I wish I'd had my digital camera with me today even more now....

Joey's hair was all spiked straight up again! He was in costume as Zack from FFVII.

The third thing: water was coming through the dam as I was driving over it. I've never seen that happen before. It must have been opened to release some water pressure.

And the fourth, another flood sight on the way home. I happened to notice that a vast cow pasture is now a pond.

We've been getting a lot of rain. I didn't even realize how much rain it truly has been until I drove by a baseball field on the shore of the Saint John river my way to work this morning. The field was flooded, bleachers and batting cage sticking up out of shimmering silver water, and there were water birds swimming and diving. I wanted so badly to pull over and take pictures, but I don't have my digital camera with me today, due to the fact that I took it out of my bag last night to take pictures of Joel's Halloween costume. I hope to come into town tomorrow for some Xmas shopping, anyway, so I'll pull by on my travels then. Perhaps take Adam with me; he gets off work at six, then we plan to do something together.

I look so hot today, if I were male, I'd fuck myself.

Hey, shut up. It's so rare that I feel confident enough to call my appearance anything but "decent." I suppose bleaching my roots last night helped.

I dyed Joel's hair blue. I don't think he really likes it. For some reason, his damn hair won't bleach really light. I left the bleach on my natural colour for probably twenty minutes and it's practically white, while his after forty-five minutes only turns a sandy blonde. (My hair kicks ass.) I sowwy, Joel, I tried.

Funny how you forget these things until reminders come up. I had a dream last night that I've had about once a year. I didn't have it last year, so the plot adjusted accordingly.

I go off to a big Bible camp for a week. It's so big, it's like a college campus, with different dorms that attendants sleep in. A blond guy, Chris, about my age, is always there. Always stays in a dorm called Hall House, right around the corner from the one I always stay in. We're such good friends, I always think we should hang out outside of the camp, too, even though he doesn't live near me. I actually don't know if I know where he lives. This guy doesn't really exist, I should note.

We share so many opinions, we spend hours and hours hanging out and talking and doing various shit on the campus, going to plays and going for walks and stuff. Not even romantically. There is a blonde girl who always rooms with him, who's pathetically on his ass. She always does him favours and shit; it's so obvious she hopes to win his heart, but he just spends all his time with me. We talk about everything. No subject's too personal.

It always ends when I go to his dorm and find out he's gone home early, and I didn't get his contact info. Then I feel like I'll never see him again, he'll go on with his life and perhaps never come back to the camp. I wonder if someday I'll dream of the camp, and he won't be there.

He's gotten good-looking. I remember how he looked as a kid. Not that great. His hair is kind of shaggy, but straight, goes to his chin. I fuckin' look like myself in the dream, Joel looks like himself, Joey looks like himself, down to the hair, eyes, and height, y'know? It's such a realistic dream. When I wake up, I miss the place, I miss the people, and I miss Chris something awful. I want to hug him and talk to him for hours and wander around the camp late at night under the stars. Not romantically. It's just a very deep friendship... with someone who doesn't exist.

It sucks. This morning I felt so lonely when I woke up and he wasn't real. Fortunately, or unfortunately, my mother woke me up twice, both before the inevitable moment at which I would have discovered he was gone... again... without a goodbye to me. The second time, we were in his room, dim teal walls, on his bed, cross-legged, and he was looking at the ceiling, back slumped, wearing his glasses and telling a story about his aforementioned blonde girl friend and tampons.

Yeah, I am so cool.

I found the abortion clinic! I think. I drove by a bland, squarish, pinkish-white building this morning with a group of protestors assembled in front of it. Their signs were the basis of my assumption.

"Abortion Stops a Beating Heart"
"It's a Child - Not a Choice!"

For one thing, I wish they'd lay off on the cliché pity-them quotes.

Let's have a look at the first one. Abortion Stops a Beating Heart. Yeah, well, so does the vet when he sticks the fatal needle into your cancer-ridden dog. So does Jimbo Smith at the slaughterhouse making $10.50 an hour for cutting the head off your KFC. I believe I've rendered this one irrelevant, unless these protestors are vegetarians, which I highly doubt considering they all looked like they enjoy their fair share of Big Macs.

It's a Child - Not a Choice! Sometimes, it isn't a child. Sometimes it's a couple of cells with less practical use that those in your brain that a drop of alcohol can kill, or a clump of tissue comparable to the red shit absorbed by tampons. Look at what an unborn baby does, without bias: it grows inside you, eats what you eat, skims your blood and feeds from your energy. And tries to kick your ass. (smiles) Much like (at the risk of seeming callous) a symbiote, a tapeworm, a leech - to seem a shred colder, a tumour. This is not to demean the life-form; it can't help what it is. But when its growth isn't welcome, humans will want it removed, like they would a malignant mole. For whatever reason, they don't think allowing it to fully form into a baby would be good. And I admit, there are some pretty shitty reasons for abortions. I do not by far agree with every abortion case. But, there would be no way to weed the good reasons from the bad, because if someone with a bad reason suspected they would be turned down, they would make up a different reason. If, for example, only rape cases were accepted, women who were not raped would lie that they were. What proof of rape would be required? If it were, even some rape cases would be unable to provide it.

Primarily, my opinion on abortion is that it's not my right to make the choice for anyone else, but that I ought to have the right to make the choice for myself. To be honest, I don't think I would have one. Maybe two or three years ago, but I am old, mature, and financially-stable enough now that most of my excuses are null and void.

DISCLAIMER:  This is my opinion. I expressed it rather peacefully, in my own online diary, which you clicked to on your own free will. I did not shove it down your throat, nor did I call you stupid for believing differently. Please keep that in mind.

