Don't You Love What Is Intangible? We Have Built This Ship in a Wine Bottle...

A weekend sans cigarettes... no problem
A weekend sans Tuscaloosa friends... tragic.

What would I do without you kids?
What WILL I do without you kids?

Living with Genevieve next year is going to be so fucking hardcore.

Trip to the doctor today... insightful... um... insights? to come, but not tonight.

Class at 8 a.m... who's pumped? not me. eerr...

new idea... ETERNAL WEEKEND. yes? yes.


Giraffes fucking rule.

Maybe You've Been Here Before, But It's My First Time So Please Ignore the Next Few Lines Cause They're Directed at You

Saw II... what a buzz kill...

I remember my dad telling me once, when I was little, that everyone is replaceable. I had something to him to the effect of, "I don't know what I will ever do if you die." And I was probably crying because I was a very emotional kid and I cried a lot. I couldn't explain why though. I still can't explain why but nobody believes that, and I think that's when I started lying so fantastically.

"If I die, Lindsey, you will get over it. You'll be ok. Because life doesn't stop for me. Life doesn't stop for anyone. And it will hurt and it will be very hard, but ultimately, whatever sadness you feel will go away. Someone else will fill in the hole that I leave."

Replaceable. Everyone, he told me, is replaceable. I wonder. Sure, the truth is that people go in and out of your life, and ultimately, you can be happy without her- without him. He'll still crack jokes when you're not there to laugh. She'll still sing when you're not there to hear. They'll still drink, still smoke, still party on without you. Sure, they'll cry when you're gone, but they will cry without you there to comfort them.

Are you replaceable? Are you worth replacing?

I don't know. Of course it's horrible to think that the people who love you might be better off without you, and wonderful to think that every person you know is uniquely needed and here for a reason, and but as for the former you can never really know, and the empirical evidence above doesn't really support the latter. Does it?

So replaceable... maybe? But expendable, you certainly are NOT. And that, my friend, comes with responsibility. You should know that your existence is the only thing in the world that keeps me from filling all of the voids that you simultaneously created and filled the day that I decided that I love you. The more of my self I give to you- the more I love you- the bigger the you-shaped hole gets. When you stop giving back, I'm empty.

I'm filled with holes in the shapes of all of you- without you, all I can do is patch myself with whatever fragments of you that I have left. By the end of it we'll all be so riddled with holes and stitched with patches that we'll be completely new jeans. Not better or worse- but different, and with more character.

Anyway, I wasn't ready to patch the hole shaped like you yet. I've missed you so much.

As for YOU sir... Jack off. Maybe you're absolutely right- or maybe I'm just confused and hurting and trying to hold all of my pieces together without dropping any.

You know that the way you act towards me will hardly alter the way I act towards you (it never has). You know this, but still... be kind. Understand that I did not ask to feel this way, and I'll bear it without a sound if you'll just pretend like you don't know. Compassion- I'm begging you.

There Are Powerlines in Our Bloodlines.

"If some messenger were to come to us with the offer that death should be overthrown, but with the one inseparable condition that birth should also cease; if the existing generation were given the chance to live forever, but on the clear understanding that never again would there be a child, or youth, or first love, never again new persons with new hopes, new ideas, new achievements; ourselves for always and never any others--could the answer be in doubt?

Alas for those who cannot sing, but die with all their music in them."

I Know Debris, It Covers Everything, Yet Still I Am in Love with This Life

Okay.

Okay. Ok. It's such a low-key word. Not fantastic, not wonderful, not happy or giddy or free. Not deep and introspective, optimistic pessimistic wide-eyed over-the-top in love.

Okay. I have a tendency toward the extreme. I don't really see you describing me as low-key. I'm not chill. I'm wired, I'm hyper, vivacious and high-strung. I'm awake and alive and some times even I wonder where the hell it all comes from. And then I have these weeks of fantastic sadness and apathy, and not many of you know it, but it's a trade-off and it's easy to forget that the lows are only defined by the highs. I can't fall any farther than I jumped to begin with; up and down are no different.

But today, I'm okay. And I like it.


Now for some housekeeping...

