Chelsea Shay Brown

What can I say that I haven't already said? I find it hard to say the same things over and over. I find it hard to say new things. It's just hard to even talk.
I know by this point, anyone who knows my history of being this emotionally repressed turd is rolling their eyes at my never-ending self-loathing, boo-hoo entries. I would be, too.
It took a good two hours to get myself to start writing something. I'm both bored and afraid of what I will say.
Today I woke up at 1:30 to go to work, after having a totally bust night of sitting around getting smashed by myself. I thought maybe I'd walk into work and strangle someone if I didn't do something to dull my senses (No, seriously.) so I brought a bottle of wine to work and was drunk for at least half of my shift. No one really noticed anything different other than my unusually peppy demeanor and exaggerated hand gestures. By the second half of the day, I forgot about the wine and busied myself with my own thoughts, occasionally doing some rudimentary task that no one likes doing, just so it seemed like i was somewhat engaged in *work*.
I thought about how if I had any guts I would act on these horrible thoughts I have. And that the only reason I don't is because of my family and one or two other friends I have. Seeing as I've been approaching this state of not- caring, I half hope that these people remain a concern of mine, and half hope I just stop caring for them like everything else.
That's probably one of the things you shouldn't say on the internet in-case one day there's a mass killing and the police are looking for the culprit and after investigating everyone else, looks at you and says "well, you didn't really care about your friends or your family".
I think about things in these terms all the time.
I miss my mom. I wish we understood each other.
I don't feel anything for my boyfriend.
I'm too hung up with myself, so I don't think I'll ever really experience love fully- no matter how many love songs I listen to or how many chick flicks I watch. I'll probably dream about it forever, and glorify whoever I'm with in my dreams. That's how it's always worked. That's why I'm not "over" people for years after they're gone- cause they lived in my head the whole time. All I have to do is start thinking about them, and there they are.
The object of my dreams has changed these last couple of weeks and I'm not in love with anybody.

I think I'm one of the only people left who still uses this thing. Even though I don't use it consistently...
Anyway, the only reason I'm on here right now is because I stupidly overestimated how much homework I had and decided that the only way I'd be able to finish it all would be for me to drink three red bulls and a two cups of coffee. Needless to say, I'm wideafuckingwake.
Lily always says that I treat homework like it's some sort of huge inconvenience. As if an hours worth of homework really warrants a whole day of time. And in truth, that's pretty much how I see it.
Assignments totally freak me out. Even when I know that I'm capable of doing the best work in the class, I think it's more that in order for me to stay engaged in the class as a whole, I have to spend unnecessary amounts of time with whatever tasks I have, otherwise I still feel unproductive.
I don't know. I opporate (how the hell do you spell that word?) under extreme conditions. Either I stay active all the time and accomplish a lot, or I lose all interest and am thus completely unmotivated and accomplish nothing. Pretty much the reason I overestimated how much work I had is because I've missed like three classes of Math and Speech and am consequently way behind. I have a medical reason so it's not horribly... horrible. But I still feel like I've already messed up.
I have a phobia of mistakes- and yet I make a lot of them in trying to be so perfect. (I know I know, everyone makes mistakes) but I swear, as soon as I make one I feel like my entire life is dirty and messy and chaotic and it's enough to make me want to crawl in bed and sleep for an entire year.
That, or start all over. Maybe both. And that, folks, is why I still haven't completed a whole year of school.
But I will. I am. I'm determined to clean up instead of dispose. Cause for the first time I think I'd be pissed as shit to see all the hard work I WAS doing going to waste. So I'm just going to have to get it the fuck together.

