hollygollightly

hahaha, so all this talk of memoriors inspired me to write my own. Sorry for the typoes, I didn't bother to spell check it. And sorry if its really harsh, but these things all really did happen. It's also kinda boring so don't feel the need to read it at all.




My life is not a story of grand poportion. It does not end with tragedy or perfection. It is merely a reflection. And within this reflection one may chance see their own face. I suffered like most do. I cried as much as any. I did not bare more then could be expected of me. But I saw things.
The first thing I remember was the sun. It peered down at me through the darkness of the evergreens and scattered on the dead leaves beneath my feet. People were milling around me, smoking, drinking, laughing, sweating. The wooden bones of my house lay ready to be resurrected, and men without shirts worked to bring it to life. Bit by bit I remember my house being raised from the ground.
I ran my hand along the splintery and fresh flesh of the trees that had been milled to build my shelter. They came from the maine woods; huge monstrous trees which had stood for hundred of years, and now stand, resurected around my head. They are the structure of my life, I dwell in their cavity. My seventeen years of life lean against them.
When I was two, a blonde and bouncing child, my parents moved from the city of Augusta. Most people don’t call it a city since the only things it has in common with the big cities like Boston or New York are the drug problems. Those as well as the constant fear that someone will manage to find a way over the guard rails of the big bridge that straddles the kennebec and leap into the oblivion of the fresh Maine air. I guess that my parents got sick of these morbid surrounding and ran to the other extreme; five acres of undeveloped woods and swamp. It was a dream of theirs to build a house up from the ground, without the help of sleazy contractors with beer bellies and deep pockets. And that is exactly what they did.
All of their friends and relatives came. Prepared with the neccesities; pot, beer, and ready hands. They were all young then, with backs a strong as steel and the love for sweating and feeling the clenching of muscles as they strained to piece together a shelter for us. All the while my sister and I sat upon peoples shoulders, staring upwards as we marvelled at the magic before us. This plot of land had been nothing more than huge trees and ancient broken beer bottles left from the times when this was a popular resting spot for woodman. And she and I had watched at it was cleared, and those trees were turned into the walls of our home.
My mother’s favorite song to sing was Crosby, Stills, and Nash “Our house”. She would sit me and my sister down with a guitar and a tape recorder and she would sing. Her fingers would glide and stumble over G chords as she hummed along to the tune. We would try to sing, but instead we managed to multilate the song beyond recognition. But she would still sing. “Life used to be so hard, now everything is easy 'cause of you.” I find it sadly ironic now to look back on those lyrics. My family came here for an easier life but instead found life to be more determinded to mock us.
When our house was “done” we moved out of the little camper that we had been residing in and tried to make ourselves comfortable. It was small, but I have very few sad memories of living there. My sister and I shared a small room and we would sit there in the night, listening to the owls screeching outside our window. I would stand on my tip toes and look out my window when the moon was its highest and stare out into the trees. The moonlight seemed to make the forest look more solid and forbidding. Just the thought of what kind of creature was lurking in the shadows sent gleeful shivers of fear down my spine and I would leap into my bed and hide beneath the covers.
One night I was hiding there, peaking out at the shadows on my wall and I hear a chilling sound echo through the woods. It was high and peircing, like a baby bird but louder, longer, leaner and meaner. It kept getting closer and closer, and soon I could hear it on each side of the house, even under my window. I sat there, brown eyes wide and mouth shut so as not to make a noise and give up my position. But within minutes the sound was fading into the other side of the trees and silence fell, interrupted only by the occastional cry of a bird.
My father told me in the morning it was a pack of coyotes. He couldn’t believe they had come so close to our home, but he figured they were probably chashing something. A deer or a cat. I relished the chilling thought of the fierce dogs that had been under my window not long ago. Knashing their teeth and howling up at me.
Nature was our life. It wasn’t anything new to see a moose walk through the front yard or to have to chase a racoon out of the kitchen. We were merely coexisting with woodland roomates.
We had to set up a fence around the garden because the deer would wander along in the lazy summer afternoon and lean down to nibble at my mothers vegtables. She would watch from the window cursing them. She had long dark brown hair, and a streak of silver flashed down the left side. She blames me for this. She loved to tell me that the day that I was born she looked into the mirror and there, standing out amungst the tuscan brown was a single silver strand. I have her eyes. Though hers are larger then mine, and dark brown with a ring of green circling the outside. When she took of her glasses, she would widen them and stare down at me, looking slightly insane.
“God damn filthy fucking things, what do they think they are doing. Look, there is plenty of grass out there, why my rubarb?!” She would mutter, shaking her first pointlessly at the deer as they drifted from patch to patch, white tails flicking in a lethargic manner.
