Hermit's United

Apparently, my mother has been peer-pressured into anxiety regarding my social skills.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

She's worried about me "only seeing the four walls of my room" and has begun to demand that I attend my sister's club meetings. Really? This isn't the first time I've explained to her that I don't spend my days curled into a ball in the corner of my room, talking to myself. I do actually have conversations and socialize on a daily basis. Just because I don't go over to people's houses doesn't mean I've become a hermit.

Choke Me with These Threads of Life

I've had a headache for the past 2 weeks, and it doesn't seem to be go away anytime soon.

One of the biggest contributing factors to this all-encompassing migraine is A, my father's ever asshole-ish tendencies, B, the remnants of my apathetic funk that I still haven't entirely escaped, and C, my mother and sister. 

I just- ugh. Just ugh. I am going to be a shitty teenaged stereotype and just summarize all this with "ugh". Sue me. 

ive cried myself to apathy
theres nothing left inside of me
(be thankful you can't feel
all these things from the left
they're real)

the pretty girl
with black eyes?
we've seen her pictures
we know your lies

text her
call
fuck her hard
and bare your plastic smile
let the paper believe
let the crowds be decieved
weak in their naivety
clinging to inevitability
let me drown in gasoline
let me fade the way you want
as I said; there's nothing left in me
stop chaining me to these haunts

for thats all I am
a paper

ghost

girl

with nothing left to show
how I wish you'd make sense
wish you'd understand

oh please, just let me go?

Cause of Death: Vacuum Cleaner

It's funny- I was actually going to write a post last night about how life was great. And although it still is, today's events were definitely a bit annoying in comparison. I guess I should've known better than to jinx it? My father had gone for so long without making any remarkably asshole-ish move, that it'd only figure he'd do it today.

Warning: this is going to be a stupidly long post (including some backstory!), that's really just for me to remember this. I apologize in advance, and offer these slightly better posts instead c:

I'm Not Sorry There's Nothing to Save

It's sunny and clear outside, and barely a minute ago something ugly and greasy constricted in my chest as I started thinking about things.

To A Man Once called Dad

I hope you're satisfied.

I hope you smile as you roll out of your big, empty bed, and make your way through a silent house, preparing for another day of a job you loathe.
I hope you hum as you take some painkillers, for the hangover your nursing from last night, when you drank your troubles into oblivion and stared blankly at the sports channel, until your eyes glaze over.
 (I hope it makes you feel proud, when you wake up at 3 AM, having fallen asleep on a priceless piece of stolen furniture.)

50th Post: Angst Extravaganza!

I'm a little at a loss of what to do currently, sitting in my pajamas at the counter top having finished breakfast.

For the past week, I've woken up somewhere around 6 AM, had to pack up a hotel room, haul luggage down flights of stairs, elevators, sidewalks, help pack up the car and then drive until about 9 PM. And this past weekend, having returned home, I've also had to wake up at 6 AM, sleep on the floor of my parent's bedroom, eat at Panera for breakfast two mornings in a row, go apartment hunting, kill time outside of the house, skirt around my dad and begrudgingly listen in to my parent's teary conversations.

Thumbprint to the First Knuckle

There is an entire list of people I want to punch, a majority of which on my elder sister's behalf, because she's too ridiculously nice to ever do so. Of course, I could very well suffer terrible consequences, "physical assault" charges or whatever, but I swear, one day I will just get in a car, drive from work place to house to apartment to park, and punch these people all in a row.

My sister and I have an interesting relationship, I think. I'll do something or ignore her or say something to get her mad at me, and then for the majority of the day we'll skirt around each other, until tomorrow, when we end up happy again.

(We both suck at holding grudges)

But sometimes when we're in the midst of a fight, something else will happen.

She'll get sad.

Silent Clockwork Hearts

It's with reluctance that admit I tend to wish it was just three people in my family, instead of 4.

The idea of simply my mother, sister and I is almost sinfully appealing.

I say this because my father has, as I'm sure is apparent, been "enraged" for the past days. And, as per usual, the cogs that make my family dynamic "tick" are beginning to rust and wear. Basically, it's becoming aggravating and annoying to the point that it surpasses it's initial fear factor, so to speak. I'm tired. I'm tired, and I don't even have to put up with a fraction of the dilemmas my mother and sister do.

Needles and Keys

It's impossible to just have a normal night in my family, apparently.

My dad just has to do something. Yell at someone. Get pissed about something.

Fun night out at a pizza joint?

Yell at his daughter and storm out, leaving his wife to pay for the pizza and ask for a to-go box.

Casual night at home?

Yell at his wife (Instead of his daughter? Oooh, variety!) and swig beer, leaving his wife to go out on the front porch with tears in her eyes, waiting for the daughter to come home.

Leaving me to go outside, do my (pathetic) attempt at comforting her, text my sister informing her of the situation, telling her to "be careful when you come home" and then retreating into my room with note book, laptop, typewriter and my new National Novel Writing Month Young Writer's Program work book. And so to the soundtrack of Sky Sailing, I'll leave this monochromatic world and enter one of my own; still monochromatic, but perhaps with a few pastels thrown in to encourage hope.

And with that melodramatic sentence, I'll see you all. . . Well, when I see you.

Take Me Up There with You

I woke up reluctantly to my mother shouting through the door this morning.

As per usual.

Then wrapped my blanket around me like a robe and shuffled out to the kitchen.

As per usual.

But then I sat down at the kitchen table, and my mother asked me why my father had been so annoyed with my sister last night.

Senior readers of this blog will already know the rocky relationship between my father and elder sister. For any new readers, lets just say it isn't pretty.

The Cursed Key to Happiness

I write this post in faith that my parents will not notice, nor care. But maybe my father will yell at me to go bed, or my mother will softly, but firmly tell me to get off and go get ready for bed. Their quite the surprise, my parents. Something I've learned all too well.

For the past... month maybe? Or weeks? I'm not sure how long its been since I last wrote on this blog, but we all know that I warned you about my irregular posting rate. But for however long its been since I last wrote, I have acquired a sort of veil of normalcy over the image of my parents communications. Things have been undoubtedly better between them, but not tonight.

Oh no, sir, not tonight.

(The Illusion of) Perfection in an otherwise Im-Perfect World

Life sucks.

Well, let me rephrase that: Life is im-perfect. Fact of life, actually. I often read books, but seldom do I read to "escape" from my own life. But that's been happening more often these past few days. And I finally see the appeal of "escaping", especially if it's a story worth escaping into. But escaping dosn't help at all, because when you finish reading "The End" page, then your just right back where you began; in your own, screwed up life. But more on that later.

Ignorance is Bliss* (* Restrictions may apply)

Isn't there some saying somewhere, that the thick and just completely-out-of-it person is better off then the smart and sensitive person, because they don't have to deal with such emotions and never know what their missing out on? Or something like that?