-Ride my bike a LOT
-Swim a LOT
-Visit the gym a LOT
-Eat watermelon a LOT
-Go to the beach
-Take drives for no reason
-Take walks a lot
-Swing on the swings
-Do a show
-Swing dance a LOT
-Dance a LOT
-Write a bit
-Sing a bit
-Work a lot (gross but good)
-Register for classes
-Read a LOT
-Wear a lot of dresses
-Do something funky to my hair
-Sleep at night
-Hang out with the people I love or really like, and forget the rest
-Do yoga
-Try not to be a bitch

There is this constant need in me to put my misery on display. Not that I really even have to try very hard, but i've gotten even more angry and depressed just because people keep dismissing it or playing it down or pretending like one sunny day or walk in the park is going to make it all better. I think I need some fucking help. As in real help. Not just a few life adjustments (which, definitely need to happen. and will most likely change things for the better) and not just some lousy therapy where I talk about myself, and hear the things I say repeated back to me as if i've just discovered something new. I am mostly pretty well aware of where all of this sadness and aggression and fear comes from. I just don't know what to do about it. It doesn't go away, and the people who made me this way are never going to change. So obviously it's me that has to make some sort of adjustment. Which just pisses me off in itself. None of this is my fucking fault, yet I'm the one who has to make all the changes to avoid the damage THEY'VE done.
I think it's sick and horrible of me to want revenge so badly. I want them to know exactly the things they've done to me. I want to rub their noses in it and make them pay. I do and I don't. I still love them, but only because they're my parents and I just do. But I am completely against each of them as people. There is no way we will ever see eye to eye or get along, really. I am going to have to pretend my whole life. I think they are stupid, and in their stupidity, are offensive.
I see myself turning into this course, harsh person inside, and this phony, soft person on the outside. I wish for once I could just say how I really feel to the people who should know it most. But I can't. Because it will hurt them, because i'm told it's unfair (and part of me thinks maybe they're right, but then part of me feels like i've been made to feel ashamed of my feelings my whole life, and it was inevitable for me to come out this way, and we all deserve to see the monster they've created) because it will make me a horrible person, and because nothing good will come of it for anyone. i will destroy everything. which is really all i want to do right now. but i guess my heart hasn't turned completely black yet because i know it's wrong.
i just wish i could flip out and break down and just get all of this out of me. just one moment of feeling free and out of control and completely immersed in my own expression. nothing has ever made me feel that way. i always feel constricted or like i'm living within the lines. i can never just be myself. the person i am in front of people, i know, is not who i really am. especially not in front of family. i always feel some level of discomfort or somewhat out of place and always worlds weirder. the person i am by myself is no good either, i'm just sad and angry all the time, and all i want to do is think about it and figure it out. then the next time i'm around people, all i can think about it how clueless they are, and loathe any happiness or security they feel. it doesnt mean im not happy for some people, i am. there are very few people that i just want absolutely nothing but the world for them. these are the people who have never done me or anyone wrong. they are the ones who live with their own perspectives and believe wholeheartedly in themselves, or at least live as if they do. i look up to these people. and thats why my family just seems so pathetic to me sometimes. they're so sad and phony. that's really what it comes down to. if they would just be REAL and say how they really feel, maybe i would feel more connected. but they've tucked every pure emotion they have into their subconscious where they avoid going or paying attention to as much as possible. it's why they've made poor decisions, it's why they've hurt themselves, it's why they've hurt their children, it's why they haven't forgiven themselves, it's why they haven't forgiven anyone else, it's why they don't trust, it's why they taught me to suppress my own feelings, it's why they will never change. i don't even think they can see the ignorance of themselves. how can i see something in them clearer than they can? and this isn't me pretending like i know everything. i'm not this self righteous. i just know what i see, and i've connected the dots, and my intuition tells me so. nothing runs deep within them except for all of the feelings they never show.
it would be such a relief just to see my mom or dad express something- ANYTHING- that is deep seated. just so i know they're actually human, and that i'm not the only one in this family who still feels anything.

And I don't know how to make that more clear.

