Dear God IT'S ALIVE

*cue dramatic thunder and pipe-organ music*

Anywho, yes, I am alive despite not posting to this blog in a while. Sorry. Bad habits die hard. For the numerous people invested in my life- oh. Wait.

Sorry, that's supposed to be sarcasm. But people are, supposedly, reading this blog now? Why, I've no clue, but their presence is not unacknowledged or unappreciated. Shout out to the lovely ladies Kristen and Miranda for enduring my teenage ennui and far-too-purple prose! Everyone who reads this blog deserves a ton of ice cream for their troubles. Though Ms. Claire may get 2 cartons because I think she puts up with the majority of my teenage idiocy. (Thanks Claire c :)

Ben & Jerry's for everyone!! Or whatever your preferred ice cream brand is < 3

But update! Things are better here at Casa de Alice. My mother has come to the realization that I'm not socially stunted, my aunt is off on a weekend getaway and my sister is as adorable as ever. And, apparently, not going to college. Or at least not yet.

My mother and I had one of our Talks tonight. The Talks aren't like the "Birds and the Bees Talk" insomuch as they're really awesome, impromptu discussions that just sort of happen and end up leaving me feeling happy and optimistic. You can see some of the aftereffects of another such Talk here and here. But we talked about the divorce and how awesome today was (the whole family [save for my aunt] watched the 70's movie of The Great Gatsby, with Robert Redford and Mia Farrow in it. We took a shot of sparkling grape juice every time we heard "Old sport") and a lot of other things.

I Feel Springy, Oh-so Springy

I was going to construct a poetic post last night, regarding the utterly menial task of walking a dog in the middle of a cold rainstorm at 11PM.

But then I forgot about it, got tired, and went to bed instead.

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?

All Those Bleary Nights will Shine with Light

I'm meeting my father for lunch tomorrow.

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:

Living in The Blur

A lot of things happened last night, and it only makes sense for me to make note of them. My mother went to her first mediation session yesterday, and it lasted for the majority of the day.

 It went surprisingly well, actually. To compress a lot of legal jargon that I don't fully understand, my mother has full custody and he'll be paying us child/partner support, along with alimony. Which is fabulous, to be blunt. While celebrating last night, we talked a lot about topics we've already gone over. One of them being why the three of us did such a "180" when we got back from our road trip, back in the Spring. Considering the fact that we moved out almost immediately after we came back. It certainly looks bad; two impressionable young ladies, left alone for a week with their mother and returning visibly anti-dad. 

My mother is concerned about it too, always asking if she had actually "brain washed" us, as my father constantly claims. It took me a while, but I came up with a decent way to reassure her. 

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.

Peachy Insomnia

Please, disregard the previous post.
Forget the previous post.
Ignore the previous post.
Please, shove the previous post into the drawer of your mind that typically houses particularly embarrassing memories.

(You're probably assuming my intentions to be completely different then in reality, however it'd be the best if I don't even attempt to clarify why I'm asking you to disregard it. Also, although I could always just delete it, I have this odd mental obligation not to delete posts on here. Not 100% sure why~)

I've said sometimes, maybe even frequently, that I'm tired.
That's a half-lie.

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.)

Happy April Fools

I never really thought I would be pleased to say the following 6 words.

My parents are getting a divorce.

Screw Cupid

I woke up this morning, snuck up and pounced on my sister, (just to see if I could scare her; she usually catches me before I have the chance) and then I went to the bathroom.

And promptly got a nosebleed.

I can't even remember the last time I got a nosebleed, but I have a foggy recollection that makes me believe it was in my dad's truck, because I remember thinking, "I can't get blood on the grey upholstery".

Anyway, nosebleeds are interesting sensations. You can feel the blood trickle it's way through your nostril, and it's different then just having a runny nose, because blood is much more watery then mucus.

Wow. I really make intriguing blog posts, don't I?

I Always Wanted to be Snoopy

It's with mild anxiety fluttering painfully in my stomach that I write to this blog.

As I'm sure Future-Me (the sole reader of these posts) will remember quite well, we moved into the apartment with the tacky 80's wall paper in the bathroom, and the ugly floral couches (which, to their benefit, are surprisingly comfortable). I'm sitting at the table that I first did roughly a week and a half-ago, when my mother and I first came to scope out the place. We're here for 3 months, as I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before.

The issue that has compelled me to yet again indulge in writing here, is my meeting with my father tonight. My father has been. . . interesting, in these days of separation. His facebook page is plastered of melancholy statements about love, and a picture of a Lucy from the Peanuts pulling away the football as Charlie Brown goes hurtling, screaming through the air. His comment? "A grin of sadistic glee on her face..."

Nice. Real nice, Dad.

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.

Family Knots

Another year come and gone. As the almost obnoxiously-brightly colored balloons insist on reminding me, It's my birthday today. Things were decidedly more relaxed when it came to celebrating this year, as opposed to 2011. And I'm enjoying it.

However, in the long car rides that my mother, sister and I had to partake in earlier today, we breached the subject of my father.

Ahh, Dad. . .

I feel almost guilty, writing this on the couch when I can still hear the faint beeps of his PDA as he stands by the calendar.

Scratch that.

I feel mega guilty.

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.

Welcome to Life

I found myself wondering if I'm a psychopath this evening.

Wow. What a stellar way to open an entry, huh?

But my dad is acing the whole "testosterone raging bull" act, my mother is being annoyingly docile, my sister is. . . well, being my sister. And I'm feeling oddly unaffected by the entire situation. While my dad stormed off without us, I just hoped he'd come home soon, because I left my yarn and needles in his truck for a knitting project.

So why am I being favored? Why do I feel oddly unattached and emotionally neutral about all of this? I don't know. It's rather queer, really. I'm just sitting here, knitting and typing this. I don't really care.

Percentages of Illusions

I talk to myself every day.

Sometimes, murmuring snide comments under my breath. My sister always asks what I said, and I act surprised and say "Nothing,". She says it drives her insane, and wants me to stop. I say it's a free country.

But 80% of my talk-to-myself is different then what my sister thinks of it as. It's when I'm alone, when I'm in my room, when I'm trying to fall asleep.

Technically, I don't talk to myself then.

I talk to the figments of my imagination.

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 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.