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Canceled Check

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So long, Marianne, it's time we began to laugh and cry and laugh about it all. [Nov. 16th, 2004|12:42 am]
Canceled Check
...::This journal has been abandoned::...

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Excerpt from time and space. [Dec. 8th, 2003|01:09 am]
Canceled Check
Giddiness is madness, but a welcome brand. In the pouch of my worn and wintered sweatshirt there is a cellophane pouch. A pouch within a pouch. A pouch full of colored candies, sweet and sour. Like the taste in my mouth the last time I kissed a boy who wasn't Jason like Jason is, a boy who didn't care like Jason cares, a boy who couldn't see like Jason sees.

The blue ones are best. They taste like cotton candy and road trips to Ohio, too many hours in a cramped bucket seat in the family minivan, though never a Soccer Mom van.

My words, my words, they're circling and clogging the drain. They are scraps of hair that fall out in the slew of shampoo, the ones that defect and reject the Main Mane. Ah, and this candy fix suits my transfixed state. My mind travels on one track, one oft-traversed track, yet never-before-explored. My eyes open wider than ever before, see the unseen, and yet they are closed

because love is blindness.

But love is seeing.
And love is believing.

But seeing is not believing.

Because I believed before I saw.
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By the way I TRIED to say I'd be there, waiting for... [Mar. 27th, 2003|01:23 am]
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[mood |wistful]
[music |Can't Stop - Red Hot Chili Peppers]

Well, well, well.

My relationship with Jake has improved and my worries have all but vanished. We enjoyed a wacky-wild-Kool-Aid-style Spring Break and have been just fucking fine since then. Jake is a sweet, intelligent, creative, attractive and altogether FUN guy and I am lucky to have such a boyfriend. Our relationship is stable, and my one complaint is that it lacks excitement. I mean there are sparks, there is attraction, there is excitement. But it is not passionate, it is not white-hot, it is not sizzling. It lacks depth, still.

So why do I let it continue?

Because Jake does have a lot to offer and I LIKE him and I LIKE what we have here. It could be better, but at least it is secure, it is familiar, it is comfortable. It makes me feel good. HE makes me feel good. He's sweet and supportive and sexy. And I am sure that if I DID confide in him some of my innermost thoughts and feelings he would be understanding. He is a good listener and he is so completely unselfish. I love him for it.

I keep hoping, though, that it will become meaningful in time.

Either that or it will fizzle out entirely and some stunning charming new guy will slide into Jake's place, unable to HIDE his passion. That's what I need. Something PASSIONATE and FERVENT and SENSUAL.

Well, enough. I don't NEED to complain about Jake. He is perfect.

I had stopped missing Nick between my last entry and last night but then we spoke briefly on-line and he said some pretty ambiguous but slightly suggestive things that would have gotten my heart racing had I not been so damn indifferent at the time.

Sometimes I wish I could fuck him up like he fucked me up, but he did not do that on purpose, he is not sinister or sadistic or cruel, and truly I have this TENDERNESS for him, and I cannot criticize or judge or begrudge him.

Sigh. The parallels between Rory and Becka and me and Nick are startling. I JUST realized that.
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Wesley and Wesleyan [Mar. 19th, 2003|03:09 am]
Canceled Check
Are you quite done? Because this is quite ridiculous, and I'm quite tired. Well really I AM sleepy, and I can imagine that drinking large quantities of alcohol in approximately five hours will only make me MORE sleepy and MORE susceptible to diseases.

Do I give two shits, or even one?

It is quite fucked up to see how fucked up you are and to realize how fucked up I feel in regards to the fucked up state of my life and the fucked up fact that I am still fucked up over YOU.

Oh yes YOU little old YOU, Nick, the Hot Potato.

Or maybe I am wrong and if I am wrong and if I have assumed then I will withdraw, partially, my accusation.