Funny, I used to litter my diaries with rants, and now I'm hesitant to piss people off.

Adam just typoed Bible-humping. I fucking love it.

I have roots. They piss me off.

My desk is gross. There's hair on it. I taped one end of a blond chunk and left it there, intending to test some different dye colours on it. But it's just there, still. Until now, I've never stopped to think about what people must think of that chunk of my hair just sitting there.

Doritos kick ass. I've eaten a lot of them tonight. My new sleep-shirt kicks ass, too.

It's raining. At least the air is warm. And the rain will wash my filthy car.

I got new work hours. From now on, I won't have to be in until noon on Thursdays.

Daylight Savings Time never fails to render me insomniac for a few days.

I cut my own hair this morning. I'm not sure if I like it or not. I haven't really seen it yet, since my hair dried, aside from through the webcam.

If I can learn to love myself again, surely you can.

I've been coming up with poems in my head. More of them rhyme lately than ever, but I've always hated to write down poems that rhyme. I haven't wanted to write any of these poems down either, because they're all sad, and full of shit I don't want to remember, I'd rather just forget.

I never thought that what I said would have you running from me like this.

I can't do the simplest fucking thing. My boss has two pics on his computer he wants me to upload to the company website. He's not here. So first, I try to e-mail them to myself from his computer, but he doesn't have his Outlook set up. Then I try to find the Share folder on the network to drop them into, but I can't find that. Then I try what he always does: to burn them to a CD (he routinely wastes non-RW CDs by burning two pics onto them to transfer from one computer to another, then chucks it out - I don't think the man believes in floppies, or rewriteable CDs at the least). But no matter what blank CD I put into what burnable drive (he has two), the pics won't burn.

At this point, which is an unusual thing for me to do, I gave up. Grr to other people's computers.

At least it's Friday. I saw Adam last night. I miss him already. My cold tiger toes found warmth under his thigh. I really, really wish I didn't become so irritating to us both when I talk. I'm always trying to seek out answers he doesn't know, and I know it, but somehow I just don't stop myself until I notice he's minding. When I try to hide what's bothering me, even though I know it will annoy him to hear it, he just bugs me not to hide it. (smiles) If you read this, Sunshine, though I know you probably don't, I want you to know that I need those hugs as much as you seem to.

Pretending I don't feel misplaced is so much simpler than change.... It's so much easier to run, replacing this pain with something numb, it's so much easier to go then face all this pain here all alone. If I could change, I would - take back the pain, I would - retrace every wrong move that I made, I would.

He says that what he wants has changed "twenty or thirty times" the past week. That indecision is going nowhere. I told him there's nothing he can do but wait, enjoy time with his friends, and wait for the inevitable kick in the ass that makes you realize who's beside you in your vision of forever.

I'll be twenty in August. A scary thought. The point being, I'm young, and probably stupid. But I see that my life as it is now is nowhere near the beauty it became when I was with him, and I don't see it becoming nearly so beautiful with anyone but him.

I'll take everything from the inside, and throw it all away, 'cause I've slipped for the last time, I won't trust myself with you... I won't waste myself on you.

What do you feel when you're with me? Am I anything like the old Emma again?

You're confused, but I'm confused too. I've gone through something like this, and the evidence suggests that you still love me, you still want to be with me, but your fear and your feelings for someone else... "stand in the way," at the risk of being offensive. I do not mean to presume. Or perhaps, it's only what I see through my rose-coloured bias lens. Perhaps I believe that because it's what I want to believe. I'm confused, too, as I said. One thing shines clear: letting you go was my biggest mistake. First I did it for what I thought was your own good, because you were hurting the way I am hurting now, being strung along, riding your hopes. Then I did it because you asked me to. Neither time did I ever want to watch you walk away. Never did I want the unthinkable to happen, but it did - you fell for someone else... you strayed. See, I tried to put you on my back burner, and when I wanted you back, you weren't there. And now I'm trying to keep you from making the same stupid mistake, and feeling the guilt and regret I feel, even if it means sitting on that back burner until you do want to move me back to the front.

I love you, I know it's the right kind of love. I want to try again, and I know I won't let you down.

Adam invited me to a movie on Saturday. First me + him, then a group thing, then he called the whole thing off by saying he had no money. I wonder, was that all there was to it, or was it another little sign of his indecision?

Does your stomach hurt? Do you hurt still when I do? I wonder if I've been hurting because you are.

I dreamed. I was driving home from town late at night. Might have been 11:45, might have been three a.m. But it was dark, and most lights in people's homes were off.

My head felt heavy, and light at the same time, and everything looked darker than it should have, as though I were driving with daytime headlights. I debated pulling over, but I was so close to home - it was within a kilometre, another minute of driving would get me there. The next turn I took, I took either too fast, or didn't turn the wheel far enough, or both, but my car went into the grassy ditch. Here, I fell out, uninjured. I looked over to see my car keep going, roll, bounce, jerk up into the air, roll a few more times, land on its wheels, and skid out of my line of sight.

Despite wanting to just lie in the ditch and sleep, I knew I had to get to a phone to call my parents. I followed a long walkway to a big white building with maroon trim, which turned out to be a swanky pub, with food, card tables, and a bar. I told the owner, a short guy in a blue jacket and black ball cap, what had happened. He showed me to a phone I could use. It was yellow.

My mother answered, barely awake. She cried when I told her the news, then asked about the car. I told her there had probably been thousands of dollars of damage done.