I realize it now, but back then I had no idea that my family would have been considered poverty stricken. We had no running water, and no electricity. News reports nowadays lament and pity those third world country folk who live without these things, but we seemed to do fine without them. In fact I enjoyed it, it was like camping for 2 years of my life. My mother would heat water from the pump and she would pour it into a tin tub. I would splash around in the sunshine for hours, sticking my toes into the air and giggling at the simple satisfaction of being alive. I think I was smarter then than I am now. I appreciated everything. Every bug held endless fasination for me. Every stone was a play toy. The forest was my playground. I would duck and dip through the trees, my bleach blonde hair snagging on twigs and my bare feet guiding me over every moss covered boulder. I almost pity people who grew up sliding their childhood away on playgrounds and plastic toys, becuase I never had a parent tell me that it was time to go. I lived in my own playground.
I was a firey child. A “storm” child as my mother called me. Iwas born during a violent july storm and I guess my brain never let go of that mind set. I would fight for everything. When my parents told me they had to cut down a tree, I would run out and hug the tree for hours, not moving and letting tears run down my face.
“Lyssa, come and get dinner.” My mother would call, and I would vehemently shake my head.
“No! Then you’ll cut Lisa down!” I had named every tree in the area, and although this practice seemed bazarre to everyone else, to me they were living and breathing and feeling. And when they were hurt, it hurt me. I was a true hippie. A true tree-hugger.
My mother still loves to call me wild child. All my life I’ve been outside of the box, it’s just how I am. I would make up wild stories and I believed in anything. Out back of my house is a big tree that is called the grandfather tree. I would go out by myself during the summer and I would construct a little fairy commune. My mother didn’t help my imagination becuase she believed in them as well. Even my reasonable sister did. So I kept building, soon the tree was completely covered with shells that served at decks, peices of wood and nails and string that hung down as swing sets, and little moss lined niches in the old tree were the homes. My friends Angela and Molly helped me as well, even though Ange was persistant in reminding me that even if there were fairies they will still creatures of god and that since I loved them so much I should attend church with her. And I did. Every Sunday I went with her family and we would sing and dance and listen to her pastor warn us against the evils of the world. But I always felt apart from it all. Even as a little girl I knew that I didn’t want to live having to follow rules that were upheld by fear of damnation. It just didn’t seem fun. But the cookies that we got after the services were good.
I once came close to converting though. I must have been eleven, and the past months of my life had been fights with my dad and my mother refusing to back me up even though she told me she knew I was right. My sister hid in the corners as well. To this day I still feel that I’m the only one truelly willing to stand up to him. He enjoys the fear that people have of him. Whenever we joke about how all of our friends are terrified of him he just laughs and looks almost pleased with himself. But I hold not one ounce of fear of him. I realize that he controls my life, that he has the last say, and this drives me almost insane. And whenever he feels himself loosing control he finds a way of getting it back; even if it is at the expense of my happiness. It was this anger of his that drove me to “god.” I looked at Angela and saw how kind her father was and how happy she seemed, and I went home, got on my knees, and just talked. I told the silence everything about myself; even the darkest secrets that I have yet to reveal to anyone. And in that silence with my secrets slipping away, I felt almost safe. And this safety almost convinced me that maybe having someone to look up to; someone who yes, controlled my life, but not through anger, would take care of me.
This lasted until I realized that religion offered significant limitations to my imagination. God clearly stated that apparently I didn’t have the right to beleive that I was the great great great, times a million, grandaughter of a monkey. Being the relative of a monkey seemed like a great idea to me, and I wasn’t all that willing to let go of it. So I let go of God instead. And like that, like most of the males in my life, he walked out my door.
Slowely the sun stained summertime days of my childhood began to fade and the darkness and dulling colors were what took their place. It’s funny how my memory works. My life goes from being bright and filled with the green of the forest and the simplicity of being a kid to slowely becoming more and more complex. I began having to solve problems that had to do with more then how I would sneak my next fudgecicle from the refriderator, which is, yes, still a major problem that I suffer with today, but bigger problems loomed. I began to look around me and see the frowns that usually lingered on my parent’s faces. I began to realize that I didn’t know the answers to much, and that I didn’t know how to help people.
As a child I loved to be around people. People were and still are my passion. My mother loves to tell me how shocked she was with the way that I dealt with people. Even people seven or eight times older then me would sit and be able to have a conversation with me. I remember my aunt was in the car with me one day. We were driving through some city in Pennsylvania, and I had heard my mother tell me that she had just broken up with her boyfriend. I don’t remember what I said by she began to tell me everything.
