No one belongs here more than you.

Joan Baez: It ain't me babe


I'm stuck between party girl and workaholic. Between snot nosed teenage brat and thirty five year old business woman. I want to be so smart and then do dumb things. I want old things and I'm starting new things. I'm so afraid I'm missing out on life that I take everything too far. My passion for everything makes me look naive and I'm probably the most aware of it, but certainly not the only one. I'm the biggest snob and the most terrified person on earth.

Someday we could be dignified and old together.

I can't smile at anything today. I've been partying way to hard lately. I'm making it a goal to stay home all week next week.

After a lot of texting, missed calls and interneting, it's official, I'm the owner of a round trip to San Francisco. This feels positive.

Lie to me, like I lie to you.

I'm sick of dance music and drugs. I'm significantly less happy then I was yesterday. I wouldn't say 'unhappy" still. I pulled some girls hair out last night. It felt great. I could fill a lot of voids that way I think. I never understood why my guy friends would start fights at parties when I was younger, and although I feel kind of crummy saying it, I think I get it. Granted I didn't start the fight I was just taking care of my friends. I'm sick of waking up to my heartbeat rattling my clavicle.

I forfeit the "new one" last night at about 3:30 AM. I think it was one of those things are much too complicated to work. It was more glamor then anything. Vapid. Not real, Like sharing a bottle of strawberry wine on someones drive way you don't know and being too drunk to walk home. Not real like that.

It's always summer back in Alabama.

A few things have happened so far this year:

Alex called me a few weeks ago to tell me that he was working on a tiny road bike. One hounded and thirty bucks I should not have spent later, it's mine. It's just an old Schwinn, but the Chicago ones, the good ones.

My mom moved to Vermont to marry her high school sweetheart. She spent ten long days living with me before she left. In those ten days she didn't have a sober moment. I didn't say goodbye and I probably won't see her for at least a year. I never thought I'd be one of those people estranged from their parent or parents, but there is only so much one can take. I was shampooing one of my clients yesterday at work and she started telling me about a U.S. Airways plane that had just crashed in to the Hudson river. My knees immediately buckled and all he blood drained out of my face. I figured it was karma for being so mean. Needless to say it wasn't her plane, I just needed to feel like a bad person.


I really love my job. My teachers are good people who I've grown up around and know about the same things I do and want to see me do well. Still my anxiety about work has reached an all time high. Standards for everything are extremely high and I'm left feeling in adequate, but I'm still there for a reason and I'll happily stay there as long as I am welcome.

I'll do anything that will make me happy. Even if it's only for twenty minutes, it's been working well so far. At this point I can't even imagine what a week will bring.