sometimes I can taste my death like a candy bar

Need to create something, bring something to life.

There is so much beauty in the world, and I just want to add to it.

Breathing embers to long-dead leaves, something soon most certainly spark.

Maybe it was getting stoned and singing it at unreasonable volumes for the hour, but that song that was so popular a few months back will probably always remind me of H. That was the most recent relationship I've had, I suppose. Ended about a year ago, of the fast and furious sort.

It was almost prophetic. Now you're just somebody that I used to know. Even at the time, I knew that it would soon be the way we felt about each other. He wasn't right for me, nor perhaps me for him. But that stupid video will always make me think of him and my dingy blue couch.

And that first night. How after we went out on the porch to smoke a cigarette and you wrapped your arm around me from behind. That was one of those rare moments.

Forgive me, I grow sentimental.

today is a day to sit in my room and be sad. I might listen to my sad music, light all my candles and croon softly to the cat.

sometimes I realize that I'm not the right person to live out my dreams. The person I've always seen myself dying as is so different than the person I am that I'm not sure I was ever meant to bridge that gap.

though somewhat romanticized, I always thought I'd get married and have kids. maybe it's just hard to imagine that because I haven't been with anyone I'd want children with. either way, I don't have to work tomorrow due to holiday. I might as well have a good mope.

ooh, coffee's done.

Sometimes when things are definitely, comfortingly over with another person I've discovered that it's easier to put memories of the person to rest. None of them ever go away, really, but they don't haunt or take up much dream space.

Oh but the ghosts, they find us.

Goddamn, I hadn't thought about you in a while.

Part of me will always wish I was short enough to wear heels often, as they're so fucking hot.

That part of me is not my feet.

It's nice to be tall enough to reach your own shit on the top shelf and strong enough to open your own jars.

It feels as though I should mention something about my new place for next year, as this has been the focus of much of my attention recently. After a few sessions of checking the flagpole, driving around and writing down  phone numbers my future roommates and I had a moment of sheer luck. We were hoping to get a place within walking distance to downtown, as two of three occupants of the house will be working downtown (I'm the 1/3). As fate would have it, we lucked into a lovely place on Pulaski with a fellow who only wants someone in it, first come first served. The other people who called before us didn't follow up, and we've found ourselves in a dream house. It's the perfect old Athenian house I wanted to live in once before I left. Wood floors, high ceilings, washer/dryer and dishwasher and two of the loveliest ladies to live with I could have hoped for.

It's okay to be alone. Been doing it for long enough it doesn't make me sad or uncomfortable. That being said, tonight I'm starting Star Trek: The Next Generation season one, episode one.

But turns out it's a movie, so I'm going to drink most of this 3 dollar pint of terribly whiskey in a plastic bottle and stay up wayyy past my bedtime.

Today at work, I submitted my resume for a higher paying position. I also talked to an artist who works at LucasFilms call to set up credit card processing for his trip to Germany for a SW convention. My head almost exploded. No joke.

Statistically speaking, some of us have to be worthless pieces of shit, right?

I'm comfortable with my physical appearance for the most part. I've settled into the shape I'll likely stay unless I let myself go, which is fairly aesthetically appealing. I'm past the part of my life where I need to show cleavage or wear a short skirt to feel sexy. And I'm even getting used to being the friend who holds your beer while you go play darts with the guy who is hitting on you. Bars are decidedly not my thing, at least not the bars in this town. Perhaps I'm harsh in my judgements, but I can't say I've ever met anyone in a bar that became important to me. The sort of people I'm attracted to, or at least, who are attracted to me, won't meet me in a bar.

Having been reminded I'm still capable of that deeper intellectual and emotional connection with people has made it so I can't bring myself to spend time on someone I don't have that with. You're out there somewhere, I know it.

I can wait.

When I say that I feel lost, that is not to say that I have no support system or caring safety net. I feel the concern of my friends and family as almost obligations to improve my situation, if only so they don't worry so much. It seems important to be moving forward, working towards something. Currently, this is finishing school for as much good as it will do me. But something is missing, something feels wrong. In my search for greater purpose or meaning in life, I've found nothing. I'm almost a quarter of the way through my life, and I don't know what I want it to be about. I'm struggling to shrug it off and put the best face forward. Something feels off.