“I just can’t seem to find a good guy. They always seem to love beer and sitting without shirts and just watching tv.” She glanced over at me through the dimly lit darkness in the car. The green and red lights from the dashboard illuminated her smirk. “I tell you what Alyssa, be careful.” She kept talking, even after we had parked. I learned a lot from that woman.
Whenever my mom had a migraine; the sort that sent you spirling down into a pit of pain, I would sit with her in her room. Singing to her or just making up stories. I would rub her back and eventually she would fall asleep. At this point I was barely seven.
So years began to pick up speed. Time didn’t crawl by as slowely as it had during my summers and springs of playing. I started school. I started to spend less and less time home. I found friends. I found things to do. And I found my best, Erin.
Erin. She lived in the field on Old Belgrade road. Her house was beautiful on the outside and gutted on the inside. Blankets served as doors, plastic served as windows, and beads and dreams served as escape.
Erin never wanted to stay at her house, she always wanted to come over to my house. I never questioned it, I just thought maybe she liked having windows. She was the one who taught me most of my elementary knowledge about sex. She would explain to me in detail how things worked. She would torture me with the word “penis.” I hated that word. I look back on it now and I realize that she was probably sexually abused by her dad. Along with as many other forms of abuse as you could imagine. I remember she told me one story, that was it. We were curled up in my bed dreaming up new lives for ourselves.
“I want to be a singer.” I told her, “I want to go all over the place and see everywhere.” She looked a me and blinked. Her mind wasn’t on topic. Her face was glazed over. Usually she was bouncing off the walls and telling me everything she could about the latest news in Cosmopolitan, but now she was quiet. She stuck another bead into the mold that she was using to make flower shaped plastic ornaments. The point of them were never clear to me but Erin loved them so I played along.
“Oh my gosh, guess what my sister told me today?” She said, leaning in close to me.
“What?” I scrammbled around the room to find a blue bead, not really paying attention. Erin was usually making up stories.
“My dad tried to have sex with her.” I looked up, forgetting about the blue bead. I didn’t know much, but I knew what she had just told me wasn’t good. She looked disgusted, but the way that she had told it was for real. “My mom and him had a huge fight and he came into to her room and... It was just gross!”
“He’s so mean!” I yelled, and stopped, realized that I didn’t know what to say.
“Yeah but my mom said all guys are like that.” And that was the end of the discussion. She got up and left. That was just the way of Erin. Her stories, no matter how serious, were always more like gossip then fact to her. She didn’t seem to really care. But throughout my life I’ve had other friends who have told me things like this, and it always seems to come out the same way; like it’s from someone else’s life, and someone else’s family. People never tell their stories like they are their own. It’s always just another thing to talk about.
My friendship with Erin didn’t last long. One night I had invited her over to spend the night and she never showed up. I called and called and no one ever answered. The next day at school the teachers pulled me aside and told me that Erin and her mom had left the state. They told me Erin wouldn’t be coming back ever and that it was just too dangerous. They were running from her dad.
I met him two years ago. I was in a store and I ran into him. He recognized me. I asked him how Erin was, thinking maybe she had contacted him, but he hadn’t heard from her. And he was looking. I hope to god that he didn’t find her.
This town seems to chew people up and then spit them out just as quickly. Erin wasn’t my last friend to face a horrible life here in Mount Vernon, and she wasn’t the last to pack up and leave. It was just the life that this place had to offer.
I realized this when I started school. I met Helena the first day. We started things off on the right foot; she wanted to draw in the sand patch that I was drawing on, I wouldn’t let her. Things led to things. We said stuff that we didn’t mean. I got hauled to the office. That is a good summary of how a lot of my elementary school years were spent. The girls in my grade became like the mafia. Except we could never agree on a leader. It was always a fight. I don’t remember a time that someone wasn’t on the outs, or a time that Helena and I weren’t clawing our way past eachother to have control of the others. I would sit at the head of one side of the lunch table and Helena at the other. We would laugh, joke, and we truelly were friends. But the problem was sometimes our priority was pride rather then friendship.
It went like this. There were about ten of us. On a whim Helena would decide that one of us was not as good, and whoever it was would be kicked out of our group. It was a terrible place to be. You would walk around the playground, swinging from monkey bars and slides, your heart in your mouth and every second was a struggle. Now that I am older it is hard for me to realize, but being singled out and being all alone on a playground is possibly the worst thing in the world to a child. The huge sky seemed to be sitting upon me judging me, and I could just imagine what the girls were saying.
“She’s so ugly! Look at her, she is just such a bitch.” Abby would croon to Helena, who would sit upon her perch at the top of the jungle gym. It’s funny, things haven’t changed much. Girls are still like this.