The next morning, I woke up in my own bed, and walked down to the scene of the accident. One of my neighbours was working in his yard, and seemed angry with me. I soon found out why - tire skids littered his backyard, and my car was wrapped around a thick post there, literally bent at a ninety-degree angle. I started bawling, hysterically. What was worse, I soon noticed, was what lay beneath the man's feet - a very dead black and white cat, in the path of those tire skids. It looked like it had been licking its leg, and was just plowed over by my car. I broke down on my knees, crying so hard I couldn't breathe.

Later, I was at home, and my mother was yelling at me.... Apparently the whole community had caught wind of the story, and the general assumption was that I'd been drunk. I kept insisting, no, I wasn't drunk, I don't drink, I hadn't had a fucking drop... would a blood test prove it? I wanted to prove myself right, so badly.... I knew, but nobody else would see. One man even asked me, if I didn't drink, how come I didn't have a "sXe" ("straight-edge") tattoo? I tried to knock into him the sense that the absence of a tattoo didn't mean anything incriminating to me, but he wouldn't hear it. Even my mother was angry that I'd been drunk-driving. I kept protesting that I was just tired, but everyone thought it was a lie.

Somewhere in there I was in my brother's room, found out he smoked pot, had smoked an 11" (massive) joint earlier that day and was high right at that moment, and somehow I thought that was cool.

I kind of wish... I'd taken the chance to "have" you when you offered it to me. Perhaps things would be different now, though my head says that they wouldn't. It might have been my last chance to touch the feelings, the memories, of passionate, joyful occurrences in our past. But I let them slip away, because I feared you had already.

If nothing else, it might have caused you more guilt. But I often wonder, if there wasn't the slim chance... that it might have woken you up, might have made everything clear, might have made you realize... that you want to be with me... that we could be okay, again.

I've just been reading through some of Adam's old blog entries... the memories... ouch.

I love you, Adam... still do, and always will.... Despite all this, I still want to be with you, I still want us to try... if you ever decide that it's what you want, I'm here... as always... waiting, wanting, and hoping you'll come around.

You've stabbed me one too many times, and I stabbed back. It was immature, but I felt that you deserved to feel a small fraction of the many great pains you've caused me.

What you don't deserve is to be in happy waters with us both. Your two weeks to make decisions you've told each of us you've already made, decisions you keep making and changing. You've so badly abused the time you did have - and you think you deserve more?

I regret this decision already. But you won't make a move to make things right, even as the "friend" you claim you want to be with me, because everything I do makes you angry, and all I've ever fuckin' tried to be was supportive, even when I didn't really support your decisions. All I ever wanted to feel for you was love and trust. All I ever did was trust the things you said - trust the good, trust the bad. I believed you every time you said you loved me, every time you told me you didn't think you + she were going to work out, every time you told me that you missed me every second of every day, wanted to be with me, wanted to play the field and eventually, return to settle down with me. Yesterday morning, when you held me and whispered in my ear that you were giving me your heart, you were sure of it, certain I'd had it all along, that you wanted us to get back together and you were going to try your damn hardest to make things right with me, I believed you. Then we fight, and you suddenly don't love me anymore, you suddenly don't mean all those positive things you said. Suddenly they were pretty words, lies, to spare my feelings. Suddenly the sparkle I saw in your eyes then was a damn fine bit of acting.

Realistically, writing this will not get me back into your good graces, but I can't allow that fear to keep me silent anymore. You can't really be angry with me, or her - the only person you have to blame for any of this is yourself, though I know from past experience you'll blame me anyway. (Recalling what your blog said a few entries back: Fuck this fuck you Emily fuck you Tara fuck it all - as if your confusion is her fault and mine.) You already hate me. You probably always have, and you probably always will. I kind of hope she hates you, so you know how it feels to be hated by the one you love, to never feel good enough in their eyes, to try and try just to get a fuckin' hug or a kiss on the cheek or a smile or some spontaneous sign that they still give a rat's shit about you and get nothing but some pity action and the revelation, two hours later, that it was given to you out of perceived obligation.

I think you need to be alone for two weeks, if not more. I think you need to realize that you don't have time and time to sit on your hands and let us fall all over you. You need to lose all that you hold dear before you'll ever realize how dear it was to you. You've been taking it all for granted.

You know I don't have anywhere to run, so you think I will always be here for you to run back to, you think I'll always be willing to run back. The sad shit is, I probably will.

If you've known all along that I was the one you wanted, pull me close, and quit trying to loosen your grip. If you've known all along that I was what you wanted gone, stop holding on to my wrist when you try to push me away.

Stop abusing everyone.

And you, Tara... seriously... read this, and wonder if this is what you want to become, or if this is a man you can trust. If you think no, run, as he is telling me to do, as he told you to do this morning. I think he realizes that he wants, needs, to be alone, that he is hurting us both with his indecision, but he can't stop himself when we're available for him to rape and pillage from.

You feel lied to and cheated on... and I do, too. We were not together, but he didn't make it clear enough to me that you + he were. Oh, he may have said the words, but his actions didn't prove their truth. He made it seem that he was falling for me again - he made it seem like he didn't feel any different than he always had. I love you. I miss you. I want us to be together... soon... very soon, babes. He made it seem that we were destined to be, again - fanned my hopes, then pissed all over them.

He screwed up, big time. I don't believe I have anything he wants, that I could revoke, and punish him with the absence of. I thought I did... I hoped I did.... But, he tells me otherwise. Tells me he wants me gone. Tells me he wants me gone one minute, and the next, he's telling me he loves me and begging me to please, take all of him, he has a condom in his wallet.

You don't know what you want, Adam, but I know what I want, and it's not to have to deal with this SHIT for another minute. And for her to know what a lying sack of shit you clearly have no qualm with being and to have the guts to give you what you deserve, what I'm not sure I have the strength to give you - the permanent boot.

