Squids on my face.

Sometimes I feel as if dating is a real life game of Pokémon. This thought comes from the phrase “gotta catch ‘em all”. Now before you go on assuming I mean STDs or something I must lay it down real nice and slow. Now that I have made the decision not to play town drunk I have noticed a very clear pattern that I have developed. I kept having too many “love at first sight” episodes that wound up either really embarrassing or really unappealing as soon as the love potion wore off. I cannot say I was successful in any of these drunken endeavors but I did realize that the main reason any of them were attractive at all to me was because they held something within them that resembled something I wanted to obtain. Perhaps they were well read. Or their house was decorated nicely. They had some sort of performance talent. Maybe they were simply hilarious and good at captivating the attention of others. Or the sheer fact that they were older and carried an air of maturity or sophistication. I simply went after people who resembled something I wish I still had. Something I drowned with the alcohol. And because I was not in the emotional state to do it for myself I simply wanted to be around them while they did it, whatever it was. I just wanted to be near it. So I could hold that energy inside of me whenever I was in their vicinity. This is all rather eerie for me to come to terms with but it certainly reinforces my choice in becoming dry. I don’t want to collect ways to be. I want to be those ways without the help of another. I want to get back what I took away from myself for the past couple of months.

There’s an old hip hop song in which the rapper expresses his distress over a time he left his wallet in El Segundo. I feel as if when one goes on travels it is not an uncommon instance to occur. The situation I seem to be dealing with is a little bit harder to fix. While my mother has always taught me to compare and despair one can’t refuse the temptation of comparing one thing to another. In this case my stance has caused a bigger strife for my life. If one were to misplace a material object it is really not all that hard to regain said items back over a period of time. But what happens, exactly, when you leave a feeling behind? Or when a feeling leaves you behind? And how is it fair for something so dramatic to happen right under your nose when your eyes are completely in the dark to the events at hand. I feel as if I left it by the sea. Or perhaps it was in the dark room in which we spent our time watching films. I could have lost my grip on it when we raced each other in the sand. Or maybe I slapped it out of him when we went to get pizza at a Mushroom themed restaurant. All I know is that it lies somewhere in the depths of Charleston, South Carolina. When I got on the plane back home I had no idea that we had left it behind. I wish I had known that the last place I would feel it was there. Perhaps I dropped it on the cobblestone. Maybe someone picked it from my pocket on King’s Street. To be honest I cannot tell you where it is anymore. And the difference between material things and conceptual or emotional things is that one cannot just get it mailed back. One cannot just call the bank and take care of their cards. One cannot hope that a random stranger will be able to find a way to return it. There are no missing flyers or numbers to reach. It breaks me to say that I just may never see it again.

Here I am. Searching “funny fat cats” on google images because I can’t think of anything better to do. I have been far too attached to this little device today. I was lurking hardcore on facebook and saw that a girl I somewhat knew had attended school in Prague. I immediately got overly jealous and began thinking “What the fuck am I doing with my life?”. I do not want to live the rest of my days out in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I don’t even really want to stay in the country. But how do I get out? I have never been good at starting math problems. I usually understand it once the first step is done. I am hoping that this is how I am with everything. I need to get out. And hopefully soon so I can grow into a very cultured being. That’s just how it has to be. Now who’s going with me?

A moment ago I tried to enter Satellite coffee. There were too many people. And not enough seats. I had just got finished smoking with my fellow actor after rehearsal tonight and I needed somewhere to chill. I was forced to go outside and sit awkwardly in the patio. Being in the state I was I forgot to purchase a beverage. So I felt very out of place amoung all these peeps with their coffee and cigarettes. So I pulled out my planner and wrote this note; Stuck at Satellite without plug for laptop. Must sit outide smoking cigarette and writing this note because I want to look like I have a purpose for being here.

They are on my back. All over my back. I can’t tell if it’s the annoying man sitting down the hall, or not. This man is blasting completely hideous music on his little iPod doodad. And forgive me if I am mistaken, but I thought that the point of iPods was that other people surrounding you wouldn’t have to tolerate whatever shit you are listening to. I thought it was a polite device. But it is clearly not. Not in the hands of this man and people like him. For one thing, he is all the way down the hall and I can still clearly hear his shitty, shitty music. And when I say shitty I mean shitty. It’s like if poop and feces got thrown into a dryer together for three hours and then procreated. And the baby they made took a shit. And that shit is this music. It’s awful. I hate hardcore music. I hate it. Nothing that anyone can say will ever make me change my mind. It’s awful. And this music I am over hearing right now has to be the worst. I can’t even fathom what he is doing to his ears. I mean I could be the douche right now. Maybe he is clinically deaf and he has to turn it up that loud to compensate for his lack of hearing. Maybe not. All I know is that it is making me feel very tense. Here I am trying to argue with my boyfriend via IM/text and there he is pumping shit into the world. And I feel myself getting more and more angry as I go. Each new text. Each second I have to withstand this shitty music. My patience is withering away. I feel like I am on the brink of homicide. But alas. I hear some strange educational music coming from the class room to the left of me. Perhaps this zin music will take away the violence in my mind. It had better. Or I will be going to jail. I am dressed too nicely for jail.

Currently I am searching pinup girls online during my English class. It makes me feel like a pretty good student. I have no idea what my teacher is talking about. Whatsoever. I feel like I don’t speak English. Why exactly do we have to sit around analyzing things and typing up papers about it anyways? I wish I could just have class discussions. I don’t dislike writing whatsoever. I like it rather much, actually. I just can’t stand people telling me what to write. Not just because I am stubborn, but also because it makes my mind go blank. The little curser in my brain just keeps blinking. And nothing comes out quite like I mean it to. Much like awkward conversations with attractive people.

There is this thing. This feeling. This idea. This thing. It is inside. I keep it in here for fear that it may serve as a Pandora’s box. What exactly is kept within only she can tell. I have yet to ask her. This thing. This feeling. This idea. It stays clenched up inside. It withers and extends. Waxes and wanes. There is no relation to the moon. This thing. This feeling. This idea. I cannot embrace it nor turn it away. Still there is this thing— this feeling— this idea. A name would serve no good. It has no name. No relations to names. It simply clings. Sits. Festers. Deep inside. I suppose some try to label it. The try to keep it under their reins. Unfortunately no matter how many things you try to call it, it will still eat at you. It will affect each person differently. Like some sort of hallucinogenic drug or abstract poem. How abstract is this thing? I cannot say. It’s just this thing… this feeling… this idea.

I feel as if life is just one big waiting room. Perhaps this is due to my over exposure to pharmacies, dentists, and the ER these past few days. Now don’t fret my friends, I was not injured or sick in any way. And I blow off my dentist. I was there with friends. I feel as if our new thing to do is go to these medical places and wait around. Taking toke breaks every so often to keep our heads level. I spend at least a couple hours a day waiting for something. I feel as if all this waiting should be met with a grand ending. But alas nothing exciting has really been happening to the wee little ginger lady as of late. Denied a role in the Shakespeare festival this summer. Forced to play a nonspeaking mourner in ‘Existence’ (a student film project that we are collaborating with). And just barely scraping by without committing suicide in ‘Outlaws’ directed by my theatre teacher from last semester. Let’s just say we have different opinions. On everything possible. This on top of my overly casual attitude towards the world of academia stirs up strange emotions within me. Slippin’ in school. Skating by in real life. My baby brother’s favorite thing to say is Balloon. And that’s what I feel like. I just hope I don’t run out of helium. EMOOOOO. Baha.