But then I would wake up one morning and decide that I was sick of Helena’s dribble and I would go, grab Sam, Abby, and some of the others and we would ignore her for an entire week until she and I could find a common enemy again.
Then Julie Virgin came and Kristin Allen left. It cuased the largest shift in power I had ever seen. Kristen had been Helena’s die hard best friend. They had worked together in everything from destroying some girls life to snagging Helena a new boyfriend. But Kristen was also a good friend of mine. The problem was, she faced the same problem Erin had. Her home life was shit. Her dad had cheated on her mom who was now a drug addict, and her dad grew pot in his room and gave it to her sister to sell. What I heard was the cops got wind of it and they went after him. So they had to run away. I didn’t hear from her until I was seventeen, but that comes later.
When Kristen left almost on cue Julie arrived, well Julie and Laura. Laura didn’t last long though. On the day she arrived, she saw Julie and it was an instant friendship. The problem was I wanted to be Julie’s one and only, and Laura did too. That day I sat on the jungle gym and Laura sat behind a tree and Julie ran back and forth conveying messages.
“Julie, tell her I don’t wanna be her friend, ever!” I yelled down at her, and then turned my back.
“But Laura wants to be your friend Alyssa! Just say you’ll be her friend and then we can all be best friends.”
“Never!!”
I’m not sure why, but Laura left soon after this dramatic recess event. So I had Julie all to myself, and we never parted company, at least not until 6th grade.
In 6th grade everything changed. The whole group of girls had been so close for about a year, we had decided to leave our petiness behind us, but then a new element was thrown into the mix.
Allison Meyer. What a nice girl she was. Needless to say we had fun together, but that was mostly because neither of us at the time had souls. When I first say her I got the image of a very skinny alien. Her hair was piled at the very top of her head, and I could hear her laugh from the other side of the school. She likes to tell me when she first saw me she thought I had just gotten out of gym because at that point in my life I had fallen in love with my pink wind pants I absolutely had to wear them all the time, 24/7, none stop. I can’t say I had a very good grip with fashion. I liked big shirts and poofy wind pants, but mostly because I was convinced that I was the largest girl in our class, this was only the beginning to my terribly scewed body image. But standing next to Al didn’t help. She was the size of my pinky, and you wouldn’t think that such a big personallity could fit inside such a tiny person. She was instantly accepted into our little vip group.
Most weekends we would go over to Helena’s. She would weave ridiculous stories about the indians that used to perform sacrfices on her property, and we would stay up late at night staring out at the darkness and imagining the ghosts of indians staring back at us, brandishing bloody knives.
One morning we were waking up and Helena walked into the room, looking nervous.
“Why are you up so early?” I asked her, yawning and rubbing my eyes.
“My dad just told me to tell you guys not to look in that chest at the foot of my bed, okay?” She looked sternly down at us and we all nodded, trying to look innocent but not hiding our curiousity. Of course when you tell a child not to look at something, they are bound to do it. So while Helena and Kristina were in the other room Julie and I tip toed over and slowely opened the chest. Inside at first we didn’t see anything, but with further investigation we found a pink plate with little pieces of square paper and smelly green leaves pilled high and in bags. We looked at eachother and shrugged, having no idea that we had just found her fathers pot stash. He apparently hid it in her room so that when the cops came they woudn’t find it in his posession. This sickened me when I learned about it years later, and again ampliphied my distaste for fathers.
Helena, unbeknownst to us, was watching the entire time, and this started another war between the girls, but I feel that this one was completely justified on her part. I overheard her father telling her that we “weren’t really her true friends if she couldn’t trust us.” And I took this to heart, I tried to never again break a promise, although I failed miserably.
This was essentially my life in Elementary school. Constant wars between the girls, and they guys would just ignore us and play football. Sometime when I got fed up with it all I would run into the field and play with the guys. They kicked my ass no problem, but it was still fun when I got the ball away from Justin, becuase he was by far the cutest guy in my class. I had a six year crush on him. It ended when he got pissed at me in sixth grade and tried to choke me. He was a good guy, but he changed. During our sophomore year he had an accident. He flipped his four wheeler and crushed almost every bone in his body. He was in and out of conciousness for weeks and no one knew if he would live. When I found out I went straight to Helena. I hadn’t talked to her for years, probably since sixth grade.
“Did you hear about Justin?” I asked her as I sat down at the lunch table.
“Oh my god Alyssa, I’m so worried about him. It’s weird because none of us have been close for a long time but... I still love you guys.” And even though she and I had had our fights, I realized how much they had all meant to me. These were the kids that I grew up with, they had helped to make me me. Even though Elementary school was a struggle it was also a dream.
I remember playing kickball with my class during the spring time. I once tried to kick the ball and missed and flipped on my back, they all laughed at me but they all came to help me up. We still talk about it to this day.

