just hung up on one of the many ridiculously rude doctors in the pain service.

i'm going to pretend

that i feel absolutely nothing about you.
and hope beyond all hope, and wish beyond reasonable wishes,
that sooner, rather than later,
my make-believe game becomes my reality.

There is something about being in the hospital and on pain medication that makes me want/need to cry for ever and ever. The first day was fine. Yesterday was fine. But today, I just am going crazy. Every time someone comes in to talk to me, I get pissed off. Especially when they're friggen idiots or anesthesiologists who don't know what they're doing. 

I can't keep my eyes open, and it's insane. I really don't like it. I keep falling half asleep, than jolting myself up. I've got a nice roommate though. Her name is Amanda, and she's twenty-two. We have the same taste in movies, and so we're watching Another Cinderella Story together. It's incredibly hard to type right now, because I keep closing my eyes and like falling asleep. every. second.

I'm going to go now. I fell asleep writing this, and then got up and got a cupcake with a nurse. (One of my oldies that I love more than anything - Kerry.) And now, I don't really know what I'm going to do. But I'm going to do something. :) I'm feeling a shitton better now - not nearly as cranky. 

Thanksgiving 2010

I'm putting together a thankful list. It won't be artsy, most likely, and it'll be cheesy, but it's coming from the heart, so... shove off.

• Kelsey DeBettencourt - She was a good friend of mine in elementary school, and we got really close over the summer. Even though we don't get to see each other nearly enough during the school year because we go to separate schools, she still makes the top of my list. I love you so much, Kels, and I'm so proud and happy to be able to call you my best friend again. 
• My health - My body may be doing some crazy ass things right now that don't make me happy, but I'm still here, and I'm still able to live at home. My liver biopsy results came back, and the growths on my liver are benign, and basically the best things they could be for growths on a liver :P 
• My school buddies - I don't really want to put all the names here, but just know that I really do appreciate everything you guys do for me. We might not be the best of friends, but I love being able to sit with you in school and just bitch about everyone else. 
• The fact that I'll be in college next year - I can't wait to be out of my house and on my own, without my crazy ass family who drive me insane. (And not in the normal teenager way, in the actual I can't stand them way) 
• The talent that I have - As much as I might put myself down, I am a great writer. And that's something that will always be with me, and I refuse to take it for granted. 
• The adults in my life who are always there for me - There aren't many of them, but they let me complain to them, and treat me like an equal instead of some whiny little kid, and it means a lot to me. 
• Kevin and Haley - Even though we seem to be falling apart and losing each other, I still love you guys, and I'm so happy that I know you. You're lovely. 
• JESSIE NEGROTTI - My CPSSWCCS. I'm so glad that we're getting back to the way we were. I've missed you so much, and our friendship means the world to me. You always make me feel better when I'm upset, and I'm sorry if I've been monopolizing our conversations with my life lately. I promise to be better. 
• The fall - It's my favorite. 'Nuff said.

There are so many more things and people that I could put on here, but I'm going to stop for now. I'll probably end up doing a really cheesy and long one in my notebook later. 

I am not an easy person to get along with. I am not an easy person to like, or be friends with. I know this about myself, and I'm not going to try and deny it, or make excuses. I'm needy; I have a tendency to always be "fine" until everything boils over and I call you sobbing. I am extremely stubborn, and I like to be locked into plans. I'm good at listening, but have a tendency to talk about myself too much - and not even important stuff, just inconsequential fluff. I sometimes expect people to read my mind and do what I want/need without having to voice it, and then get angry when that doesn't happen. I call people idiots too much, especially when they do something I don't like. And I don't like a lot of things that people do. There are so many more that I could list, but I won't.

But I'm not going to change. I tried that; it doesn't work. I become someone I don't even know - I barely know who I am now, I refuse to become unrecognizable when I look in the mirror. But I'm terrified that that's what being at school is doing to me. I've started to watch what I say in class during discussions, I've started to censor myself (with today excluded because I totally just had no filter whatsoever.) and just change. And I don't like it. I don't like that I have to do this. I wish that I could feel comfortable enough around these people, or at least comfortable enough with myself, that I can just be who I am with no fear of judgment. Cause you know what, jerkoffs, my opinion is important, what I have to say does make a difference, even if all you want to do is roll your eyes. Just because you come to school high or hungover and the sound of my voice is grating on your ears, suck it the fuck up. Just because you don't want to be here doesn't mean you get to make the rest of us miserable.