So tonight Judy came over, we all visited and talked shit about the rest of the family etc. My mom made guacamole, I had three bites and then it was all gone. By that time Caitlin was on her third drink, My mom was on her third, Judy was on her second, and I hadn't even started. After they caught on to this little tidbit they insisted I "at least have just one", so I made a vodka tonic and drank it at a glacial pace. Then my sister made me another one voluntarily without me knowing. Then by that time I was pretty bored and was just getting a headache so decided I was done. Naturally, I was given grief for both not being a proper drunk and for not having a clue and really not even paying attention to the basketball game. The latter persuaded me that maybe another drink was necessary. So onto my third vodka tonic. By the time I was done that one, I was coming around to this 'let's party!' idea and becoming less of a tightwad, and THEN they up and cut themselves off and go to bed.
CRUEL, I TELL YOU!

Also, my mom's sense of humor is getting old. In every sense of the word.

I went to bed about four hours ago, and woke up an hour ago choking. I don't even remember what my nightmare was about, but I was scared to move. Fucking nightmares suck. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that I never sleep in the same place for very long... tonight I'm sleeping in the living room so Judy can stay in my room.

Right now I'm just playing every song I'm currently obsessed with on repeat, about to lay down and think about the tooth fairy or birthday cake or something wonderful and hope I fall into a pleasant sleep.

Here are my current obsessions:


Magnetic Fields- Book Of Love (Judah, if you're reading this, thank you for introducing me to this song, I like the Peter Gabriel version too, I'm just kinda in love with Magnetic Fields at the moment)


Magnetic Fields- Crazy For You But Not That Crazy


Magnetic Fields- I Don't Love You Anymore


Magnetic Fields- I Don't Want To Get Over You


Magnetic Fields- All My Little Words


This one I could just marry. I can't believe it's taken so long for me to actually listen to his music:

Daniel Johnston- True Love Will Find You In The End

I hate reality. I hate love as a game. I hate "that's life". I hate socialites. I hate oppression of all kinds. I hate ignorance. I hate hate. I hate fear. I hate life more than I hate death. I hate that I hate life more than I hate death. I hate impurity. I hate insincerity. I hate jealousy. I hate gluttony. I hate laziness. I hate the hipster subculture. I hate conversation. I hate dependency. I hate bad parenting. I hate that every parent has some bad parenting in them. I hate repetition. I hate indecency. I hate government. I hate money. I hate self righteousness. I hate that I seem insincere and self righteous half, if not most of the time. I hate abuse of all kinds. I hate apathy. I hate opinions drenched in pride. I hate facts as reason. I hate inevitability. I hate hypocrisy. I hate superiority. I hate inferiority. I hate that everything has already been said. I hate boredom. I hate lack of mercy. I hate judgment. I hate misunderstanding. I hate selfishness. I hate getting drunk. I hate getting high. I hate a generation of numb youth. I hate being aware. I hate being unaware. I hate giftedness and responsibility. i hate celebrities. i hate guilt. i hate shame. i hate religion. i hate corporations.

I'm really not all that hateful, though. On the contrary, I love just about everything and everyone true and fair. They just seem to account for a very small percentage of the country. Maybe one day when I travel the world, that percentage will expand. Half of the things I hate seem to stem from The American as a whole.