I love how I have four friends on this thing. Well one because those are pretty much the only people I trust with my thoughts.

This thing is actually really good to do. sometimes I just need to recap on what has been going on.
So I have a free night for once, no homework, no meetings or theatre or appointments or anything. Just free time. Kinda wish Jeff didn't have to work.

So I'm writing a memior and it will take me a while to get here, so I want to keep track of everything going on to write about later.

So the other night Liza got on and she was flipping out. She was relapsing from 8th grade (as in cutting, wanting to die, temperture spike.) She kept telling me that she wanted to die so bad, that she just couldn't handle it. Now the problem with this girl is that she is top of our class and she works way too hard and is way to busy. And she recently got her heart broken by her first love. So she told me she wanted to kill herself and that she needed a razor, and then she just signed off.
I didn't sleep much on saturday, lets just say that.

Big brothers and big sisters is starting, yay, more free time... right.
Play is starting.... It is called Urinetown. Stop laughing.

Had a long detailed discussion about relationships in art. I asked Jeremy for advice and suddenly the whole class was telling me what to do. So now the whole art class plus my three art teachers know everything. And I mean everything. It's funny though becuase they all seemed to care so much and it really touched me that they all wanted to see me happy.

I love badminton (sp?) It is my new passion. what fun!


Should I do track?

So you wanna know something crazy? I'm very content right now. Weird, I know.

So I have a four day weekend, hopefully I'll get to go down to Jeff's, which should be fun. It's funny, I absolutely love the drive down there. I just crank the music and space out and just watch the road.
I need to take a road trip next summer. As soon as julie gets back. And considering I'll be moving out next summer it really doesnt matter what my parents have to say.


So by now I've calmed down about my fight with my dad, but i know it will get worse again. It always does. They let me cool off them they go at it again. I think they realize that I could move out and actually surivive without them. They tell me that they won't help me with school if I do, but they have no money, they took 3000 from me to pay for our house, so I don't need them. Plus my dad is too immature. He told me he needs 300 by the end of november in order for me to be able to use the car for social stuff, and its probably going to be invested on drugs.
I've had too many people I love effected by drugs to just let this pass. I mean look at it this way. Steve promised me he never would becuase his dead is a fuckup becuase of drugs, and I never wanted him to become that. Even though we broke up a while ago, I still worry. Now we gets his drugs from his dad and is failing all of his classes and just doesn't care. It sucks. He used to be such a great guy.

Drugs turn people into sleaze balls. That is my concencous.
Sorry Mike if you disagree.

but my dad and I aren't getting along again, I guess I couldn't expect it to last much longer, he and I have never gotten along.


