I really just want someone super cute and awesome and lovely to come over sometime. We can eat a bunch of food throughout the night and watch movies. We can get into our pajamas and get all cozy and stuff. Maybe even cuddle or hold hands, but I’d probably get nervous. I’d be so shy and awkward at first. But after a while, I’ll warm up to you and then I won’t be able to stop talking. I ramble a lot when I’m nervous. Then when it gets to the early hours of the morning, we’ll just fall asleep on the couch or something. We can make breakfast when we wake up. I dunno how to make pancakes or waffles or french toast or anything, but we can sure as hell try. I dunno. I just really want that right now.

When I was about six, I found a little tiny box of matches on a desk somewhere in my house. My dad has smoked cigarettes for as long as I can remember (except for that time when he tried to quit which lasted about eight months. anyways.), so there were lighters and matches and such around the house. It wasn’t a big deal. But I had never lit a match before. So I got curious. I lit one up, but it scared me so much that I quickly blew it out. Then I dropped the hot match onto my chest. I screamed. My mom came running. When I finally calmed down and explained what I did, my mom laughed at me. I still have a scar from the burn! It’s near my collarbone sort of. Then I remember my mom put on a green bandaid on it and I danced with my dad to Oh! Darling by the Beatles because he always played Abbey Road for my sister and me as a kid.

I don’t think I’ll ever find my, you know, “soulmate.” I don’t like that word because I think it’s really corny, but I can’t think of anything better. I just have this feeling that I won’t ever be satisfied. Or I might be for some time, but eventually I’ll just get sick and tired of whoever I’m with. I don’t think I’m going to be able to be with one person forever and love them unconditionally. I just don’t know if I can do that.

So, sometimes when I’m just like making out with someone or just, you know, stuff is going on with me and someone else, I get kind of. I dunno. Bored, I guess, and my mind starts to wander and I end up thinking about completely unrelated things. Things like wondering if I have any homework to do. Or if I have any books to read when I get home. It sounds kind of awful, but it happens kind of often. 

I really, really, really want a tattoo. I asked my mom if I could get one this summer if I really wanted one. She said she doesn’t care at all. My dad is the one who would care. 

Just. I dunno. I really want a tattoo. And I know it’s going to be Vonnegut related. I’m 95% sure I want “So it goes.” between my shoulder blades in some really nice serif font. I just really want a tattoo.

I have this problem where I get really flustered when I talk to attractive guys I don’t know too well in person. I end up saying really weird things, things that don’t make sense, or I make weird noises, or just everything generally goes wrong and I end up making myself look like the weirdest and dumbest girl on the planet.

For instance.

In my photography class, there’s this really cute guy, and he’s sorta goofy, and has excellent taste in movies. We were sort of in this little group all talking and he goes, “have you guys seen V for Vendetta?” Me and a couple of other people said yeah, we have. And he said, “well, I got the guy’s mask!” and, idiotically, I said, “oh that, uh, Guy Fieri mask? OH WAIT NO I mean I just wait no I meant Guy Fawkes not the cooking show guy yeah I meant Guy Fawkes.” He just laughed in a sort of, that’s embarrassing and I feel really bad for you sort of way.

And so I just ended up looking like an idiot and I made weird noises and made a goddamn fool of myself. I just sort of went to the bathroom and stayed there until people forgot I existed.　

In chemistry today, we were doing a lab and all, and it was boring because it was just things heating up and then cooling down. But that’s irrelevant to the story. I overheard the table behind me talking, and they were talking about English class and such. This one kid was going on and on about how dumb that class is, how all of the books are so stupid and boring, you know, the usual teenage stuff. But then, he says this:

“…but okay the worst book I ever read in english was this one book, 1984. It’s about this guy in this like dystopian world where they all worship some guy and he’s all like oh I’m gonna join the secret society and it was just a setup so he gets tortured for like half the book until he loves the guy they worship. It was so dumb. But I only read the first chapter and then failed the chapter quiz, so I figured there’s no point in reading the rest.”