You stand at the edge of my cliff, Sunshine. Call me. If you want to remain on land, if you still want me as even a friend, try and make this right - because I deserve the apologies this time, and by then this mask of anger will have faded, and the pain will be exposed, waiting to be soothed. If you want to fall to the rocks below, spit out your last goodbye.

No, I'm not the same old happy Emma. The happy Emma you loved was one you created by loving me. You will only see her again if I can rest assured that you want to find her and love her again.

I'm a huge dork. For the previous entry, and this.

I played Smackdown last night, for the first time in a long while. I made yet another new chick. She's the fucking hottest chick I've ever created. I gave her Goldberg's raging entrance through a shower of sparks.

She made me realize that my taste in style has changed, from way-the-fuck-out-there-punk/goth to edgy-elegant-sexy-casual. Hell, not what I dress in, I mean, but what my eyes are drawn to. I'm now more likely to look appreciatively over a woman with purple highlights in black hair and ears lined with piercings than a woman with bright green hair and twenty piercings all over her face. That's not to say I don't still appreciate the latter - just that my sense of adventure when it comes to appearance has toned down a bit. Bah, corporate world!

And while I'm bahhing things, one to my fuckin' Dell Inspiron. Not only do selective parts of the keyboard spontaneously die, now the touchpad wanks up, too.

Green Kool-Aid is the best.

I've got on magical army socks! I struck a sale on socks at Ardené. Got four pair. Tiger stripes, leopard spots, camo socks, and black with pink skulls and crossbones. Joey called me a poser. I rock.

Mmm, cheese sammich on Villagio, and Sour Cream & Chives crackers.

It fuckin' snowed this morning. Made messy roads. Evil snow.

"Jive":  So Melissa is going out with Jason eh?
Me:  Yeah. Did she tell you?
"J":  Yeah. I was like sure okay.
Me:  I bet he's forgotten all about it.
"J":  You mean about going out with her.
"J":  He is such a jackass!
Me:  Agreed.
"J":  If I didn't think he was such a pussy I might go after him for fun.
"J":  A toy. Not a good one though.
Me:  For fun? Why? How would that ever be fun?
"J":  Good point.
Me:  If anything it'd make me puke.
Me:  Stupid Jason.
Me:  Looks like a brick hit his face.
"J":  I can think of a few other people who look and act just as unfortunate.
Me:  I can't. He flat out sucks.
"J":  Joey kinda looks like a drag queen each time that I see him and sometimes when I feel the need to be nice to him he acts like an asshole so I turn him the other cheek.
Me:  Joey?!
"J":  Yeah
"J":  I haven't seen Adam so I can't really critisize him.
Me:  Well... please don't criticize my friends to me. I don't think Joey looks like a drag queen. I think he's rather improved in the looks department.

She never replied, then she logged off.

Was I wrong to say what I did? Does she have any right to be mad at me for asking her to please keep her mouth shut about my friends to my face? Do I owe her an apology, or what? Or is she just being selfish like always.

She and Jason aren't friends; in fact, if you'll notice, she insulted him first, so I didn't commit the crime first.

AUUUUGH.

Moving on. I'm starving. I ate an orange. Oranges kick ass. The end.

I'm dead tired, but afraid to sleep any more. I had too many awful dreams. In one, Adam raped me; in another, he held my face, whispered that I was beautiful, and kissed me so softly, then pulled away and, looking into my eyes with hardened gaze, said, See? It's easy to lie.

In yet another, we were walking along my street when he cheerfully announced that he'd had sex last night, in such-and-such named position. I started crying, and reminded him loudly that I'd told him multiple times I didn't want to hear that sort of shit. Six nearby thugs heard us fighting and threatened to beat us up. I called them stupid assholes, and they chased us into my house. I locked the doors. When I turned around, Adam wasn't there. I looked outside to see him in a white car with a red-haired girl, going up the street, towards town.

The last worthy of mention was one in which we lay in bed together, and my hand mistakenly brushed something I ought not to be touching. He moaned, though, and started grinding into it. Of course I wanted it, but, torn between my desires and my conscience, I let the latter win after a few seconds, and pulled away. He looked at me, angrily. Said, I suppose you're going to hold this over my head now. I said, No. I won't tell her. Then, thought, I'm getting used to keeping your secrets.

All dreams... all suckyass. I won't think about them long enough to perhaps determine meanings.

Adam's at work, I think, but not online. Barf. The thing I hated most about the dreams was waking from them, cold, sweating, heart pounding, alone. I wanted him there, to soothe me back to sleep as he always did when I'd have a bad dream - wrap his arms around me, bury his face in my neck, whisper "Shhh...." But he was always gone. Just like in the dreams. And so, that little constant bit of the dreams remained reality.

I warned him that getting sex today doesn't mean everything is better. He told me he wouldn't get it, anyway. Apparently he injured "himself" in one of their previous escapades. I don't believe that would stop him, despite his protests to the contrary. Sounds like he might just be saying what he thinks I want to hear, again. (sigh) It's okay, it's okay. You don't have to tell, and you don't need to hide.

Don't I have anything else to talk about? Yeah... but, it doesn't belong here.

I'm going to be stranded here at home all day, I think, with my brother, my dad, no car and no mom.

My kitty meowed. He never meows. I moved over, and he hopped up on the chair next to me and snuggled in. He's next to me as I type this, making no room for my elbow. What a snuggle-face. I love my kitty. He never used to be so snuggly, but he's very lonesome these days, I'm told.

