Life is absurdly good to me. I past this point a few months ago when I finally understood why Christianty says that suicide is an unforgivable blasphemy. There was just this day, this moment in time where i felt as if I was living my life in line with my dharma- the universe was so open and warm and created of nothing but God's love. I don't think I could ever try to off myself again having now felt the possiblity of life.

I am getting married next Friday. We are ready. My heart is ready, my mind is ready, my soul is ready, my womb is laying out a welcome mat.

So this whole life thing- turns out that it is not as serious or as heavy as I have been making it out to be. In fact life is fun and good when you activly particape in it instead of sitting around complaining that you are waiting for somethign to happen. Things are so good- my god, I've truned into an Altatis Morrisste (ha! can't begin to spell that) song, "I'm broke but I'm happy...." I am so kung fu a licious right now and I want to share it with you. WHere on this planet are you?

Today is a better day. Keayon made me sick last night. He sees me as a debt, some huge bill that he constanly puts money towards and the intrest rate keeps him from ever getting ahead. He said that he would be happy to pay all the bills and leave me to whatever it is that I do with my days, except he doesn't make enough. I want him to make enough. I do not have any real intrest in supporting myself. That isn't excatly true...I would love to support myself fully and to my standards- I just see it as this overwhelming task. It scares the shit out of me. I take on meaningless jobs, for lack of the glamorous ones that I feel entilted to. I have this rotten sense of entiltlement. As if I am some trust fund bitch. Of course I was rasied to belive that I would be a trust fund bitch....I want himt o reenlist, marry me, and keep his hands to himself- I am one for wanting things that aren't going to happen though.


Maybe I am a failed gold digger at heart. Shallow people deserve shallow graves, and mine shall be shallower than most.

I miss you. I miss me too lately.

I went for a walk yesterday, wandering around back alleys in serach of something more exotic than the same poorly painted walls. I found vines of climbing jasmine, took them home and mixed them with fading roses. My cats pulled the small clusters of trumpet like buds apart and scattered their wilted and bruised carcasees across the floor.

Rent was on the tube today, and I cried for the lady strung out, lost in the cold city streets looking for love. There before the grace of God go I....

THe doctor told me almost a month ago that I have four abnormal growths that need to be biopsyed immediately. I can't work anymore. I spend me days throwing up. The blood vessals in my face are broken and make up hardly hides the deep black circles. This thing does not make me pretty. It does make me scared. I deeply dislike fear. I am trying to be postive, in my own gloomy ass Eore kind of way.

I have made chocies that lead to this. Thousands of chocies that were each a small pepple and when combined built up a huge cage. Everywhere I look I see bumpy walls. I hate bumps.

I am ashamed to talk to my family. I am ashamed of what I have become. How dare I call them now, and cry for help when the distance I have held them at will be evident with every word?

Keayon and I are not together anymore, but we are together. Love is harder than it looks.

I have permission to return to TN. All I need to do is fill out paperwork and pay 25 dollars. If I had the balls I would whore myself out, pay my bills, and go home. Instead I lay on my couch and watch reruns of imagenary lives.

Fear controls me. I fucking hate it.

How I wish to write in here bueatfiul things, things that embrace life and rythme in a non- annoying way. I am so proud of you, so proud to know you, to be counted amoung your friends.

Thank you.

I have been spending my hours, moaning, groaning, self-spanking and otherwise faking slow, sloppy, fast, innocent, conceited, modest, and all out-filthy-dirty-little-slut verbal sex. It's strictly business, and what a business it is. I tired to get my parole officer to approve it as a job, and he wouldn't. He stated that it was degrading, and against his morals. Fuck his morals. It is degrading to be poor, to have to work my ass off at a job that won't even pay for me to go back to school, to be stuck on the fringes of this 'great' society due to bad credit ratings and lack of transportation. I love that something as simple as a mind fuck can pay the bills and pay them well. I can make 120,000 a year faking intimacy. Ah, I am glad to be alive in this wasteland of post-modern decadence- even if I can't spell it.

I really love my dancing Faye. Go BeBop.

Here we go round the mulberry bush....

I called her this morning, confusing myself with the sun, and her with the moon. She wakes happy, and groggy insiting that it was okay as long as I did most the talking. So, I told her about the Paris Hilton sex video, and how waching a 9 year old boy suck and fuck makes me feel better about myself. Odd. What I meant to say is thank you. sigh. Now to find heat. . .

Woke up this morning, to the smell of cat piss, and the cold cold wind that seeps under doors and through windows. I stumbled to the bathroom brushed my teeth and watched the blood of my gums miux with Closeup toothpaste and swirl away down the drain. Then I listened to bad pop music and made cinnamon rasian rolls from scratch. They have a way of cheering up even the darkest of mornings, their flaky puffy pastry, their sweet cinnaom and borwn sugar mix, their heavenly smell. I like food. Food. Food. Food.

I think I am a foodie.

Fuck. I mean Fuck. Fuck him, Fuck me, Fuck therapy, Fuck bruises, Fuck. I am so frustrated that all I can really do is scream and cuss, and hate, and feel overwhelmingly bitter. He treats me like shit. He really does. I can't live like this.

First, I just wnat to point out how fuckign stupid it is to hit me. Hello, has ever looked at me- I have, "i have serious temper problems" written all over me. I am a fucking psycho. I could flip and stab him to death, take a shower and go out for a Rootie-Tootie-Fresh-&-Fruity at the IHOP.

So knowing this, I had sex with him last night. I am filled with self loathing.

I'm just testing this out. You should really delete this entry. I'm just being buggery and very much too excited about you being here. If you want to change anything about your template, you should go to http://livejournal.com/customize after you are logged in and you can "edit customizations" or pick a different layout altogether.


hmmmmm









you are beautifullest