Meg and ron are here, so I'll wrap it up.

ok, its wrapped.

First let me appolagize for my petty, immature entries from last year. I just read them and felt really really stupid.
wtf, (reference second to most recent) I'm such a petty person. Who the fuck cares who I cuddled with and who got pissed and who hates me. I for one don't, so I don't see why anyone else would care to read it.

SORRRYYYY


So ok, quick update on things that no cares about;
~My tumor is back. sweet. Last night I passed out in my room because I couldn't breathe from the pain.
~Passed out aggaiinnn a couple of days ago cuase I had forgotten to eat for three days. Me and manda just vowed to take care of eachother better because of that.
~Getting Bs in four of my classes. For me this is a big deal. I'm pissed.
~My uncle just taught me how to make beer and how to fix a 69 volvo.
~Jeff and I are going on 4 months
~I'm getting a job



And I am really really stressed. But happy. This year is the worst/best year so far of highschool. Parties/people/Jeff rock, school/work sucks.

Well so far summer is going wonderfully, though I am not as starry eyed as I may have hoped to be. But so far summer has only been about 5 days long, so I have a while to catch up.

The first day I sat on my ass for a while, went for a run, and felt completely useless! I wanted to get up and do something! I even looked at my homework for a second, but quickly decided that I should leave that until the last minute like I do every year.

Second day I went to work, went shopping, almost got killed while driving in portland by an old lady who didn't know enough to stop at a stop sign and look to see if someone (me) was coming around the corner. Then I went to the AFS kids party, said goodbye, went swimming at like 10. Then on the ride back with Chris, Julie and I verbally abused Tucker by making up sexual fantasies about him and a certain other pudgey boy who asked him to prom. We got home to Julies house only to find that there was no icecream to be found, and that set the night off on a bad foot. We all went to bad in bad moods, but pumped for Vinnelhaven.

Early in the morning, we got on the ferry, and stood in front watching the ocean pass us by. It was beautiful, like a dream, sitting with my best freinds and looking out the endless depths of the Atlantic. When we got there, we immediatly went swimming, and Julie captured the heart of a local named Randy. yes, randy. I Randy was Randy for Julie. Then we drove around the island blasting tecno and disturbing the locals. Manda and I set goals to make out witha random boy that night, but these dreams were dashed very quickly. Here is the story. Caylee and I were sitting out in the band stand at the center of town, and two guys came by and invited us to the party that was going on that night. I was pumped, and so we decided to go check it out. But Caylee I guess decided we were too young and too vunrable to be hanging out with the roough local crowd, so she talked to her parents and when we got back to house after a walk to the store they told us we were not going to leave the house. So we got trapped in the house with nothing to do. Me and manda thought about sneaking out and taking the car, but decided we would come but some other weekend and make up for lost time! Either way, I had a wonderful time. I was so beautiful there. I loved watching the waves dash against the rocks on Lanes Island and counting all the 40 red trucks on the island. I swear, its an epidemic.

So last night I got sorta cuddley with Isaiah at a school concert, and when I got to school the next day there was a huge hubub about the boy who likes me getting upset and wanting to beat Izzy up becuase I spent so much time with him.
Then Nate Richards ex told me they had gotten back together and gave me a killer look and I wanted to go die (I almost broke them up with she thought that he liked me and I liked him.)
Then the boy who likes me told the girl who likes him about being jealous of izzy and hurt her, and then I had a revelation that I am just bad for boys becuase I always am bad news. So far I have hurt all the ones I got involved with accept for Sam becuase he got to it first. Oh and Kevin, he handled it well.
Then another Eric approached me about going out with the guy who likes me becuase apparenly people think that I like him. but I don't. the guy I like likes someone else but is leading me on....



WHOHOO I SHOULD WRITE A FUCKING SOAP OPERA!

Wow, what a pointless day! :) I love those.

In first period I had AP and I prayed to god the entire time that Mrs. Emmersons water didn't break, I would have to go to therapy if that happened. Then John subbed our spanish class, so it was completely pointless and a waste of time. In third period we had a lock down so I sang Phantom of the Opera and Into the Woods with Laur and then fourth period was over when we got free. To top it off, BOYMAN DIDN'T CANCEL TRACK!!! so I had to do mule kicks for two hours.