I hate doing the vague accusation thing, but I'm going to. Because my feelings are hurt, and I don't want to erase you. Or I do. Disappear please. Erase, I want to rub you out and forget all that I thought of you and how I loved you and believed you were more and less and had so god-damn much faith in you.

You have time. We all have time. It's not about time; it's about priorities. And you've made it clear what and who your priorities are and are not. You're the victim, I know, I'm sure. You you you him him fucking you. This is harsh, and part of me wants to backspace it into oblivion right now, but I am hurt, and angry, and sick to death of waiting for you to care when no one's looking. And I'm not ready to let go, but I'm to exhausted to hang on, and I don't have time. So, be happy, be stable, good for you. You're a million miles away, and even though I miss you, I understand that it's impossible to be close from so far.

I'll smile and I'll wave and maybe we'll have the occasional phone call, but I'm not waiting for you to care back. The end.

So, what I do have time for is the spiraling confusion of wonderful and horrible that is my life right now. aahhh. Right, you're right, you're so absolutely and completely right. But, for the first time in so so fucking long, I felt like maybe things could change. You aren't wrong, but you could be. And that was my last night. Right, wrong, right, wrong, and if I've changed my mind then what is it that makes me cry every god-damn time? Why does everything always come back to you?

How the fuck do you see right through me when I can hardly get a glimpse of what's going on underneath your surface?

Any way, in spite of all of this, I'm okay, beautifully and wonderfully okay. I feel like things are moving and happening and very optimistic about 19.

P. S. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. READ IT.


http://dictionary.reference.com/translate/text.html. traditional chinese.

Because Your Candle Burns Too Brightly

Lindsey Jayne -- [noun]: A level headed person who always makes the wrong decision 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I fell in love with a dream that I built of you, playing the part of the king.
Taking my own advice, I'm giving up tonight-
Good luck to you and the queen

I Am Jack's Best Friend, Who Wants More than Anything for Him to Be Happy

And, I've decided that it's ridiculous to distance yourself from someone you love just because you are a silly girl who is indecisive and unrealistic.

Have your cake; have me, too. Haven't I, every step of the way, discouraged attachment and mandated indifference? Am I dumb for even thinking that I could maintain this kind of relationship without attachment, or is it particular to you?

I've been told, emphatically and repeatedly, by pretty much everyone who's opinion I value at all, that it is always always always a bad idea to be friends with benefits. And, I can't say I don't see where you're coming from, but, I wouldn't trade this.

And, is it even over? I mean, I think it ends when I'm not strong enough to keep it up, but isn't it going to hurt regardless? It could be my self-destruct chip, but one part of me is screaming that I shouldn't end this, but let it end on its own. And maybe it already has...?

The things about it is, every relationship that you ever enter into in your entire life will cause you pain. That's just true. You will either break up, or one of you will die, or you'll grow apart; I see no avenues where no one is hurt. At least in this situation, I'm not the victim.

I'm NOT the victim. Any pain that I feel, I brought on myself. Wow. You have no idea how incredible that is. I mean... That's freaking amazing. That's how things should be. I'm NOT the victim. AND, I'm not hurting anyone. There are no victims.

Oh wow, I think this is the coolest thing I've realized all semester. Sometimes things just hurt, and you're not the victim, and you're not inflicting pain. Is this major? I don't have to feel guilty. I don't have to feel pathetic. Is this not better than the past few painful situations I've been in?

I need to hug some people.

In the Shape of Your Mouth, In the Form of Your Body, With the Wrath of a God

I totally give credit to Grace (what a beautiful muse she is!) for this...

Valentine's Day is officially over, and over all, it hasn't been a bad one at all. Lessons learned kids. Any way, one of the things that I personally did not need to learn today is something that I think a lot of people ought to think about: the commercial aspect of Valentine's Day.

At least five times today I've heard someone comment about how Valentine's Day is a marketed holiday, made up by greeting card companies. A gimmick, a ruse, another way to reach into your pocketbook. And haven't you heard the same thing about Christmas? It's all about money, all about the economy, nothing real there.