This has changed from an actualization/epiphany post to a tirade about school. Time to shut up.

I don't get it. I really don't. You tell me that I'm your best friend, and you let me call you mine. But why am I the only one giving right now? I get that you're having issues. I know you are. I know you're having a hard time of it. I know you are.

But so am I. And I love you. But this past week and a half, I've started to resent you. Because all I've needed was my best friend, someone to just be there for me and give me a hug, and tell me that I'm going to be okay. But you couldn't even do that for me. I don't want to bitch to you, I don't want to unload to you. You know that's not what I'm about. But I needed you to help me get my mind off of things. And for whatever reason, you were incapable of doing that.

I'm not saying I'm mad. (Well, I kind of am saying that. But I'm not really mad.) What I'm saying is that I'm just... I'm sad. 'Cause I believed you when you said that you would always be there for me. And now you've just... you've proven that everyone breaks their promises, at least once.

I still love you. I still think you're the best friend I could've asked for. I just... I guess I was hoping that human error didn't apply to you.

11 - a deceased person you wish you could talk to

Dear you,

I wish you were still here. It's kind of ironic that this number is a year younger than you would be right now, and a year older than you'll ever be. Tuesday will be two years and a month since you died, and I wish I could say something corny like I think about you every day, or everything I do, I do with you in mind, but I don't. I guess in my head, you're still here. I never got a chance to mourn; it wasn't something I let myself do, and it most certainly wasn't something my parents were about to help me with.

I guess the reason I wish I could talk to you is to tell you how sorry I am. I know I don't have any need to be, that nothing I did could have caused or prevented anything, but I am. Our situations were exactly the same, and for the life of me, as much as I try to understand it, I don't know why it was you and not me. I know it's wrong to say that sometimes I wish it was me instead of you, but I do. I had four years on you, and a family that was already broken.

I also want to say goodbye. I never got to. I never let myself feel anything, and goodbyes were part of that package. I wonder if I wouldn't be as fucked up now if I had been able to say goodbye; not just to you, but to everyone who's up there with you. (Which, as I come to think of it, is also eleven.)

And I want to know what it was like. I know that's morbid, but I do. I want to make sure you weren't scared, I want to make sure that you weren't in pain, but I also want to know for myself, so that I know when my time comes, and I want to know that dying wasn't you giving up. That you were fighting until the last second, and in the end, you just... lost. I know it sounds bad, but I just... I want to know. I want to be able to say goodbye, and I want to be able to say I'm sorry, and that I love you, and ask you if you did all that you could.

But mostly I just miss you.

Love,
me.

10 - someone you don't talk to as much as you'd like

Dear you,

I don't really know why we don't talk anymore. I guess it's because we were never really friends, I just wanted us to be. And I know that that actually means that this letter probably shouldn't be for you, but whatever. I'm done with shoulds.

I hope you know that I really did want us to be friends. And I would've been a damn good friend, too. I wish we talked more, because than maybe you'd get it. But whenever I try to chat with you, you're always busy. I don't know if it's you blowing me off, or what, but it kinda sucks. So I've basically stopped trying. I think I've figured it out, though. You're a happy person, a shiny person, a good-times girl. I don't know how to be shiny, I don't know how to deal with shiny people. You need a guy to feel validated, I wouldn't even know how to let a guy be my sole source of validation. We're two entirely different people at totally different points in our life, and while we tried to intersect for a while, and even though when we do talk, we have interesting conversations, we don't talk often enough to be considered more than "acquaintances." Maybe this will change in the years to come, but maybe we'll just always be each others "maybes."

Love,
me.

9 - someone you wish you could meet

Dear you,

I guess I could start this off by saying I'm you're biggest fan, but I'm sure that's not true. I'm not particularly overweight, so it's a no on the literal sense, and there are probably people who have done insanely dangerous and stupid things to try and get to meet you, so it's a no in the metaphorical sense, as well. But I still wish I could meet you.

There are a lot of you I'm writing to right now. Namely, every person I have ever wished to meet. Ever. Because how do you choose just one? I don't want to meet someone that will be an ass. I don't want to waste my time coming to meet you if you're going to be a jerk, and autograph a picture, making it out to a Heather when I told you my name was Hannah.

But all of you, I do wish I could meet you. I want to know what you're like. I know we'll probably never meet, and it's probably for the better. I've got the idea of you, and I like that, so why ruin it with reality?