Me and the girls are planning on a party this weekend and I am excited, I haven't gotten to see them in such a long time!


I am looking for a car too! Its gonna a cheap piece of crap but it will run, and I am looking for a job, I hope I find one, I need the money.

Have you ever asked a question and afterwards realized how stupid it was of you? Unfortunately, I have done this many times, and each time I wish I was flexible enough to put my foot in my mouth. I should probably start working on my yoga because I would use the foot-in-the-mouth technique quite a lot if I was able. Being blonde, saying stupid things comes easily, but not so easy or as stupid as the time when I visited New Hampshire.
Two of my best friends, Lauren and Julie and I headed up to New Hampshire for a short break from the usually drugdery of life in Maine. We arrived late to the house we were staying at, and being teenage girls, stayed up into the wee hours of the night sitting beside the refridgerator with donuts, icecream, and soda scattered about. We talked of all sorts of things; boys, clothes, the theory of enlightenment, boys, clothes, and so on. Only the usual things that teenage girls converse about in the late hours of the night. By the time we snuggled into the half deflated, too small mattress, it was about 3:30 am and we could almost see rays of early morning sunlight peaking their way over the frozen lake outside. I got the outside, and Lauren, being the snuggle bunny that she was, kept attempting to snuggle in closer to my warmth, all the while pulling away at my pillow and blankets. By the time the sun really was rising, I found myself spooning with a potted plant with my leg on the bed and all remnants of my blanket and pillow lost to the other side of the mattress.
Lauren rolled over and looked at me and smiled, sweet as can be, and said, “Hey hun, how did you sleep?” I think my bloodshot eyes, frazzled hair, and fingers so cold they were turning the color I had only seen victims of hypothermia sporting spoke for themselves.
“I can’t feel my legs.” I said, and rolled over to resume to my snuggling with the plant.
So needless to say I was exhuasted in the morning, and gripped my cup of coffee for all that my weak blue fingers could manage. Lauren and Julie were bouncing about the house, making scrammbled eggs and planning my day for me.
“We can go shopping, then go shop some more. Oh, and julie, I have the best idea, take a wild guess.”
“What?”
“We could go SHOPPING!” Lauren squealed. I groaned and headed for the medicine cabinet.
When I got back to the couch, Lauren and Julie came over and plopped down next to me, faces rosey and smiles wide. I must have resembled some sort of creature that even the undead would think twice about before eating. They began a topic about their favorite holidays, and I only dedicated half an ear to the conversation, the other half still in the majority with the rest of my body and wanting to curl up in bed.
“I like Christmas, its coming up soon I think.” Julie said, counting on her fingers. I looked up, feeling the caffeine start to kick in. I tried to think of something valuable to add to the conversation. Well, I thought, I like the forth of July. I took another sip of coffee and before really thinking about what came out of my mouth I blurted,
“When is the forth of July?”
There was silence at the other end of the couch. Two pairs of eyes stared at me for a moment, as if wondering if I had really said what I had really said. I didn’t even question it.
“What!?” I said. Silence still. “Oh god.” The words slipped from my lips as I realized the statement I had just let tumble out. It was then that I looked down at my feet and decided it would be best if they permanently stayed put inside my mouth.

We reminisce with photos and smiles,
Play pretend that the old is still here,
Knowing what was is now not,
And what cannot will not be.
We say hello, say I love you.
Give weak hugs filled with nothing.
And turn to opposite corners,
Filled with the other lives we live.
The value of these words,
Leave me a pauper hungry for more,
And the elephant sitting in my corner,
Is so filled with my silence,
He couldn’t eat another word





GAPP kids are home, kinda want to see them. But right now I am home feeling kinda down.


Nothing really matters

In a splintering doorway,
You greeted me with sadness,
And poured tears into my coffee.
In a white shirt burned orange by sunlight,
On the porch of your rickety humble home,
You branded my mind with your face.
Even if I never turn back to you,
No chemical will ever bleach,
My mind of your stain,
And no soap will ever cleanse,
My skin of your pain.
You were a silly little boy,
With silly big dreams.
Every taxi and doorknob,
Every window, every mirror,
In this dirty place,
Is riddled with your memory.
Your are all I see,
And all you were,
was a little boy with big dreams.





Yea, crappy I know. Oh well, had to write, so I decided to put it here.