Well, my dears, I beg to differ. Yes, Valentine's Day is a great way to sell cards and chocolate and condoms, but the fact is that Hallmark is always trying to get you to buy cards, Godiva is always trying to get you to by chocolate, and Trojan is always always trying to get you to buy condoms. And rightfully so. The main difference between the commercials of February 14 and the commercials of any other day of the year is that instead of trying to convince you to buy things for yourself, companies are trying to convince you to buy things for someone else.

Apparently, this rubs you the wrong way.

But the reason is not that it cheapens the holiday; that's not logical. Maybe the fact is that we have some sort of underlying guilt in the first place for not thinking of others first, for not showing the people that we love how special they are to us, for not spending money on flowers and candy and poetry. SO, when we are bombarded with advertisements that tell us that we are obligated to do these things, we are offended.

I've been as bitter as anyone about Valentine's Day, but, truth be told, I like the idea of it. Corporate America is begging you and tricking you and seducing you into doing things every day of the year, at least today's message is rooted somewhere in the concept of love.

And, like Genevieve says, any holiday that turns everything red and glitter and coated in chocolate is ultimately a good idea.

In other news, Detachment vs. Pain: Is emotion worth it?
Six months ago, I would've told you absolutely not. Now, it's debatable again, and, I am so thankful to have thawed in that way, and in a way that if it wasn't worth it, I'm still incredibly taken care of by everyone remotely involved.

Also, in a way that it really comes to my mind on a day when chocolate is more than abundant.

Reasons to Live

If You Look Closely Enough You Can't Tell Where My Nose Ends and Space Begins.

In case you forgot, my middle name is Jayne spelled with a "y," and in first grade, my student of the month certificate said that I was a joy to have in the classroom. I liked to wear dresses, because that meant I had to sit Indian-style on the carpet; I could put my legs to the side like I liked if I was wearing a dress. I faked sick all of the time because I hated P.E, and Miss Harris (who wanted to be called Mrs. Simpon, but I couldn't ever remember, or else could remember, but thought that Harris is a much more elegant name than Simpson, and I always thought that she was a very elegant lady) gave me private lessons on how to tie my shoe. I never could tell left from right though... Still can't. I lied about being allergic to chocolate because I didn't like chocolate, so I got to each orange push pops instead.

In third grade I was positive that I was going to be a writer, I told Mrs. Watkins that I would send her the first autographed copy of my book, and I still think that I will, if I ever write a book. I played on the monkey bars with Mikey and Joseph Santos every day, and I read Piers Anthony novels ever though I wasn't allowed to. I told the twins the stories and they told me the stories of the video games that they played, and we made this fantastic game of it, where Mikey's name was Master Shredder- but not like the guy from Ninja Turtles. I had a name to but I've forgotten it, which is why I'm writing to myself- so that maybe things that I should remember but don't will come back to me, and I'll know where I left whatever it is that I left behind, and when I have it again you'll know, and I'll tell you all of the secret answers to the secret problems. See when I made the world I made the answers first and the questions second, and a thousand extra answers too, just in case.

In forth grade I wanted to be a ballerina, but my mom begged me to play basketball, and I did. Defense was my favorite. In sixth grade I discovered that if you are nice to people, they are nice back, and that if you talk to people about themselves, they will find you to be very understanding. That's really the secret you know, everyone in the world is dying to tell their story, and, truth be told, they don't care if you really get the story, so long a you just understand how very desperate they are to tell it, and how vital it is that they can. Once you understand that, if they are the kind of people I generally fall in love with, the actual story part is pretty irrelevant, but it tends to be entertaining anyway.

I used to purposely sleep during history, and feign spiteful indifference so that when I made A's it was that much more impressive. It was never enough for me to just be the best; people had to think it was easy for me. When I went to high school I was very lonely, and I missed my friends. I learned manipulation and people-pleasing. I learned how to make someone love you so much that nothing else matters to them. I can't do it anymore because I don't have the stomach for it, but I know, and that's enough to make me kind of sick. I can see when you're doing it and I could tell you the mistakes you're making, but I usually don't because you don't even know that you're doing it. Anyway, you think it will make you happy but it won't, and you'll actually probably never know that unless you're good enough at it to make the world stop for you, and then you'll only miss the spinning.