Love,
me.

I need someone to crawl into bed with as I cry out these tears that just won't stop coming. I need someone to hold me close to them until all of my demons are forced out. I need someone who is willing to fight them off with me, to whisper the unkempt promise "it's going to be alright."" I need someone to look at me and just open their arms while I collapse,


Because right now, that's all I can do. Collapse.

8 - Your favorite internet friend

Dear you,

This is another one that's quite hard to choose. I have made quite a few friends only on the internet, though I admit, I've met most of them by now, even the one that I met at almost the exact same time as you. Really, there are only two or three other ones that I still like and haven't met yet. But they qualify for more than one. And so do you, really, but I decided to write this one to you, because it just seemed to fit. Especially since we're talking so much lately.

I have to admit, sometimes talking to you makes me feel kind of like a whore. Because you usually have a girlfriend. And I, as usual, am perpetually single. And we flirt. I don't know if it's because we've never met, and so it's comfortable to flirt like this, or if it's because we actually have real chemistry that we just haven't figured out how to deal with yet. Either way, we flirt a ridiculous amount. And I know it's not just in my head.

But this is getting off-track. The point is, you are my favorite internet-turned-texting friend, and hopefully, we'll be able to organize a meet up between you and I wicked soon. Because it's a bit ridiculous that we've been talking for three years, on and off, and never met. ESPECIALLY with all the flirtiness that goes on between us. (Here I go, getting off track again.) Every time I talk to you, I feel better. I love talking about awesome bands and musicians and TV shows and people and bucket lists with you. You make me feel comfortable being myself, even if you judge me for liking gangster rap. :) I promise, when we finally meet, it will be amazingly epic. And, like I said, if you're still cold then, I'll share my blankets with you until you just love me so much that you have to agree to the road trip I proposed. :)

Love,

me.

i finished my novel a little more than an hour ago.

i feel so accomplished.

I am a writer, first and foremost. Words affect (effect? idfk.) me more than images. A well-written letter will inform me of your feelings better than anything else, and a lust scene gets me more in the mood than music or anything else.

I don't know much about myself. But I do know that. And I know that the happiest time of my life was when I was surrounded with twenty-eight other girls who were as passionate about it as I was. Writing has become who I am. I need to find myself a community of writers. I love the small, pretty much one person community of writers I have near me now, but it's just... It's not the same as having a group of people who love the same thing as you do constantly around you and supporting you.

I want people to geek out with over the fact that I have probably twenty pages left of my novel before it's finished. I want people who will look at something, and say, "this is shit. You know it's shit. But here's how you can make it better. Keep this one part. Expand on it. This part works." I want people who understand why I'm freaking out over the fact that for the past few things that I've written, I've actually felt like a writer, and that I can actually make something of myself with this profession, not just have it as a hobby. Maybe I should put up one of those personal ads? "16 y/o swf, looking for a tight-knit writing community. must enjoy fiction, characters, and long walks on the beach while talking about books."

7. your ex boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

Dear you,

It's safe to say you probably don't remember this. We were dating in kindergarten, after all. I'm surprised I remember it, and even I'm a little foggy on the finer details.

We weren't in the same class, I remember that much. You were with Mrs. DeBettencourt, and I had Mrs. Robinson. The only time our paths intersected was in gym.

I don't really remember how it started, exactly. Or when it ended, if we ever really ended it officially at all. I just remember the us. I would always sit next to you in gym, and we would hold hands, even though all of the other kids would sometimes make fun of us. We were dating before we knew what dating really even meant. Really, the only other big thing I remember about this "relationship" is Valentine's Day. Is it sad to think that the only Valentine I've ever had was when I was five? Whatever. I wasn't even there for it, because my grandpa had died. You still bought me candy, though. Our parents were amused by us, and thought that we were just too damn cute, and so you and your mom picked me out a box of chocolates in the shape of a heart. I was so excited to get those when I came back... I was the only kid with a valentine from someone outside of their class. I ate them all on the way to pick my sister up from preschool, and felt sick for the entire rest of the day.

We had a good thing, though. Sometimes I wish we could go back there.

Love,
me.

