Come on, lick my battery; I'll be your android girl.

Forever.

*

Around 3 more months of school left (!!!).

I am so tired of waking up tired.
It's weird cause, hey, in-between time again right?

This ain't a room full of suicides

We can steal this car if your folks don't mind,

We can live forever if you've got the time.

*

Christmas please.

Inspiration please.

I am the God of Fuck.

This is me every day at school.

Rushing headlong into the madness,
I'm really scared I won't make it out.

39 days til Barbar comes home,
22 days til the first round of college apps are due,
15 days til Danger Days,

10 days til Deathly Hallows,

school shit and work stuff are

tipping in the direction of OVERDUE!!!,

every day is fuck fuck fuck.

High points: Swimming turtles.
Living family.

Having friends.

Low points: Feeling scared.
Feeling hopeless.
Feeling inadequate.

Don't you say hi.

Want to sleep through the next two months

and wake up for Christmas.

I'm getting a bit tense thinking about

doing my college apps, doing school

and working.
All three things are just... a shit load of writing.

And I've gotten so good at living this way too.

You be my detonator.

My knee is going numb.
I hope I won't bleed all over the sheets tonight.
*

Need to write 15+ essays for college apps,

and my return to school is nearing.
I'm in a bunch of writing modules AND I'm

still going to be freelancing on the side.
What what what are you doing?
Look at your life, look at your choices.

*

You can't hurt me.

The life and times of Tiny Tractor, Aged 19.

Moop has pneumonia!!!

I brought him and Schmoop to the vet because

Moopsy wasn't eating or swimming and kept

taking huge gasps of air, sneezing and wheezing.
Schmoop threw up a couple of times ):

It cost $68 for both babies,

I've got to give Moop 2 jabs daily

this week, and it really is quite difficult.

Have been mutilating fresh fish for them to eat.
They WILL live.

*

Can I be the only hope for you?

Because you're the only hope for me.

*

This fight is with myself.
Need your help though.

▲▲▲HAHA don't judge my blog by this▲▲▲

The Tractor is 19!

Mark Pichay approves.

If you need to crash, then crash and burn, you're not alone.

I need you so much closer.
Telephone lines and staticky jerky images on

computer screens that you can't hug,

the light pressure your finger tips exert on mine,

the language eyes speak,

the slide across the sheets next to your prone form.

I need you so much closer.

It is my heart that is making the valiant attempts

of leaping out my throat.
It is my mind that works its way rapidly through the

entire host of human emotions, your last words;

alerting me of the tingling in my bellybutton,

the curve of your back away from me,

remembering the time we went swimming,

the 6am drives home,
singing out windows,

my hand remains outstretched, uncertain,

of its own accord.

*

My anger is its own beast,

sprung from the pits of my stomach.

It has eaten its way into my lungs and now lives there,

breathing the same air I do.

I give it Life, but that monster and this one do not

want the same things.

I cough, feeble attempts to expel him,

but he seeks to destroy me from the inside out,

first weakening my resolve and my judgement

before, as a final party trick,

the demon clambers up the walls of my windpipe

and grabs my tongue.

I will no longer speak my own thoughts.

Thoughts and words clouded by Anger,

I will then do his bidding, hurting

everyone around me as well,

and soon after, he would be in them all.

So how do I kill him, before he is the death of me?
*

I retract my now trembling hand,

and let you sleep.

Ruthless.

"Hey, remember when everything was new

and you made me nervous and you

couldn't get enough of me and

we wrote each other essays in text messages

and we'd stay up nights to greet mornings together?

You said I made you happy, and we laughed a lot,

we had so much possibility and promise,

and I was actually interesting and talked about

something other than how fucked up we are now.

We kissed a lot and made up words

and I knew for a fact you wanted me there.

I just need to know that it was all real.

Feelings are so strange and volatile.

How could it be real if it could all end so carelessly,

and could we ever be that way again?"

*

Everything I've written here,

it could all be meaningless and hollow.
It could all mean... white lies in conversations

and faking the way you hold me.

I don't want to cry about this anymore.
I won't lose sight on what's real, what I've felt,

everything you are.

Don't read this, it won't make things any easier.

It's weird that I'm calm as I write this.

I think it just needs to be said, even if

it may just be sucked into the black abyss of

the interwebz/my unpopulated blog.

I think the reason I'm so pissed is cause

everything we had is tainted with this,

and now when I look back,

I can't see any clean breaks where

I know for sure that it was all ours.

Just endless, glorious expanses of shit and

strange feelings in the pit of my stomach

that I can now identify: fear, dread, denial, anger,

acceptance.

I am the one, I am always the one.

It's easy, I have no idea why.

The put-on sympathy, the "I'll-be-there-for-you-always"s,

fuck you, you don't know shit.

I need one of these things to make it all better:

1) for you to get back together, and get your heart broken, again.

And I'll be moving on, thanks.

2) for you to be happy together forever, fucking amen

3) for you to come back and mean it

None of this "I care about you" business,

none of this "maybe" stuff.

More of "let's do this" or "let's not".

Aside: I hope you know that I don't hate you, I just

think you're a waste of time, you're embarrassing,

and you need to grow the fuck up.

I am so sick of people not needing me as much as I need them.

I am so sick of them thinking I'll be alright.

"When we kiss it sounds like moop."

I want to sit and hold your hand and list every moment

that we've been happy.

Don't you remember? Of course you do.

I just want to...try. Anything.

I'm trying to pinpoint the very moment and I can't even

identify if it's been a slow slide or a tumble.

