Boyfriend beater.

On Friday I got ridiculously wasted and flipped out over a comment that may or may not have been what I thought it was. I started punching and kicking my boyfriend and eventually got kicked out of the bar. I am happy to report that I removed myself, no bouncer needed. That is, until I got outside...I was being pulled in all sorts of directions. I was screaming and flailing arms and cursing and basically making a damn fool of myself. In front of everyone at the bar, in front of friends, in front of my boyfriend who is a goddamn saint. He drove me home (drunk) and sat and talked with me and calmed me down after I hysterically cried and yelled and hit his dashboard and car door and everything else my hands could reach. I believe I started smashing my head against the dash as well. I remember yelling, gasping, crying for him to just kill me, or for him to help me kill myself.
I am sick over this. My head ached all weekend, and my insides burned. My heart probably would have stopped beating if it had any choice, given the hell I was putting my body through...

Disgusting, yes I am. Nice job freako. Thankfully he is an angel, he did not beat me back, he did not break up with me. Thank you thank you thank you. I need you babe. So much. I'm sorry.

: (

Me again, still high.

I am back, about two minutes after I searched for this blog using Google. I searched for my own blog; no keywords, just the facts (the title).

I have this funny feeling that what I say now will not be taken as seriously, considering I just finished typing a blog five minutes ago stating that I smoked. Smoked what, you may find yourself asking, in which I would reply, in a quite obvious tone of voice, pot. I like it! I like to write and talk about it. Smoking helps me out; it is there for all problems, gently listening and providing a warm glow around everything I see. Never a solution, always an easy fix. I type this with ease, I understand the truth, and the words about pot rhyme and wrestle for the spotlight. I am not the Eggman nor the walrus, however I am a woman that is not hurting anyone right now. I am alone in my bedroom, typing my thoughts into a laptop. Talk about lonely. The truth is, sometimes I use my mouth and my words to get the best of someone. It can and has turned horrendously bad, brutal, volatile; I am unable to shake the unforgettable feelings of betrayal and hurt that I have caused and also had sent my way.

When I sit and smoke by myself the only person I can hurt is me. Sometimes I deserve it, for my stupid behavior. A great example of this is quitting my job almost three months ago. These past months have been long and I've been so broke, so unbelievably broke. So I can reflect, ruminate, whatever. The bottom line is I screwed up, and I have not fixed it. I need to turn this shit around, and yesterday!

It's difficult to know where to end a blog, or to start for that matter. I need to change my attitude.

I need to change my fucking attitude. OK sorry, fellow bloggers. We are good people. I am going to fix this, and soon. No lies, just the truth and nothing but. Talk to ya later, sexy..

Smoking.

Hello, I am sitting on my bed smoking a bowl and listening to "Magical Mystery Tour". What a great song AND album by the Beatles!!!! Woo Beatles...my absolute favorite band ever! John, Paul, Ringo, and George...sent to this earth for a divine purpose perhaps, and what a purpose; the Beatles are simply amazing as a group and extremely inspirational through their solo work.

I used to not want to be alone. I used to surround myself with people, and I called it "amusing myself". Too bad I was in denial. A shame that I spent so much time listening to other people complain, doing what others wanted to do. So sad that I wasted too much time that I will never get back.

When I tripped on October 31st everything about me changed, some parts for the worse, others for the better.

It's weird when I smoke I see the light. I stand up, feel more energized, take off my robe and caress the air. I look in the mirror and see my face, instead of a strangers. My heart feels breezy; my stomach feels incredbly full. I just lit a candle, and the flickering flame heats this room and flames dance in front of my eyes. I think this is considered addiction. Time to beat it?

Cure the pain.

I do not want this. This heavy, prolonged spunk. Or funk. This "I want to leave". Nasty and heartless thoughts resound in my mind. I do not want to feel like I need to scream and hurl insults at passersby. I do not want to criticize everyone I know. I do not want this separate mind. I do not want to hate my father. He really makes it easy to though. He has really shown me how to care for someone. (Sarcasm. Get it?) He makes me walk away, and he never, ever chases after. GAh. I can't even write anymore, my mind is too scattered and distracted.