I think I ought not to read Adam's blog for awhile. I like it more when he talks to me in person. He fell asleep on Joel's cold hard floor last night, kept whimpering. I petted his hair. That's always soothed him. His whimpers became little happy noises for awhile, but then when I'd stop, it'd be a sad whimper again.

I upset Joel very much a couple times. Once, when Joel got up to get something from the kitchen, and I was encouraging a sleepy Adam to move up into the abandoned bed space so he could sleep on a pillow, at least. Joel re-entered the room just as I was saying, "Hurry up, he's gonna come back." I saw him roll his eyes, look away, then drop to the floor and unzip his bookbag quickly, pulling hard, and angrily. Oops... Joel, I'm sorry... I didn't mean it to sound like I wanted him beside me more than you, just that if he wanted the pillow, he was going to have to hurry.

I think I ought not to read his blog for awhile, either. I hate to see him hurting so badly, but I don't want to ignore it, just... let him speak to me in person, as well, perhaps. Comments are really of no comfort.

All the pretty leaves are falling.... (sigh) Soon it'll be snow, making its way to the ground. Poo that.

Random thought: Perhaps I just figured out why I prefer Halifax to where I live. Halifax is on a harbour, more water which I love, and more blue. Here is too woodsy, too green. I don't like green too much.

I miss my Stephie. I think she's hurting right now. I haven't heard from her. I wonder what the temperature is in Arkansas right now.

This entry sounds like the masterpiece of a dumbass. I leave.

Just don't say goodbye, you say to me
I'm trying to do the right thing
And we sneak a call, and we're like thieves
I love the times like these
Just don't say goodbye, just won't you please
I'm trying to do the right thing
All my life I was in the cold
Now I find I feel nothing more
Leave me to learn, leave me to hurt
Now I'm not so invincible
It's just come to this, you know.

Don't read too deep into this. I just found it a sad song. And I miss you. A lot. Is all.

And by that, I do not mean I caused harm to myself.

I am on a search, a quest for something inside myself as well.... I'm finding little bits of Emma, and Adam's finding little bits of himself. He told me he'd found some answers. I'm happier that he was able to find the questions.

I'm cut.

OpenDiary.com won't let me do anything without logging in, this site's crashing my stylesheet again, and I can't log into my e-mail account. I hate the Internet.

I e-mailed Tara. (gnaws on foot) Adam told me to be selfish, because what I want out of life will never just fall into my lap. I chose a path my conscience liked, instead, and tried to be honest but unbiased and unfeeling.

I'm pirating Static-X's new CD, Shadow Zone. Finding a lot of mislabelled tracks and songs riddled with annoying anti-theft ticks. Serves me right for trying to scam them, I guess. It's good stuff, though. Definitely different sounds than what they've done in the past, but Machine was so different from Wisconsin Death Trip (I actually prefer the latter, and this new effort reminds me of the deeper variety of stuff on WDT), so they're obviously a band that likes to play around. Wanna check them out, get 'Bled For Days.'

so I've betrayed self, so I've betrayed you
so what now? so what do we do?
pushing you away, away from me
so i'm confused, so you're not amused
so i'm feeling used, so what do we do?
pushing you away, away from me
empty inside . . .

Gotta cut my nails.

If I can wash my hair today, I'll officially consider myself making progress. I've been too weak from nausea and my subsequent lack of food intake to hang my head upside down.

Stupid roots, annoy me will you.

The leaves are turning pretty colours. Ooh. But, it's pitch dark by eight p.m. Rats to that. I hate winter.

Back to work tomorrow. I'm definitely not looking forward to that, after a four-day weekend.

I'm tired of bitching. If I have the money and the energy, I think I'll go shopping next weekend.

Damn me for reading my stupid old online diary.

I... gods, I just want to be with him again.... Yes, I know he doesn't read this anymore.

Too many happy memories. I'd be tempted to burn it, if it didn't all lie within cyberspace, out of the reach of my flames.

I wonder if he remembers.... I wonder if he ever misses any of it.

I look like hell. I've been living in this hoodie. Bless my brother for giving it to me.

Thanksgiving dinner was tonight. I ate grapes, and drank half a wine glass of Mountain Dew. I disgust myself. The year before this, I had nachos. I don't like turkey.

I have a stupid Hillary Duff song stuck in my head. I hate her. I must add her to my site's list of celebrities that suck.

My site needs a new layout, speaking of which. Something black. And blood-coloured, perhaps. ...

I don't want to fall backward off my teeny baby step, but I know it's what'll happen. If I try to help, he'll hate me. It's not my place. It's how I get into trouble - trying too hard to fix things, I end up turning them to shit. I'm in a checkmate; I've got to move, but where? Every path ends in the brick wall of his icy, hating stare. How can I choose, between their happiness, and mine? I'm selfish, but more of me wants him to be happy than me. I've not had his hard life - I don't deserve the bliss nearly as much as he. I couldn't live with my suspicions that I'd ruined it. I broke away, didn't want him to be hated afterward for this mistake, despite wanting what had been happening to happen forever and ever. Do I have the power to make or break their smiles? Do I keep clinging to these hopes, or do I have the strength to let him go? Time will tell, I suppose. I know the right thing to do, and so, what I must say. It'll be the hardest thing I ever have to do.

my father just gave my seventeen-year-old brother beer.

i don't know why i turned it down when he offered it to me.

i've often wondered if drinking myself into a stupor would ease my pain a little, but... i'm afraid i would like it.

i don't want to become my uncle tony.

how... how'd it go?

i tried to burn your cd last night, but cole's been screwing around with the computers, and didn't re-install the burnable drive correctly. i'll drop it off at the school for you sometime this week. don't worry, you won't see me.

i owe it to you.

i love you. i miss you. i want to be with you, more than anything.

but i hope your story doesn't wrongly portray me as the villain.

don't blindly believe him. he says he doesn't want to lie to you, but he's admitted to lying to me to "spare my feelings."

i don't want to lose you, but i don't want my side of the truth to be omitted. if you want it, tara, you're welcome to it.

i won't be here anymore.

i wish i was the type of bitch to rat on you, but i'm not.

don't keep that secret, and don't rush. don't start on the wrong foot.

goodbye.