When did this start?

I don't mean to look accusatory.

I don't mean to expose my hurt all the time.

It's just that I was so sure that whatever happened, we'd be in it together.

Quiet nights and I wonder if it even happened.

Don't leave me.

And one more thing:

Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck just fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Fuck you damn you fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Lessons Learned.

I think I was pretending right along with you,

or afraid, that you'd suddenly

acknowledge the truth in the statement just as easily as

you vehemently denied it all, and wrote it off as my

low self-esteem and insecurities.

And now you say it was only just because of the way

I acted, that you couldn't tell me.

I thought I was acting cool about it.

Honestly, didn't you hear the way I giggled when

you dropped a cute anecdote

or recalled a memory?

I forced myself to ask for details,

and said "oh, really? That's cool" a lot .

But I guess you can read me too, just as I could you read it

in your eyes, in your frustration,

in your uneasy, lost expressions when you thought I wasn't looking.

(I was always looking, especially when the lights were off.)

I'll make this plain and simple,

I really thought it was already.

I recall that the phrase is

"actions speak louder than words"

but I guess sometimes

a shake and a shout are the ones that will

fucking resonate and echo -

I love you.

Okay? I love you.

So of course I knew all along.

I tell you now that I didn't know what it was,

but I was just closing my eyes to mirror yours.

The only difference between us was that I didn't close my heart

along with it.

I thought you were happy.

I knew that there was shit we were going through,

stupid fights, nights where I cried and you yelled 'fuck' at me

for ten whole minutes.

Hey, I signed up for the good and the bad.

I didn't think everything was always going to be

some fucking awesome daydream.

I got through the bad days and woke up loving you just as much.

But you told her otherwise.

That everything had gone to shit,

and you both sat there, wondering why you and I were still we.

Why you and her were no longer together.

You brushed aside everything that I had carefully built with you

and concluded that it was love - you concluded that you still loved her.

You said the worst lines, the very worst ones.

Honestly, you can be so fucking stupid (or just callous).

But you were crying, and I suppose that meant something.

And as you waver and bend and question,

I'll be waiting.

I just hope that when you turn up with an answer,

a new answer, an unchanged answer,

a real answer,

I would see it in your eyes as well.

I know you so well.

This was dated 13 April and I was afraid to post it.

I'll just do it now.

A parallel universe and one of my greatest fears:

"I have loved you completely.

So how dare you make me believe that there would be a future,

when that future is just as uncertain as your heart.

I see you looking at me in disbelief sometimes,

usually when I'm crying or 'being difficult' and my heart just breaks

cause I see you sizing me up, comparing me,

and of course it doesn't measure up,

I'm not going to fit in that _-sized hole.

I'm not even going to fucking try.

Of course, that may not be what you want but

don't tell me you've never found yourself in a situation with me

where you didn't wish, even subconsciously,

that I was her, or it was all different."

Settle baby, you are not the sun.

I love and I lose.

I am forced to bear the greatest humiliations and heartbreak.

And I will fucking stare you down.

Fucking quit it. You've had millions of chances.

Good Things.

Love is Love is Love.

What is light? Where is laughter?

I can't go on, I'll go on.

We love and hate like the tattooed fists.

It shouldn't be this difficult.

When you grind your teeth in your sleep,

I stay awake to whisper in your ear,

"Hey, it's alright."

I called you five times will the full intention

of breaking up with you,

only to get your voice mail.

I typed out a hateful message,

backspaced,

and then a truthful one,

stopped.

"Are you done? Okay, I'm sending you home."

It was my birthday.

I turned to the window,

my mouth gaping open,

trying to swear at you, apologize and explain

all at once.

"Don't sad Barbar, Barbar don't cry."

It was a quiet night but it was all so loud in my head.

Forgive them, even if they are not sorry.

Clementine: Joely?
Joel: Yeah Tangerine?
Clementine: Am I ugly?
Joel: Uh-uh.

Clementine: When I was a kid, I thought I was. I can't believe I'm crying already. Sometimes I think people don't understand how lonely it is to be a kid, like you don't matter. So, I'm eight, and I have these toys, these dolls. My favorite is this ugly girl doll who I call Clementine, and I keep yelling at her, "You can't be ugly! Be pretty!" It's weird, like if I can transform her, I would magically change, too.

Joel: [kisses Clementine] You're pretty.
Clementine: Joely, don't ever leave me.
Joel: You're pretty... you're pretty... pretty...

We'll wonder how good it can get.

Country code: +1

After a long dial, there's a

sudden fuzz of noise, but no talking.

"Hello?"

I panic and hang up.

I just want to stay here in my bed for

the rest of the weekend.

I cry under my blanket and then

emerge to quietly make myself lunch.

Rolls from the freezer and a little bit of salad.

Fucking. Holiday.

I don't feel like myself.

The boys wanna be her, the girls wanna be her.

Doll for a day.

Pretty fun outcome.

I only believe in looking like this if you have commitment.

No fucking point if you switch between looking like

your normal self and this.

Makeup is an illusion and you've got to keep it up.

But red eyeshadow to look brootalz, that is different.

*

I don't know how I'm going to survive the next 19 weeks.

If you come back in 10, however,

I think things would be made a whole lot easier.

Things are pretty difficult right now,

on my end.

*

Peaches, Copeland, Broken Social Scene.

It's simple really:

That I can survive these nine & a half hours a day, five days a week.

That I'll do my best and that'll be good enough.

That I'll have time for you and you, for me.

That you'll come home and we'll be great.

That we'll be happy.