I still know the way to your house. I know that way, the wind guides me there, a light, refreshing AUGUST sort of wind that whispers light, refreshing secrets into my ears as I blink, tears forming in the corners of my eyes in response to the combined effects of the music (Counting Crows, Dire Straits, John Mayer, or "Enjoy"), the shining sun, waving at me excitedly (I'm here, Marianne, I'm here I'm here for YOU!), and the FEELINGS, oh yes, the FEELINGS. The tingles, the spring in my step, the flutter and sparkle and shimmer. The CRUSH. The INFATUATION. The DISBELIEF. I blink at it, I pinch myself black and blue, I shake my curls and wait to awaken from the dream. Only it isn't a dream, it's reality. It's just gauzy and giddy like a dream. Only in this dream, this reality, I can actually see his face.

He has two faces, that Nick. His daylight face -- the tanned, beaming face in which two soulful brown eyes are set, twinkling and crinkling. The face of a boy who strums his guitar and creates hemp necklaces and waits in his driveway with his hands in his pockets.

His nighttime face -- a face lit only by the distant streetlight, which shines in through the steamy car window on August evenings. The face of a guy with capable hands, a guy who grins and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and murmurs bits of French in your ear. You sigh contentedly and press your socked foot to the foggy window as his lips find your neck. You are his...

Of course it doesn't last. Everything goes wrong for a reason -- usually so you can sit on your ass, twiddle your thumbs and scratch your head, trying to figure out why it couldn't go right.

But we know, now, why it couldn't have gone my way.

Because Nick needs a new girl. Too often and too quickly he sets his sights on another. Out with the old, in with the new.

And it's hard for the old, well, at least for THIS old, to accept that she was just another girl.

Yes, now it makes sense. Croon it, Pete. I am just another girl. I am a faceless ex. A bitter ex. I miss him, but he cannot, must not know. I don't want him back, but I do.

But it's useless to want him back, and so I pretend that I do not.

Well, as I sit here thinking about Nick and how difficult he made it for me to leave Green Bay, and how blissful he made my August, and how much it stung when he moved on to the German girl and the sister of another bitter ex (the girl who called me fat, too), and now someone else whom I do not know at all, I realize that things with Jake aren't so hot right now.

Not because I miss Nick. Honestly I don't think too much about Nick. I miss him, but not so much that it's killing me or hurting me or fucking up my feelings for Jake.

It's just that this relationship feels very cool to the touch. Very nonchalant and unimportant. To him? I'm not sure. To me? It means a LOT to me. I don't understand where we went wrong if we did, but I can guarantee it has something to do with my obnoxiousness.

I think guys can only handle so much of ME and then they realize what they've gotten themselves into and they leave, quickly and quietly, and wisely.

Is that what Jake is planning as I write this?

Oh, God. Another stupid fucking break-up. I can't seem to keep men for long. They always leave. I should stay single to avoid the hell of breaking up. I always tell myself I WILL, but I don't. A new guy comes along, I fool him for a few weeks, he catches a glimpse of the real me, the me I myself despise, and he leaves.

Such is life.
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The Pathetic Shaking Loser [Mar. 2nd, 2003|09:44 pm]
Canceled Check
My heart's never pounded so boldly ready to pop out of the cavity which holds it so lovingly

protects it

who's gonna protect me

from myself

who's gonna protect you

from myself

I'm sorry so sorry I'm sorry so sorry my hands they're dirty from digging deep too deep didn't really want to...ask.
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Spend your days here and never give up now [Mar. 2nd, 2003|09:09 pm]
Canceled Check
[mood |I'm sorry...]
[music |Sorry So Sorry - Howie Day]

I can't fucking do it.

Who would have thought that updating my goddamn Live Journal would be a chore? I, the QUEEN of Live Journal. The Queen of stupid superfluous updates.

Lately I've been thinking, lately I've been dreaming of you.


I miss Nick. I miss him like hell and something deep inside me twitches and spasms as if to say, "NOOOOOOOOOO! You are not ALLOWED!"

It's so fucking hard.

Everything's so fucking impossible these days. I feel like I should crack right down the middle and fall to the ground, dead and gone at last. Relieving the world of an extraneous beastly burden.

It sucks to have reasons to feel good and to feel nothing but bad. Heavy. Sore.