Just found this on my hard drive and felt like posting. I haven't put up a pic of myself in a long time. Well, a long time for me. 'Cause I'm a cam whore.

Craaaaaaamps... suck... die!

I wish I were a celebrity. I'd be a kickass celebrity. I'd make fun of other celebrities and go to the Oscars in $7 secondhand flare-leg pants and no makeup. I'd also piss people off by being really political and opinionated. I'd hang out on public beaches and give autographs, and not go to restaurants at one a.m. that close at midnight with an entourage of a hundred and expect to be seated and treated like a queen. I'd give lots and lots of money to charities. I'd write to creators of my fan sites, and my hate sites. I'd not speak through a "rep," I'd not answer any question I found too personal, and I wouldn't hesitate to slag someone if I thought they were shit. Like Jennifer Lopez.

Go see my photo tour. (The scenery one is the only running template thus far.)

I have roots. They annoy me. I must get rid of them this weekend.

I'm craving Cool Ranch Doritos. I should buy some on my way home from work, 'cause they never have them at the store on the way to Joel's.

Back to writing about crap. Ahhh.

It's funny how when your heart is broken, you realize how many songs are actually about your feelings.

Funny, also, how talking to him makes me feel better, and not talking to him for a period of time makes me feel like I did in my last entry.

Holy, I write in this stupid thing more times a day than I piss. I've got to lay off on that.

I'm shaking... cold, and nauseous. Getting worse by the minute. I want to go home... but I can't, I promised Rick a drive home at 3:30. I want to cry. Getting worse by the minute. Sorting through old files on my laptop. Found a poem from Adam's Xmas card to me last year. Found the 2,000-word essay I wrote him. Found the short story about the time I went to his house at one a.m., after fighting with Joey, and he made me hot chocolate and fed me barbeque chips, and let me sleep in his arms, despite protests from his parents. Found so many of my poems and diary entries from happier times, when we were together. Getting worse by the minute, worse with each character I type. The shaking's making the juice in the drink box on my desk dance. I want to go home. I want to go back in time to a home I used to feel home in, one I didn't have to even invite you into for you to be there, taking care of me.

I ate... I shouldn't have. It's torturing my stomach, taunting that I might soon see those grapes again.

You eat.... You gorge at your buffet. Go ahead. I've had what I deserve.... I'll be in the corner, waiting for my stomach to settle. All I ask, though I long for more, is that please, break from the table every once in awhile, bring a plate, and keep me company?

I hate this feeling. But I hate more the fact that, so unlike every other crappy feeling I've ever felt, I don't have the power to shake this one.

Argh... not feeling so good again today... not the usual, but... I don't know. Forgotten... ignored, perhaps. Although I recognize that he might feel the same.

I explain.

I tried to call Adam several times during our "usual" phone-time slot, and the line was busy. 99% sure that it couldn't be anything at the late hour but him and Tara talking, I fucked off. I hung up the phone, turned on the ringer, and put it down on my desk, thinking he'd just call me afterward. After several minutes, I started to get tired, and determined that he probably wouldn't call at all, much less while I was aware of my surroundings. So I shut off the ringer, turned off my lamp, and settled into bed, somewhat sadly. And I fell asleep, missing his voice. I'm used to a night in which we don't talk on the phone being such a rare thing, even in the time after we split.

I'm not angry... well, I don't know, maybe a little, but primarily, stupidly, just generally a little upset... forgotten, ignored, as I said. Pushed aside.

So what time should I call, to get ahold of you... or should I call at all? Do you want to talk, or listen, to me? If so, please call.... I'm never extremely busy, and Cole's not on Battlenet anymore. I'm not angry, just wondering.

I need a stress ball. I have a bunch in my drawers at home. I think I'll start carrying one with me, for times in which I feel hopeless and exasperated.

Go watch this. It's silly.

To counter the horribly-overemotional drivel I've been writing about the past few days, I'll write a vapid entry, and hope it says nothing about how I currently feel.

First of all, damn October. The weather's gotten so cold all of a sudden. Damn winter and how it sneaks up. I fucking hate winter, and this will be my first year of driving in it every day. I seriously wish all snow would melt at New Year's. I saw frost on the ground this morning, and wanted to snuggle back into my white blankie in bed.

Second, I feel terribly guilty, and if she bothers to read this ever again, I would like to extend an apology to Tara. Even if she doesn't reply, I would like her to know that I don't hate her, I never did, and I'm sorry I made any assumptions.

I reeeeeeeally want some colour in my hair, but I've gotten so used to not maintaining it that I'm hesitant to force myself to break the habit. I've already gotten it in mind that I'm going to grow out the black to my natural brown. Physical appearance, "image," to me, is so not worth maintaining. I would have tons of piercings, tattoos, and wear fishnets and high boots and slashed-up shirts all the time, if I weren't so unmotivated.... But I like it. I like not caring how I look, aside from the occasional glance into the mirror, a half-serious "I look like shit," and a shrug when I realize that I really don't give a shit.