I find it interesting that I don't really believe in God. Or so, I'm pretty sure I don't. But every time I think about how wrong the world is, or at least this country is, I always think about God. Not like, "he would be so displeased" or "what would he say?" [although, I don't see how he wouldn't be completely pissed, to say the least] But I more think back to the surroundings and the environment in the times of Christ. Of course there were injustices and "sin". But I feel like simplicity must have made life just that-simpler, and much less tempting. I mean, how can we expect to live on a path that is righteous if our entire philosophy pollutes it, and really, just contradicts it? [I have pretty much concluded that life is nothing but a series of contradictions because no thought, belief, or perspective is one dimensional. Which has also made me realize that opinions themselves are worthless. More on this later.] I always wonder, as I'm sure most other people do, what are we supposed to be focusing on while we're here? Are we here because we're supposed to succeed at something? Is success the measure of a life well lived? Of course everyone has their own definition of success [and thank god for that] but society has it's own altogether, and I think we all know what this is. M-O-N-E-Y, honey. And I suppose it's a matter of what you do with it that makes you a "good" person. But that motif in itself just doesn't strike me as authentic. I'm pretty sure every twenty something goes through this whole 'to conform, or not to conform' business. I'm not even quite there yet, but I'll be facing it soon, and I'm dreading it because I expect it will be even more dreadful than the dread I've experienced without becoming a working citizen in it. Our society makes me hate life. And that isn't fair, because it's not life. It's this place. Not the land, and not the principle of living. Just the fabrication and brainwashing and clutter and kissing eachothers asses to make sure we don't lose such a luxurious, mind-numbing, shackle-bearing lifestyle. I guess that makes me "UnAmerican", or something. Which, really bums me out. Cause the American that we've been trained to be, by mass media and popular culture and corporation and government- WOULD say that. Simply questioning the way a society conducts itself, going out of bounds to exercise individual thought, and deciding "hey, this is bullshit" means I don't appreciate life here and should just go live in some other low grade nation. Maybe then I'd realize just how goddamn lucky I am to have all my ideas spoon fed to me so that we can all keep the wheels turning and the train moving. I really just think our "freedom" here is an illusion.
Sue me. I love my country. I just think it's been in the hands of power for far too long.
And it amazes me the lengths people will go to in order to keep that power. And it amazes me how badly some people just NEED a leader. Never mind self reliance and that we're all human and [most of us] are all born with the same tools.
I don't know what I mean to suggest. I'm not so sure I'm a full blown anarchist, and most anarchists I've met have seemed absurd. But I think there is something to be said for self reliance. An entire nation of mindfulness going to waste in the purest of ways, and at work only in ways that are demanded of us.
Sad.

Here's something that has nothing to do with any of this, and is also good:

Sometimes things are just so hilarious!
I'm listening to Nirvana- a sound I only come back to when I'm looking for familiarity. I was never that head over dead about Nirvana but I did have a brief phase, and for some reason it just reminds me of middle school when this creature inside me began to take it's form. I actually watched a middle school dance video the other night, one when I was in the eighth grade. I was stunned by how miniature everyone looked. We were such CHILDREN! But I don't remember thinking or feeling too childish. Though, I was hardly a playful kid to begin with. So strange to think how much older I thought I was, and to look at Brianna, who will be in middle school in just a year, and know that her whole world is about to change. I'm not sure whether I'm excited for her or scared for her. I think both. I just hope she doesn't catch on to the truth about people too early. That sounds dreadful. But, for me, discovering that my parents were just as screwed up as I was and that most kids at school were either just stupid [and happy], or very good liars- was the end of the world as I knew it. The dawn of Cynical Chelsea.
Good luck, Bri. I'm here if you need to run away.

He really was a precious piece of man. I'd have killed Courtney in a heartbeat to be next to him.

Ever since I can remember everyone and everything has seemed to be woven together somehow. I remember being a little girl sitting in the backseat on those fourteen hour road trips, looking out the window while my sister lay sound asleep in my lap and my mother plowed ahead through the middle of nowhere in the rain. My imagination would run away with me, or I with it. Eventually I would arrive at a stop sign in my head. I'd look both ways and straight ahead, but wasn't quite sure where to go from there, so I'd look back. I'd retrace my steps in thought. Where had all these miles come from? Where had I started and why I had I arrived at this destination that is nowhere?

I am here because before I was here, I was there, and before I was there, I was there, and before that I was there, and so on and so on. Everything had it's place and time and everything had meaning. As time went on, I became unsure of whether I should be so concerned with all of this. Even then I knew I thought far too much, but to me, my thoughts were my fun, and my dreams were my life. Who wasn't lost in their imagination as a child? Nothing seemed to have an ending, and I wasn't so sure they had a beginning either. Everything just WAS. There were just layers upon layers of little sub-categories. Everything just continued to be broken down into even smaller and smaller pieces that I couldn't even fathom but that all had a function and place in the world.

