s attendees had a stifled distress about them.  Some were outright going into shadows and breaking down.  I followed, knowing it wasn’t the time to ask.
We got to some massive compound.  The walls were a dark, shiny steel, and the windows must have been 50 feet tall.   They were adorned with large-panel cheap blinds.  Behind the blinds the sky was dark blue with a curious hint of orange.  
My father urged us to follow him.  We jumped on a small jet, still indoors.  I had no idea he could pilot the thing, but apparently he had some training for occasions I didn’t know he needed to be prepared for.  We boarded the jet and flew into a hangar near the exit of the compound.  He told us we needed to get ready just in case.  
I knew it was time to pack what I could, but not too much that I wouldn’t be able to run while carrying it.  I grabbed a black duffle bag and a pair of jeans, some underwear, pens and paper.  The sound of voices distracted me, so I chose to walk around.
When I walked out of the room the sky in those giant windows had turned into a more burnt black-orange, but I didn’t let it distract me.  I walked towards the sound.  I found a classroom with a window and walked on in.  Unfazed, the people all sitting in a circle continued to pray and breathe heavy sighs.  I asked what was going on.  Some called me “poor dear”.  Others gave me defeated, angry looks because they knew who my father was by the symbol on my bag.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and closed the door.  I wasn’t being told anything.  Back in my room I tried to console my Yorkies.  I strategized how I would take the dogs with me.  
Some feeling drove me to venture into the lower floor of the compound where I would be able to reach the giant windows.
Upon approaching those big blinds, I lifted a few panels with the back of my hand to see what was going on.  The moon was full but dim.  There was an oblong halo around it.  There was a sunset, but, oh God, a massive solar flare.  It was as though the sun was hitting us with a flaming whip.  The sky was bruised with orange and purple and black.  I realized the black was smoke coming from the horizon.  Some sort of disaster had already hit.  
 Panic amongst the people around me was increasing.  Hurriedly I ran back to the room and started to assess what I absolutely needed.  The dogs calmly looked up at me for guidance.  Tears tried to choke me up but adrenaline kept me focused.  I pulled on a thin red knitted sweater, thin enough for any occasion as well as something to protect my arms.  I put down a layer of clothes on top of what I already had in the bag to give my dogs a little comfort in their journey.  I put the dogs on top and kissed their heads, apologizing for the upcoming distress, and zipped up the bag.
Then comes the last order of business:  putting on my sneakers.  Pull on the socks, hear wailing outside.  Try to ignore it, and try not to panic.  Pull on one shoe.  Grab the other.  Hear massive explosion.  A jolt of worry makes me tear open the door and look.  The window is burning orange.  I hurriedly pull on my other shoe, tie it, and swing the bag on my shoulder in what feels like one motion.  
I see the plane with its door open, engine on, loud and roaring.  The noise of the roaring is only bearable because it almost drowns out the screams of those behind me, trying to flee the crumbling compound.  I run for my life.  I take a leap into the open door of the jet.  It begins to close.
I wake up.

April 22nd, 2011

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My life is always forming and changing and I haven't been focusing fast enough to write it down.

I have almost no motivation to write in this thing anymore.

February 27th, 2011

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The wind raging outside is blowing past these long, protruding lights at the top of light poles. They are wiggling about, making a shrill and eerie roar. WHEEEeeeerrr. At times it sounds like wind chimes, and when it does those chimes coupled with the wind takes my mind to the beach. I can close my eyes and feel like I am there, hovering above the ocean.

December 8th, 2010

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there's this friend who doesn't care for poems
i say he hasn't been reading
the right ones

i thought I knew you, lover of language!
sculptor of prose
psychonaut

don't you realize
the potential power of placing
pretty words?

a poem could be
the redeeming quality
in someone i'm trying to love

poetry is
a nursery of little babies
that grow up to become songs

August 7th, 2010

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Poor silent Sam. Whenever my brother's new girlfriend is around I seem to make a fool of myself. The bartender mixed a fruity drink called a Hollywood which was stronger than I had expected. Two of them led me to say things I simply wasn't supposed to say. The next thing I know I'm at home in a fight with my parents telling them they never taught me discipline and that I wish they'd kick me out instead of letting me live so freely. So now I'll need to pay rent for them? Whatever.

These are the times that speak volumes for why pot should be legal. If I can't smoke, I drink. I ingest things to slow down my self destructive and over-thinking mind. When my drug of choice isn't available, I go to desperate measures. I shouldn't drink. My head is jammed full of AA crap, but still. It's an easy next resort, and I visit it often. Regardless of everything I've heard, it works. But only for a little while.

As Oklahoma eases itself into becoming my home, North Carolina slips through the spaces between this wooden deck. Up to the sky I watch, trying to touch it. One day I'll feel those clouds, but as of late I only taste glimpses of freedom.

Let me have my Sagan syndrome and allow me to fly. Realize that life is miraculous in itself, and our physical machines are too incredible to let neuroticism impedede on the joyous occurence that is us ourselves.

But in the end:
Haters gonna hate.

Life is all about how you deal with what you're dealt.
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