Anyway I learned that, and I listen to good music and I get things. I don't need a boy to be secure, and I forget how much class I ought to have some times and don't. I'm remembering a lot of things this year that I had forgotten, about grace and eloquence and things that are deeper than you think and more important than basic needs if we're ever going to get any where, if the goal is actually distance at all and if it's not then this could very well be very unreasonable. But I do think that the goal must be something like that, or that the only way to achieve the real goal is to have that sort of illusion goal in mind, and then once you get there you understand- not because you're there but because you're at least not where you used to be.

See, I don't really so much want to get to a place I used to be, I just want this to be one of those places.

Maybe the answer is that I'm the answer, that I, being made in His image, was very much thinking like Him when I created the world, and so like I said before, there are a hundred thousand answers that don't have questions yet, and maybe I'm one of those answers.

From Your Changing Contentment, What Will You Choose for to Share?

Two weeks ago I was discussing dismal Valentine's Day prospects with you kids... Now, two days before, all of you fuckers have totally better love lives.

As for me? Abolutely nothing. Maybe even less than before.

Fantastic.

Permanent Markers Are as Stable as It Gets.

I'm sitting in my living room at home- with Ryan Spain asleep in my grandfather's chair, and Rachel and Genevieve are laying with their heads on opposite ends of my couch. Ryan Cooper is kicked back in my dad's Lazyboy, and the adorable Bo is sprawled on the floor by my feet.

I feel obliged to be content, but for some odd reason... I'm not. First of all, I miss Mario very much. It's hard to be here without him, equally hard to remember that he's gone. I havne't cried over him, and when I do, you will all be very surprised and my timing will be horrible. Actualization can come so suddenly.

I also wish that Andrew was here; my heart hurts for him lately and I don't know how to make things okay. Here's to you for taking things so well- I didn't think you had it in you. Anyway, I miss you.

I miss a lot of things. Things that I can't explain or describe or even understand. It's not like that "you don't miss something til it's gone" because it's not something that I feel like I even had.

I keep meaning to write a good blog... I will eventually... I promise.

'Tis not Through Envy of Thy Happy Lot, But Being Too Happy in Thine Happiness.

this is the place you'll end up (when you lose the chase)
where you’re dragged against your will
from a basement on the hill
and all anybody knows is you're not like them
and they kick you in the head
and send you back to bed

isolation pulled you passed a tunnel to a bright world
where you can make a place to stay
but everybody's scared of this place-
(they're staying away)
your little house on memory lane

the mayor’s name is fear
(his voice patrols the pier)
from a mountain of cliche
that advances every day
the doctor spoke of clout
he reigned out loud,
"you'll keep your doors and windows shut
and swear you'll never show a soul again"

but

isolation pushes you ‘til every muscle aches
down the only road it ever takes
but everybody's scared of this place-
(they're staying away)
your little house on memory lane

if it's your decision
to be open about yourself
be careful or else
be careful or else...

I'm comfortable apart
(it's all written on my chart)
and i take what's given me
most cooperatively
i do what people say
and lie in bed all day-
absolutely horrified
i hope you're satisfied

isolation pushes past self-hatred, guilt and shame
to a place where suffering is just a game
but everybody's scared of this place-
(they're staying away)
your little house on memory lane

(my little house on memory lane)

I'm Not Saying She's a Nazi, But Allied Women Do NOT Have the Hotts for Adolf

"That mustache does something for me."
-Callie Corely, in reference to Hitler

Because If I Can’t Learn to Make Myself Feel Better, Then How Can I Expect Anyone Else to Give a Shit?

Bad moods... what's up with them?

I hate to be unexplainably sad. What is it that can hit me so quickly and induce this flood of dismal and dreary thoughts. What makes me feel unloved and abandoned and excluded when I know that I'm not? Why can't I remember what it is that I love about myself?

Why do I need constant reassurance that I'm cared about, thought about, noticed?

That's not who I am; I'm not that girl. That's not my story. I scoff at these kind of posts. I disregard them, write them off as hormones, and pleas for attention. And I'm not wrong, that's totally what this is.