You know it's just everything it's the alcohol and carelessness and weed and munchies and mouthfuls upon mouthfuls of dirty sin and swear words and foolish mistakes and mumbled confessions and fumblings and broken cameras and unsent letters and unmended friendships and unspoken truths and secrets and lies and unresolved issues and unattainable things people places ideals it's the lack of ephedra it's the lack of stability it's the lack of energy it's the lack of money it's the lack of motivation it's the lack of consideration for anyone but myself.

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Think of the tender things that we were working on. [Jan. 26th, 2003|01:34 pm]
Canceled Check
[mood |hungover]
[music |Don't You Forget About Me - Simple Minds]

I must seem like such a dipshit. I mean, really.

I started this journal with every intention of keeping it separate from my other one, because in my other L.J. I don't always tell the truth, because brutal honesty can be scary. And my FRIENDS read that and I don't think they can handle the truth. Not if I can't even handle the truth. Right?

Maybe. I'm weaker than most. Goddamnit. I have such a hangover. My head is swaying and my hands are shaking and my knees are wobbling. And my head HURTS, oh it just POUNDS, it ACHES, it THROBS.

Alcohol is the devil and it is God.

But back to this dipshit business.

Seriously (oh God, I feel the puke rising steadily in my throat), I started this journal hoping that I could tell the whole truth and that the whole truth would be of substance and of interest. It turns out that I only use the journal to write about guys and that makes me feel and seem so damn vapid. I feel like there is more to me but I am just too preoccupied with the opposite sex to delve deeper, to write something meaningful, to have intelligent thoughts.

So it's pointless to continue.

But everything is pointless.

Thus, I WILL continue.
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"Man are you pretty." [Jan. 18th, 2003|01:48 am]
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[mood |foolish]
[music |Pretty Girl - Sugarcult]

No, I'm stupid. I'm truly an idiot. How can I do this? How can I keep this up? I kissed him back when he kissed me. I cuddled with him on the couch. And when he got up the courage to discuss "us," I encouraged it rather than putting a stop to it. I LIKE him. I really do. I just...don't know.
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Unexpected and entirely anticipated. Who's the fool with the red hair? [Jan. 17th, 2003|01:05 am]
Canceled Check
[mood |regretful, foolish]

Ouch my head aches, aches, aches. Aches. Absolutely aches. I just sneezed. This cold is hell and a half. I hung out with Jake again tonight. Just the two of us, sitting on the couch in his living room watching Orange County and holding hands. And then after the movie watching stupid late night television and talking and laughing. Then he drove me home. As I opened the car door he set his hand rather forcefully on my hand and it reminded me of Anne of Green Gables, actually Anne of the Island, when Gilbert clapses Anne's hand on a balmy afternoon and she only wants to run away. SO WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY? I don't know if I wanted to run but I guess I should have run. For as he rested his hand on mine, we talked about our plans for Friday night (tonight, that is), and then he leaned over and I saw it coming and I leaned toward him and I LET it happen. The only strange part is the kiss itself, for it was quick, it was a peck, and I was expecting something deeper, and I realized as I walked up to my front door that I should not have expected a deep intimate kiss from Jake. Not because Jake is incapable of kissing deeply or intimately, but because he is Jake, a perfect gentleman and generally rather shy. I'm so mean to make him do all the work.

I need to go listen to Radiohead and contemplate the matter until my head explodes. Then maybe I will have peace.
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Outside lookin' in. [Jan. 16th, 2003|12:17 pm]
Canceled Check
[mood |hoom hm]

Thinking too much is terrible, horrible. Thinking too much is my life. Thinking too much gets in me in deep water. Bah. Hot water, too. Too hot. Too hot to handle. I can't handle this, I don't want to handle it. It's fun, but it's not. It's flattering, but it's not. It's good, but it's SO FUCKIN' BAD. I don't want to be the girl that...well, it's too late, and I'm not that girl. Oh, here's a good song. But ANYWAY. I need to be...smart. I need to be...wise. I need to be...careful. Damn. No immediate future...Marya's words mesh with my own and blend into a beautiful, treacherous color. Lie, lie, lie. Oh well. I must just...oh God oh God. I don't know. Liar, liar, liar. Oh here's a great song. Why is it that when ONE guy likes me THEY ALL SEEM TO LIKE ME?

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