I know it's not your fault, but I'm a locked door
and inside I'm a mess by someone before
and I wish that I, I could find the key
to unlock all the things you want us to be

Help me open up and start again
but there's a safe around my heart
I don't know how to let you in
that's what keeps us apart

And that's why
I need time
I said I need you
I need you to understand
you, you, you
I need you to understand
you, you, you

Call up the locksmith
tell 'em we need him quick
we got a million keys
none of 'em seem to fit
and while you're on the phone
call up the clocksmith
cause I could use some time
even the slightest bit

Help me open up, start again

and break this safe around my heart 

I don't know how to let you in 

that's what keeps us apart

And that's why

I need time

I said I need you

I need you to understand

you you you

I need you to understand

I'm thinking nows the time

maybe it's time to go 

if I gave you my heart

be gentle

I'm tired of laying low

let's give the world a show

and when you know, you know

and when you know, you know, you know

and when you know, you know, you know, you know

And that's why

I need time

I said I need you

I need you to understand

you you you

I need you to understand

I need you to understand

I need you to understand

I need you to understand

I need you

I need you

I need you

you

you

♥

6. a stranger

Dear you,

I wonder about you, you know. What you think about when you see me. If you look at me for an extra second while I'm unaware, the same way I do with you. I wonder if you see me as who I really am, instead of who I usually am pretending to be.

When I see you, I wonder if we would be friends. I either decide yes or no, because I'm human and I have a tendency to judge people. If yes... well, I'm sorry, but you may be in for some awkward conversation. I like to talk to people. I like to make friends with people. I want to feel connected in some way.

I wonder if you do the same things. I want to know what your story is. I want to know the reasoning behind this chanced meeting, if we were meant to meet and make something of it.

Not-really-knowing-how-to-sign-this,
me.

I'm homesick for the home I've never had. I want to be back with the people who make up my family. And no, it's not those who I share biological similarities with. It's the two people in the world I would do anything for. The two people I trust with almost absolutely anything. And like I always do, I managed to fuck it up. Again. I want to erase. I want to rewind. I want a do-over. It's not fair to keep throwing me these curveballs. I don't give a fuck if life isn't fair; I've had my fair share of trials and it's time to cut me a break. I don't want to be waking up afraid that I'm going to have to call 911 because I can't breathe. Again. I don't want to be taking the bus to school, afraid of what's going to happen if I speak my mind. Again. I don't want to be coming home, afraid of what mood the house is in today. Again. I'm drowning in my own fears. I can't trust anyone with them. I want to push people away so that I can find out who is going to come back. I'm sure that the people who are still here are here for just a moment, fleeting in the human-made concept of time. That once they see who I really am, see all of me and not just the good or just the bad, they'll run. Because I can't even handle me most of the time. How can I expect someone else to? How can I ask this of them? It just doesn't seem fair. So instead, I'll continue on. I can't go on; I'll go on. I miss my best friends. I miss feeling like I'm safe. I want to find someone who wants to be with me all the time, someone who holds me in their arms and proves to me that they won't ever let go. I want someone to share a bed with at night, so when all of the monsters come out of their caves and dance around my depression, I can turn over and be comforted as I cry out. But some people aren't meant to be happy. They're meant to make others happy, and just try and be content with that.

5. your dreams

Dear you,

I'm sure you know this, but I'm saying it anyway. We have a love/hate relationship. I love thinking about you, I love the places you take me; you're basically my every fantasy, everything I ever even semi-wanted.

But I hate you. Because unfortunately for us, I am a realist with pessimistic tendencies. I know that the majority of the time, what you show me and tell me is possible, isn't. Talking about the future has always scared me, and that's all you want from me. Sure, it's great when we're there, but what about when we have to come back to the present? You just get to walk away unscathed, preparing to come back later, whereas I have to deal with the reality of it.

It's not helpful.

Love,
me.

things have changed

and i don't know if they'll ever go back to the way they were. and if they don't, i won't ever be able to forgive myself, and forget about the amazing friendship that would have been.

self-realization in english class

I am an angry person. I know this about myself. I have a tendency to call people idiots when I think they're being stupid. I will yell at someone when they do something that I don't like.

I used to think that I was angry because people just weren't mature enough to act as smart as I knew they could be. But recent events have changed my mind. I'm angrier as of late - I'm sure anyone who has spent a significant amount of time with me in the past month or so has noticed this. And I think it's because of my health shit.

I'm sure that people are tired of me talking about this, too. But I have to do it in order to get my stuff straight.