Err.. I get frustrated with myself, then I get mad at myself for being to hard on myself, and I end up in this cycle of getting more and more mad at me.

I'm lonely. I think it's the weather.

Whatever I Said to Make You Think That Love Is the Religion of the Weak

Oh you wonderful people.

In the past couple of days I've learned how easy it is to get caught up in the high school drama. And it's still very silly and ridiculous... but it's pretty entertaining. Ultimately though, I feel untouched by it, and I need to stop participating. I'm so arbitrary about it; the truth is, there are very few people in this world who you couldn't decide to dislike. As a rule, those are the friends that cause me the most trouble: the ones that I love in spite of myself.

There are so many people to love, but the fact is, if you had a reason, you could hate most of them too. And don't say you couldn't, because you fucking could, and probably would.

Subject change. There's one girl in particular who is just a boy magnet. I mean, boy fall in love with this chick, and I can't blame them at all. She's wonderful and beautiful on all counts. Anyway, last night when I was eating with some guys and discussing this phenomenon, and the other girl that was there said something to the affect of, "It's so not fair to the rest of us. We can't all be like her."

What the fuck ever. First of all, there will always be crosses to bear. Secondly, I think one of the main things about this girl that makes boys so weak is that she's so genuine. Cliche as it is (and, you know what, cliche and passe don't really mean the same thing, and I don't care if the word cliche IS cliche, I like it), I would rather be a first rate version of me then a second rate version of her.

Another epiphany that I had this weekend is that almost all of my guy friends are looking for some dream girl, who they know will make them happy. They all have one, and chances are, I've heard about her. And, when I hear about her, something inside me thinks, "I could be her." I don't want a relationship with these guys. I don't want to be that girl. What I do want is for them to be happy. What I've realised is that the thing to do is not to be that girl, but to make them understand that they could last a lifetime without her, and still be happy.

"Heavensent" is a word for fiction. No girl should ever have to be the answer to your prayers; she's got prayers of her own.

I had you pegged, didn't I?

"You had the whole human race pegged."
"Probably."
"I still thought you were going to save me. Even after that."

Before I say anything else, I highly recommend that you read Mr. Wujcik's latest post. You should know that I write some pretty exciting blogs as a rule, but tonight is nothing compared to his musing of today. I am impressed.

I tried to go to sleep. Really. Just didn't quite work out for me. Seriously, I got in bed at 11:30. Laid there til 2. That was silly. But I did have a very good day today, I do attribute that to last night's fantastic sleep, so I think it's over all a good idea to add some stability to my life. Keep me in check, won't you? (no, I already know that you won't. Losers.)

What made today a good day, you ask? Well, I got up and got dressed for one thing. Fixed my hair, put on makeup, and I actually had time to do it. I still took a nap though. That's probably why I can't sleep now. Any ways, it was still an overall fantastic day.

Crazy: for about 4 months after Leon and I broke up (so, til a few weeks ago), I really did not get crushes. I was attracted to some guys, and even developed some pretty crazy relations, but I never considered dating. I did not want a boyfriend, and didn't think that I could handle or even stand to have a boyfriend.

I still have doubts,

BUT I've started to get crushes again, and it's pretty damn exciting. The thing is, a lot of people get a crush and then immediately want to act on it- and encourage and expect me to do the same. That's not really how I work. I get a crush, but before my crushee has any knowledge of it at all, it could be gone. Like, one day I might be thinking about what my name would sound like if I married a guy; the next day I might decide that we're not at all compatible, or that I can do better, or something about him will just drive me up the wall, or, frequently these days, I decide that as fantastic as this guy is, I don't want to gamble his friendship on a relationship.

This said, don't attempt to speculate my dears- the boy that I write about tonight may be a phantom of my mind tomorrow. And the boy that I write about tonight happens to be particularly exciting. So much so that I would consider a relationship with him, and, get this, he's a Republican! Ridiculous right?

Maybe just hypothetically setting myself up for a hell of a lot of disagreements, Or maybe I should be more open-minded.

Either way, he's already got me thinking...