Ahh... the attitude of the middle-school me returns. I like who I was then, so much. I wore a ball cap when no other girls did, I didn't wear a bra when every other girl did, I detested Breaker High, I watched wrestling, I wore ripped jeans and dirty sweatshirts, never spoke, and hated everyone. I was awesome. Then I turned into a chick, fussing over my appearance, dyeing my hair, wearing low-cut tank tops and flare-leg pants and eyeliner and shiny spikes, and I feel like it's been fake.

No offense to everyone else - I mean only that I don't think I've been true to myself. I don't think I really give a shit about any of this exterior garbage. I liked my ears without holes, my hair when I could wash it in warm water, and damn it, I hate wearing bras and shaving my legs. Tee-hee. I'm a dirty feminist bull-dyke, at heart.

Perhaps I'm not being as vapid as I intended - but I am feeling pretty good, now. Making promises to oneself, resolving to change, can do that to a person. Having a little faith... in your ability to do something, anything, to make yourself a little happier, a little more comfortable.

Melissa loved my birthday present, a vine-style silver chain with three red roses and a dangling red gem. She put it on right away and wore it the rest of the day. Thank you, Joel, for helping me pick that out, from both of us.

Speaking of whom, he's really mad at me, I think. But there isn't going to be much I can do about that....

And speaking of making oneself comfortable, my head and stomach hurt I'm so hungry. Leaving, to have some lunch.

Things are... a bit... better.

In reply to my comments on the last entry:

I'm sorry, Tara. That's just what Adam told me. I wouldn't call someone I didn't know that, either, but, you know. Some people aren't that way.

And no, Adam, I don't understand, not really. I understand why you're angry, but not why you're choosing to let this one thing be the end of everything good we had. It seems... it seems like something that should hurt, yes, but not like this! It seems like nothing in comparison to many of the things we've survived! And I don't understand why you won't concede to even the slightest possibility of a chance that you might try to try to forgive me in the least. I know you're running to protect yourself, but you have to understand, love hurts, I have hurt you deeply, but you have hurt me too. We've made the same mistakes... I take the blame for them all.

You say you don't want to talk about this. Can we just... not, then? Can we just let it go, as something that really, really sucked, really hurt, and try to move on?

I need... to stop coming to this thing. I guess... it's me, crying for help, because I feel so alone....

I cried for hours last night, with my mom. I had nowhere else to turn.

Then I turned to a nail file, and put some nice long gashes in myself.

I need to die. I need him to survive. Please... can't you see that I love you and would do anything for you? I would die for you. Please... please forgive me.

No more happy notes from Sunshine, calling me "babes".... He says he's coming over to "pick up his things." What things? He said yesterday, before this fight, that he would sleep here.... I... I need that to happen. I need him to forgive me. god, I need it.

I'm so... pathetic....

It's so different this time... he's never been so mad at me before... he threw me into a wall... he yelled in my face, and he's never been so mad at me for so long.... I've had faith that we could get through anything, but he won't budge on this, and my last shred of faith has become a desperate hope... a plea, please, no, don't leave me. He says I've lost him forever... and he's said it before, but this time... he seems to mean it. And this time, he has somewhere else to run...

He got in his car last night, after our fight, and went to her.... I'm told she called me a bitch. Ouch. But, also, that she told him to work this out, that he still loves me and despite that he may want to deny it, always will.

I did this, long ago. I went to one for help with a problem I was having with another. That turned into something destructive... and... this, too, has turned into something, what you're doing, Adam. Going to her for help with our problems is... not really fair, when you won't stay and talk things out with ME, the person you're having the problem with, but instead go to someone who's only going to know one side of the story, the one you tell, and then, when she tells you what I told you basically, you don't listen to either of us.... But, besides that, going to her for support means she will eventually become your one and only everything... and you told me, you didn't want that. You told me you wanted to be alone, with neither of us. You came over and broke it off with me, broke my heart. You said you were going to perform the second half later that night. But you didn't. Because secretly, you don't want to... do you? It's as I suspected... I'm Joey, and she's your Adam... you hope she'll be the one to rid your mind of me....

I didn't know I could hurt like this... I want to die, I literally want to die.

I made the biggest mistake of my life, and now I'm paying for it dearly. That's what I get for being a shithead.

End transmission.

I tried to sleep, and couldn't. Also tried several times to beat Seymour in FFX and couldn't. Then I tried again to sleep, and couldn't. It's 4:10 a.m. now, and my mind's as awake as it was all night when Adam sent me his first e-mail. I'm just as worried, just as sick, if not more so.

What is with this stupid feeling? Why can my mind not just shut up? Argh - why did I ever let you go? How can I hate you and love you so much at the same fucking time?! I feel so strongly for you, and you have "some lingering feelings." Do you even care that I'm up so late, that I just spent two hours numbly playing a videogame with a lump in my throat, tears swimming in my eyes, and a sickness in my stomach I've never felt before you loved another?

This just doesn't feel right.... Why, if you love me, if you miss me, are we not together? Why can we not just be together? Why have you promised me a second chance, so many times, only to yank it away?

I need to stop whining about this. I've made my own thorny bed.

You had a good idea, Joey. Perhaps I need to do that.

Don't even bother to call or write to me. I know what you're going to say. You're going to tell me the usual: you can't be with me because (insert long list of bullshit excuses), then I'll cry, and try to drop the discussion, but you won't let me hang up. Instead, you'll do a complete one-eighty, and start going on about how much you love me and miss me and want to be with me. Right about here, if you're in the room with me, you try to touch me or kiss me. And sometimes I'm weak, and I fall for it. But it never wins me what I want, only gets you what you want: a moment of my blind, desperate hope that you'll be mine again. A show of vulnerability, another handful of my heart strings within your reach to grab and pull until they sever, and I die a little in my own blood, and you go to her, and laugh.