Job Interview.

This morning I woke up early and prepared to give an amazing interview while looking fantastic. Unfortunately I heard exactly what I expected.
Life 1, Sarah 0.

No subject.

I am depressed beyond belief. It is an unexplainable feeling; a hardened tumor plunged in the depths of my stomach; my lungs, arms, shoulders, head, mouth ache without relief, without reason. I try to cry, I cannot. The tears tentatively show their glistening selves on the rims of my eyes. What comes next? How do I cry? The sob will not rise up. It stays where it chooses, I have no control where or when it will come. Maybe at the next drink or sad show. My body betrays me. My mind is an unstoppable freight, barreling down uneven and jagged tracks towards hell.

The Waiting Game.

Straining my back once more, I sit and I stare. The glow of the screen torments my eyes, as I shift again. I am sitting here, waiting for him to arrive. My prince.

Why do these things happen? Life is a coaster I have never rode before, unexpected leaps and notions twirl tauntingly in front of me. I move slowly sometimes, feeling my way, almost blind. Other times I go go go without stopping or thinking. No consideration, much contemplation. My nights string along in between my days, starting early and ending never. My dreams plague my thoughts, de ja vu is a surprise, a pinpointed moment in a malicious nightmare frightens me and causes hesitation in every move. Screams. Silence. A head that won't quit. It aches and it plunders. I feel a twister demolishing my cells. I can't feel my heart, unless it races or palpitates. If it vanishes, stops, then so do I; my body becomes a heartless shell. Is reality so different?

Blurred lines.

Eccentricities, we all have them. Me, especially. As I sit here in the home of my youth and family, I hear a slammed door, a muffled yell, a silent spell. The wall between two rooms is thin. Slightly scared, I hesitate to go investigate. Getting in between those two is a rock and a hard place; I've taken that road, now I stay far away. Who wants to be cursed out for a peace attempt? The negative vibes have my house in a stronghold, the tension is thick and obvious. I sit and try to remember. I have a penchant for cleaning; when I am in familiar surroundings I feel incredible urges to straighten things and tidy up a bit. What do I make of this? Unable to relax, sit still; powerless and indecisive; I am uncomfortable most of the time. Even now, I have a stirring inside whispering that in precisely an hour and 30 minutes my parents shall return. So if I desire a smoke, which I most certainly do, now is the time to go. Alas, I am going.

A New Year!

Happy 2009! The title of this was going to be called, "A New Year, A New Me" but I am not one to fib so grandly. A new me, come on, how pretentious can I get? I don't get to makeover myself. I can act different, sure, but only if I choose to. As of right now, I can't say I have really acted too differently today, maybe a little but nothing noticeably fabulous. I smell dinner cooking, yum, a veggie burger smothered with chunky tomato sauce and topped off by a hefty sprinkling of mozzarella, atop a nest of angel hair pasta. Thank you, mom. Without you I assume I would be eating a salad and some bread and butter. She is getting all fancy for the day. Woo. I am in my pjs, glasses on, with a disheveled ponytail. So sexy. Last night I was, anyways. I have a feeling he hoped I would doll up a little bit more, and show off my goods hardcore. The truth is I don't love my body. I am embarrassed by my large breasts peaking out the top of my shirt. I hate the way I look most of the time. However last night worked, because I have no problem showing off my legs. My legs are long, lean, and lovely. So I wore a skirt, thigh high socks, tall boots, a tank top, a short-sleeved shirt over that, completely covered cleavage, and lastly a cardigan. How librarian of me. Sigh, looking back I could have been a tad more daring. But 12 degree weather, icy wind and snow, and a long drive stopped me. My health is important. And here I go contracting myself, yet again. My health cannot be that important to me if I smoke cigs and other things that can be smoked, drink like a fish, and show off bare legs in the dead of winter. I did try. But I digress.

This blog is boring and pointless. My ramblings are a yawn, even to me. Describing my clothes? My dinner? Has my life lost all meaning?