I actually used to wonder [and let me specifiy that I was really young and imaginative, not out of my mind] if earth was a cell inside a monster's stomach [i don't know why a monster, but a monster] And we were all just here keeping things in line, or that possibly, there was a whole world inside my own stomach. And I used to sit out in the field after school and wait to be picked up, peeling blades of grass, trying to simplify them to their last strand. I could never get it down to just one single blade, and if I could, I would then be facing the particles inside them that would become too microscopic to break down, but were still there.

Perhaps this is why math never came too easily to me. I never could accept numbers for numbers. I didn't, and still don't, understand what they ARE.
"But Ms. K, what is one?"
"Well, it's just this blue bear and nothing else."
"Yes, but what IS it?"
I eventually became aware that this sort of relentless curiousity was tiresome for my teachers and I became very familiar with this sort of can't-we-just-get-on-with-it look. I mean, obviously I understood the presence of numbers, and I knew what 1 and 2 and 3 LOOKED like only because it was drilled into my head. But my question of what numbers actually ARE never really has been answered. Of course by high school there were proofs and far more complex theoretical problems that you would think would have turned out to be somewhat significant in my quest to understand what the hell these numbers are made of. But no, no further conclusions. Math was a blind science for me.

I often think about what's going on in the rain forest at this very moment. Or the desert, or in Antarctica, or just about any place that I'm not. So much is happening that I am unaware of. When a tree falls or a limb breaks, does it still make a sound even when no one is there to hear it? Of course it does. Just because we can't see or feel the presence of the next link doesn't mean it doesn't exist.

And if you and I are made up of the same things, that can all be dissected into smaller parts with parts within them and within them, then aren't we all one in the same? None of us are really separate, we're just each other. And the only way to actually be whole is to occur outside of yourself, speak, and listen. Really listen.

It is upon having this realization at 4am that I felt an immense wave of comfort pass through me. Not just because now I don't feel alone, but also because I don't have to feel so ashamed of my own thoughts and words and dreams anymore. Because isn't that all we really have of OURSELVES, as individuals? Our words and actions? We are what we say and do. And if I were to say something wonderful to you, then I say it to me, the same as if I say something terrible. This is why a lack of compassion not only doesn't sit well with me, but is also just plain impossible for me to grasp. Why, and what is the point, in being cruel to someone else when it just means you're being cruel to yourself, too? It is against the essence of being.

For the first time in months, I actually noticed something as simple as the honeysuckle outside my window and that the sun was rising, and it really did make me happy.

On that note, I've been playing this all morning, it's just making the day sweeter:

Well, you should.

You're welcome to ignore the video itself, I'm not sure how relevant it is [though i wonder if the bride has any idea that her husband already wants out] But the song, it's important. Don't ignore.


If that didn't knock your socks off:



If you still aren't wow'd:



If you need just a bit more convincing (and this should really do it cause it will pretty much make you want to jump in bed with your baby and never leave):



If you aren't yet the most soundly fulfilled person you've been in years, then I'm sorry, there is just no cure for you.

The truth I'd been constructing in my head was horrible enough that realizing it wasn't much of a surprise.
I suppose that's nice.

My eyes are very heavy and my entire head has it's own pulse, but getting my sleep back on track is a hopeless endeavor. I experienced sleep paralysis for the first time about a week ago and I've had it a few times since then where I wake up choking or can't move just as I'm falling asleep. It's usually accompanied by a nightmare and It's enough to make me semi grateful for the insomnia, which apparently could be what fuels the problem to begin with.

If I could paint a picture of what exactly my efforts to fight this plague of dreadful feelings looks like, you would see a precisely shaped skull with eye balls the size of golf balls, with an indestructible gaze at a single Maryland state puzzle piece.

It depresses me even more that that is all I can do right now.
Everything depresses me. I think maybe now I just like it that way. I don't even know who I would be without it.