As a person who really, really, really, really loved 1984, I WAS SO ANGRY.

I MEAN JUST. ARRGHFJKDHFJDKSNFDJ.

Yeah.

I don’t want anyone to like me or love me or want to be with me. I really don’t. I’d get too suffocated and I’d get bored and I’d probably just end up being annoying and just hurt someone. I don’t deserve it, I know that, but that’s not even the main thing. I just don’t want it. It makes me feel so strange now. Knowing that someone is interested in me makes me feel really weird. It makes me a bit repelled by them, even if they’re one of my friends. I can’t really explain it, but I know that I don’t like it. I don’t want to be with anyone and I really don’t want anyone to want to be with me. I’d like to be alone. I like being alone.

I told this to a friend of mine today:

Say by some ridiculous chance, two different guys were interested in me. One of them is really sweet, nice, kind, funny, sensitive and just all around good guy. The other is similar. He can be really nice and sweet and really funny, but he can be a bit of an asshole too.

I would choose the one who can be an asshole every time.

Honestly, if I met that super sweet kid, I would get so bored. I’m sorry if that sounds awful, but it’s the truth. I would get incredibly bored. He would just be so nice all the time and that can be infuriating and suffocating. I know I can be a bitch, he’ll see my bad side at some point. But if he just doesn’t even have a bad side, well, I mean, that’s just nuts. I dunno. I just don’t think I’d be able to stand it. I would get bored and go absolutely crazy. I’d choose the asshole over the super sweet guy any day.

I suddenly feel extremely lonely. I’m in the same room as my sister right now, but it feels like she doesn’t even exist. I know I exist though. I know I do. I’m just not sure if anything else does. And I feel so incredibly lonely. I don’t want to say abandoned, but that’s almost what it feels like and it doesn’t make any sense. I’m not sure where I’m going with this.　

Do you guys remember Aaron Carter?

Well, I certainly do.

Because back in 2000 or so when Aaron’s Party (Come Get It) came out, I was pretty convinced that I was going to marry him.

That’s all I really wanted to say.

So. Yeah. Just putting that out there.

i had a dream that a girl who followed me on tumblr called me and she said she lived in alaska but she’s from brazil and she liked to smoke weed all the time and something happened and she was like “fuck yeah i just saved your life” and then my mom and i had to return these chairs but we forgot where we got them from. so we just went to marshalls and walked around and left the chairs in random places. and then we went to the customer service and the guy who plays Dwight on the office worked there, only he was super old. and he thought he was so awesome and i called him a dick. and that was it.

Earlier I was peeling potatoes for dinner and this one potato had so many of those gross spots on them that were difficult to get out so I started quoting Lady Macbeth and I was saying, “Out, damned spot! Out I say!” And this was the second time that my family did not get a literary reference. Uncultured swines.

My mind is clouded and it feels like I can’t see. There is a fog, a haze, that is obscuring my view of the world around me. Am I really here? Am I alive? Do I even exist? Questions I ask myself when I cannot feel. I can feel my icy fingers clasping onto my own arm. I can feel the stale cement walls surrounding me. Yet I am empty inside. Behind my rib cage lies a barely beating heart. Feeble and crying. This conscious state exhausts me. I wear myself out by being alive. Sleep is my only comfort anymore. I am only content when unconscious. My thoughts haunt me during the day. It’s as though the 4 am thoughts have crept into the afternoon to corrupt my mind. My mind wants to destroy itself. I need to write. My hand cannot be stilled. I will write until the day I die. Death. Death. It needed to be written. The ink flows so smoothly, running down my fingertips and into the page, forming itself into words that I so desperately want to be read by someone else. I will never let anyone read these words. They belong to me. They are written in my blood. The ink has become my blood. Black and thick. Cold. Stale. Stagnant. Like my fragile heart. One day, it’s going to give out on me. I’m going to die one day. I’m going to die one day. I’m going to die one day. I’m going to die one day. I’m going to die one day. I’m going to die one day.

This short life has exhausted me.