If you're just going to jerk me around, LEAVE ME ALONE! You know what I want, and you're never clear as to whether or not I can have it. Tell me yes, or tell me no. A yes doesn't have to mean "right now." Just stop changing your mind. Love me, or leave me!

I called your house earlier tonight. Your brother said you'd gone to the movies. I got that sinking feeling in me, and it hasn't gone away. In fact, it's made me physically sick. You said you'd be home at midnight. I called at one-thirty. Nobody answered the phone.

I don't sleep - I had nightmares all last night. Standing makes me dizzy, food makes me sick, and everything that doesn't numb my mind makes it think, and hurt me. I'm crazy. I'm the crazy fucking ex. And all because I'm so afraid... that by rescinding you, I've ruined my own whole life.

Three hours left of work to go.

Um... my private diary holds the details and my feelings of this incident, but Adam asked me to pick him up at school yesterday afternoon, and when I went to his classroom door to let him know I was there, I caught him and Tara being considerably less than frigid. Ouch. I went to his blog today; he'd edited his entry since I last read it. I left a really cold comment, and if you are reading this, Adam, I would like to say that had I waited a few hours after reading the addition, I would have been more civil, but... I guess I can't apologize, because my words were borne of feelings, ones I had at the time. So you know how I felt in that moment. I could correct myself now with how I feel in this one, but much of it would be repetitive, I'm afraid - just more nicely worded. I'm still reeling... still can't quite shake what I saw, or that when I confessed to being "the blur he saw in the doorway," he got mad at me as though I'd walked into his house and peeked through his bedroom keyhole to gain this mental snapshot of young love. My watch said you were five minutes late, and you were in a public building, boy - I figured you were engrossed in some work, or a movie, and perhaps you needed to be reminded of the time. And it's not like I stood there and watched what I ran into. I maybe saw half a second of it, before my instinct kicked in and screamed Run and I turned away from the private matter and ran right into the wall.

Side note: Adam has informed me that Tara reads, or has read, this thing. To her, if this is the only thought I voice to her, I would like to say: I don't hate you. I couldn't. For one, I don't even know you, and for another, the only thing you've done that I could hate you for is something I myself have done and would do again, and so, hating you would be hypocritical of me. I'll even go so far as to say that, if I were braver, you seem like someone I could get to know and even like. Hell, who knows, perhaps in a year you'll be a regular part of our circle of friends. My hesitance now isn't only toward you, though - I'm currently hiding from everyone in society, even my own friends. So don't feel bad. You're not the reason Adam + I fight. Adam + I are the reason we fight. There is just so much garbage between us to bring up and fight about all over again.

Somehow, I let everything be my fault - but I wonder, is it because I feel blamed for everything? Adam's first reaction to everything is anger, even my pain, which I try to hide from him for that reason. He claims the hiding is what makes him angry, but then when I stop hiding, he gets even angrier at me to know how I feel. I guess I don't know which I prefer: him being angry, but at least in the know, or being angry and yet, blissfully ignorant of how he's affected me this time.

I cheated on him, long ago. I guess not so long ago - it started four months ago, and ended a month later. Yeah, it was a rotten thing to do, but I had my reasons. And now he says he's forgiven me for it, and wants me to forgive myself for it, but I can't do that if he keeps throwing it in my face as an excuse to do to me every rotten thing he wants to do. I've long since paid my price - I lost you, I lost happy nights to crying and bleeding. You have every right to treat me like shit, but please stop trying to justify it! Because I know. Every goddamn little thing you do these days is because I ruined you. I know that. There's no sense in repeating.

This has taken me a half-hour to write. Will it even stay in your head that long? I know you're anxious to move on with your life, but could you first spare half a minute for me?

Soon I can put in my spiky half-hoop earrings! Yay!

I set up the slideshow I mentioned in the previous entry to preload images, so load time is cut drastically. Double go me.

Yesterday, as I was driving home through the industrial section of Lincoln, a blonde in a red car sped by me and flipped me off! For no reason that I can recall. It made me so mad. I wanted to ram her car, but settled for the knowledge that she was ass ugly.

And a few days ago, when driving, I saw a horse with a hard-on. Somehow I found that worthy of mention. I've never seen it before, aside from in the weird porns Joey amasses.

Why are rolling stops illegal? If you can make a rolling stop, chances are there's nothing coming, so why make a full stop? To admire the scenery?

There was a cop on my ass all the way from Fredericton to work. Argh.

Melissa's birthday party is Saturday. I'm excited, but nervous too. Excited to see Misty and Melissa and have nachos and fun. Nervous about seeing "Jive," my old... er, former friend that pissed me off several times too many. I want to dress up and look so much hotter than her. Also, she has a habit of smash-mouthing Adam, and I've made Melissa agree to not letting her do this.

The new Smackdown game comes out this month, I'm told. (wants)

Meh, I'm off. My site desperately needs updates, and there are a few work projects I could be poking away at.

Joey read my online diary, found out about all the Tara and Adam and me and Joel shit, and somehow was hurt enough by it that he's threatening to abandon everyone. Oh, yay.

In the meantime, I made a JavaScript slideshow template for a non-profit site I'll probably be working on. It's rough yet - the script's not yet set up to preload the images, which will cut down on load time, and the layout's really shitty, and don't ask why the top reads something about Africa and the slides are Final Fantasy graphics. It's in the development/testing stage.

i am the very thing you pretend to be....