I'm up after laying down for a couple of hours trying to squeeze in some sleep before I have to wake up for my early flight tomorrow. The sleep part was not a huge success. All of my doubts, fears, desires, and memories have chosen to come flooding me right here and now. Go figure. I'm sure it's natural. But I should be feeling at least some amount of excitement. Maybe I will feel it in the morning after I've showered and fixed my hair and have all my bags checked in and after all the security people are done waving a wand up and down my body checking for whatever pieces of scrappy metal they can find. I sure hope it kicks in then. I really do. Because right now I am as unsure as I have ever been. It's a feeling I'm very familiar with, but have been more unfamiliar with recently. I think that's why I'm going to miss my shitty apartment so much. It was very shitty, but it was here, and it worked, and it gave me a place to feel safe and out of the way (that is, until Caitlin and I have to climb over each other to get from one end to the other) It was really comforting in that it became home, shitty or not. And even though Caitlin and I wanted to literally rip each others' eyes out of our sockets at times, mostly it was the most peaceful living environment I've ever had. There was always company with Caitlin, I was never alone with my thoughts for too long. (Didn't stop me from thinking too much, of course, but she was always there to talk to. And me for her.) We've grown closer over the past year and a half than we ever have, even since we were kids. It isn't just about her, I know I will be seeing her in a couple weeks' time. But it's just the whole idea of another ending. Another transition. Another beginning. I know change is necessary, and honestly I welcome it. I like the new, it keeps me on my toes. I am very easily bored, I've realized. My only problem is I've become okay with it. Just accepted that life is pretty boring in itself. Even though I know in my heart that I really want to see the excitement and beauty and allure of things. And I do sometimes. In people. And those always seem to disappear, too. I've just got to find something more reliable then another person to add this meaning to my life. I have to make it my own. And that is what's most frustrating of all, and makes me feel so helpless. I just don't know where to go or where to look or if I should even be looking as hard as I am. Maybe I just need to stop trying so damn hard. Or maybe I just haven't been trying hard enough. I don't know what to try AT. Or where to do it. I feel homeless, inside and out.

I don't know why I always get on here with the intention of saying something hopeful, or at least something detailed and more concrete than my morose abstract feelings. But I'll be damned if it isn't some sort of nervous tick that I just start spewing out my own personal misery and misunderstandings. I don't know if I should apologize or not. I'm not sorry for how I feel because honestly I'm not sure how much of it I can really control, but I am sorry that whoever is reading this is actually reading this. You can stop now. Really. I just type faster than I write, which helps with this avalanche of thoughts running through my head. So yeah, just feel free to turn the [web] page.

I'm counting on Baltimore. Counting on it, counting on it, counting on it. Going to see the potential with all my might and love the people in it with all my might. (Lily and Beth and whoever else considers themselves a Baltimoron, I promise to make an effort not to be such a Debbie Downer. Really. I hate her just as much as you probably do) I really feel like it's my last chance anywhere doing anything. I don't know how much more aimless pitter patter I can take before I just hit a complete zero. I've gotten frighteningly close, but I still want to get back up. I still have a desire, so I can't be too gone. But I just know this has to work. I'm scared for what lies ahead, but I'm more afraid of what lies ahead if after what lies ahead turns out to be the nothing that has been for so long.

My head hurts.

Five o'clock in the morning smells the same morning after morning. There is always space and creaking on the cold wooden steps that always startle me no matter how well I've gotten to know the quirks of each one individually, and there are always those i love telling me they love me but can't possibly and there is always longing that has taken up residence somewhere between my head and my chest, and a certain fogginess that saturates my brain.
While none of this subsides to any amounting degree, I can wear the suit of a personable individual. I still love, I still care, and I don't think that will ever cease to be the case.

One day these 5am blues will end. One day I will have no use for them anymore.
Gradually, then suddenly.

This song brings me warmth at these wee-hours. The scenery does it just as well.

So, here I am. 4:30am. Sleep schedule is back to shitville. And I'm just'a thinkin'... mostly about myself, so here, I've warned you. Turn back now if you don't care. I know thinking so much is hazardous to my health, but I do it anyway cause I'm unstoppable. This is what I've discovered:

I know someone who says the sweetest things, and he radiates goodness. He wants me and he tells me so. And it doesn't seem too good to be true because there are at least a few things I've noticed that could potentially spark some healthy conflict. But the fact that I'm thrilled to have noticed such peeves really is incredibly strange. Am I this perverse?

I'm just afraid of this.

I'm enjoying being alone and not feeling like I have to answer to anyone... not that I ever really had to. And I'm enjoying not having anyone who feels like they have to answer to me. I don't want anything from anyone right now. And I don't want to give anything to anyone...I really don't even think I have anything to give. For this reason, I fear that I will only hurt him. And he really doesn't deserve it.

It's so tempting because it's what I've been wanting for all this time. Or, so I thought. And it's all coming full circle because I've had a brief history with this person before. But I'm really just not even sure.

Why is it that I willingly spend my time putting endless effort into relationships with people who are concealed, and am hesitant, skeptical and unresponsive to ones with people who are honest and real? I'm used to decoding people's words. Having to dig a while for even a sliver of truth, and even then I usually don't completely believe what I find.

I'm just kind of realizing that maybe I've been the problem all along. Not in a self-deprecating, It's-all-my-fault- sort of way (Though, don't get me wrong, I have plenty of faults) But what is it going to take for me to ever trust someone? It's all me. I don't believe them when they're quiet, and I don't believe them when they speak. Even actions are phony to me. It's like I'm programmed to find the bad things. I am initially attracted to the good in people, because I feel I can see the depths of souls, and can somehow lure them into setting themselves free. But what a foolish thing to think. That sort of thing is Godly. And that, I am not. And after that initial attraction, and once I've already caught them, then it's time for me to set out on my impossible journey to the core, while they sloppily knead their way into mine, unsuccessfully. (Again, SLOPPILY KNEADED... meaning, try harder.) But then, not everyone is willing to torture themselves to the extent I am. And good for them.

People are riddles to me. I think I forget how authentic they can really be. I just assume they have to be complicated.

So, In conclusion, I'm just as fucked up as ex-boyfriends.
If not more.
And in a way, I am relieved.

My lameness increases by the day. And I'm becoming more and more okay with it.

Today I feel blank. I can't decide what I feel actually. I'm realizing lately that as much as I preach about apathy being the worst thing in the world, I may be plenty apathetic and jaded myself.
Half the things I say, I say because they are what's right; what I think I SHOULD be feeling or doing. It's like I try really hard to get pumped about these moralistic values and wonderful things that I even try to instill in others- try to persuade myself that I want them, need them, and could have them, too. I don't think about it, but lots of times I find myself talking to people about things, lending advice- I'm pretty good at it. In theory I know exactly what I'm talking about. My physical feelings just don't usually correspond, my actions definitely don't correspond.
I guess it's just different when it's you and not someone else. But I really don't even know what I feel anymore. Even something as simple as setting my status on stupid facebook is tiresome- I think "What am I doing?...Oh, nothing. But I can't say that. So let's be clever. What can I say that's clever? Maybe a song lyric? Oh but that one's so overdone and besides I don't want people to read too much into it... Oh fuck it. Let's just go with a feeling. How am I feeling? Maybe a little hopeful? Maybe? No? Probably not... I'm having a really hard time here. Can't you just not be so indecisive for five seconds? This isn't rocket science, it's you. Fuck my life. I don't even know. Should I say 'I don't even know?'...No. That's dumb. Goddamnit. I'll just leave it fucking blank. Forget it."
I think/worry waaaaaay too much. Especially about myself. The paranoia and self-consciousness is relentless. I don't know what to do about it anymore. I try to think positive thoughts- positive thoughts yield positive results, they say. But I think my dose of positivity needs to be monsterous- epic even, to yield these desired results. It isn't doing anything except make me lie. "Really, Mom. Not to worry. I'm getting better. Things are looking up. The funk is lifting. I'm taking control of my life. I know what I deserve." Blah blah blah. I talk out of my ass. I'm tired of that, but I'm tired of complaining. I'm tired in general and I can't get any rest or peace of mind no matter how hard I try. You could debate that I'm not even trying if you wanted to. Cause I don't even know how. I feel like my entire existence is a big knot. I don't know where I even begin or if I have an end.
I have an endless amount of sub-desires for myself, all which boil down to me wanting to feel happy and normal. just like any human being would. Yet my efforts seem pointless. I got a job and it pays better than anything else I've ever had, doesn't require hardly any time, and little to no effort- that I can tell. I should be ecstatic that I even got one let alone one so, dare I say, awesome. But no, haven't really felt much celebration inside. And I haven't felt much disappointment either- since you know, this now means it's the end of vacation for Chelsea.
I have plans this weekend with some really cool people, I have a party to go to tonight, and a movie to see tomorrow. The sun is out and it's warm. Are things not improving? They are. My Life is improving. I am not. I am not getting worse and I am not getting better. I am just nothing.

Well! It's late-ish. 12:30 am. I'm friggin straving for some reason. I ate practically an entire watermelon today and have been peeing every 8 seconds. I guess they call it WATERmelon for a reason, huh?

I've been in a pretty splendid mood this past week. I don't know what it is. Feelin' good! Beginning to make some headway with the music, it's beautiful out even though it's hot as haiti, and I am really looking foward to seeing everyone back in Baltimore and creating some times to remember, all within a month. Don't know! I'm sure all of this is partly due to me being less lazy and I know the new thyro treatment has got to be helping.

Having Caitie home for a while is going to be amazing. I've missed her so much.










That's really all I have to say right now.

Man, today was a big ball of chicken shit. I shouldn't say that because, as usual, nothing really went wrong. Though I did almost black out and faint today while I was recording. I guess the combination of the heat, and the standing for an hour straight and the lack of food today kinda took it's toll. Anyway, as I was saying. It's like, I'm totally happy most of the time. I stay busy, and I'm really pleased at my progress and productivity, particularly with music. But other than that, if I'm not working on that, life is a big huge bore. Nothing happens. Wake up, eat breakfast, go for a walk, shit around on the computer for a little, do music until it's too late and my parents are asleep, go to bed at 4am. Repeat. See what I mean? It doesn't sound even half bad, and it isn't. But I just can't be idle for even a second otherwise I feel like my life fucking sucks. I guess I just feel like that's all I have to hold onto, my own productivity, and the things that come from within.

Eh, it's just late. And I can't fall asleep so that's frustrating.

And I want to kiss someone.

I just posted a sort of emo bulletin on myspace where the subject line is a line from a song and the body is a line from a song. I did it because I want to wake up to a message (or two... which usually doesn't happen but is worth a try anyway) and because sometimes I just don't feel like explaining myself.

I wasn't tired when I started typing this, and now, two sentences later, I am.

I want to put music to the song I wrote tonight and I want it to be good. It has to fit perfectly. I want to record it, and the other one I wrote.

I am trying to make it a ritual to write a song every other day and to do a cover of a song every day that I don't write one. I think it will keep me artistically engaged and improve my writing and playing. I think it will help. I don't want for there to be large gaps of time when I don't pick up a guitar or pen.

I have not heard from my Dad. I refuse to feel guilty or responsible. He should call me and hang out with me.

I am excited to go to the beach this week. I am excited to visit Baltimore. I am excited for my sister to be here.
I am excited for my laundry to be done. I am excited to wear my Ninny's vintage clothing. I am excited for breakfast. I am excited to finish my song. I am excited to go to sleep.

I had the most DELICIOUS mango today.