I'm getting angry at people because to some extent, I can control them. I can have a good reason to be angry at them. Because maybe they said something mean, or they weren't doing their work, or just something stupid that I shouldn't really care about. Whereas with my health, and my cough... There's no use in getting angry at myself. It just doesn't work as well. It never has. Being angry because I had cancer? There was no point. I still would have cancer, I still would have to get chemo, and I would still have to face the possibility of death. So I would get angry at the people who were acting the way I didn't want them too. And that's exactly what I'm doing now.

just reflections.

I'm doing my portfolio this year on Columbine. Kind of a heady topic, I know. But since my last two were mainly just writing, it was told to me that I should probably do a research portfolio this year. I started out with early childhood education, but who are we kidding? The only type of psychology that has really ever interested me is that of serial killers, or just seriously deranged people.

But as I'm getting further into my research, I'm noticing something. These kids may have been a bit damaged, a bit screwed up, but some of their thoughts... they're thoughts that everyone has. We all think things like they do at some point. No matter how righteous we want to seem, we have all wished that someone would just go away, disappear, if only for a split second.

And now I've started listening to music and have completely lost my train of thought. Dammit.

here i go again on my own...

Dear you,

You're going to know this is for you because I'm going to send it to you. I hope you won't have blocked me off your Facebook by the time this is finished, but if you have, I'll understand.

I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I never would have posted that if I knew you were going to see it. And I know that sounds cowardly, but that's because it is. But let me explain. I know I don't deserve it, but give me just another few minutes of your time.

My head sometimes feels like it's going to explode. Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning and I've forgotten how to swim. And my life preserver is writing. It's the only place I can feel completely safe in my feelings, feelings I wouldn't ever dare say to anyone. But sometimes, just writing something isn't enough. Sometimes, I need to get it out of my head, and away from my heart and head, and my only way to do that is to post it here. And so that's what I did.

The last letter I posted I had been holding onto for a while. Since the last time you and he broke up. I only just now posted it because I only just now found it. I added in a few things in the beginning that made it more pertinent to the situation now, but didn't edit out anything else.

And now to the last little part of this. Sweetie, I am so so sorry that I hurt you. I am. I love you. You are the first girl in the history of forever that I completely, 100% trust and would do absolutely anything for. You're the first girl I've felt completely comfortable calling my best friend. I know I've said things about how the manipulators in the past were my best friends, but honestly, I could never feel a hundred percent comfortable calling them that. I've never felt like I had to censor myself around you. I know that whatever was scaring me, or upsetting me, I could come talk to you about it. And I'm so scared that I may have ruined that.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hurt you. I'm sorry that I've fucked things up, yet again. And I understand if you don't want to talk to me again. But that having been said, I already miss you, and our talks. I was looking forward to girl time the next time I was in Rhode Island.

Love,
me.

a letter not in the thirty days of letters thing.

Dear you,

I feel like I'm losing you. I feel like you're starting a new life, and I have absolutely no place in it. And I don't like it. All you tell me is how you're so unhappy, but you're not doing anything about it. If you're so unhappy with her, and what's going on, than change it. Staying with someone you're not happy with because you'd be miserable without them is absolutely ridiculous. And don't take this as me telling you to end it. I know that's what it sounds like, but it's not. It's me telling you that I hate it when you hurt, and she seems to hurt you a lot, which makes it incredibly hard for me to be friends with her because all I want to do is rip her head off for hurting you.

Everyone on this blog is probably sick of me talking about you by now. But I can't help it. You're the person I think about whenever something goes wrong, or something goes right, or something that just happens. I know you don't watch Grey's Anatomy, but... you're my person. You are my Christina Yang. I will always be there for you, no matter how hard you try to push me away, no matter how many times we start to lose touch and then start talking everyday again.

I'm starting to wonder if we don't talk as much when you're upset because you know I'm going to look into you, and make you think about things you don't really want to talk about. I'm sorry if that makes you feel uncomfortable, but that's what best friends do.

I'm going to stop now because I'm rambling and you don't even read this.

Love,
me.

4. Your sibling(s)

Dear you two,

I know I should probably write something really corny about how much I love you here, and how you've made me who I am. It's what everyone else has done.

And I guess you have made me who I am. But right now, in all honesty, what I feel towards you is a sort of protective indifference. In order to make this fair, I'm going to order it randomly. Out of the two of you. Whatever.

You:

We babied you. In a way, it's probably all of our faults you ended up the way you are now. But honestly, how much of it was nurture and how much of it was nature? I can't even tell anymore. The temper tantrums you throw are insufferable. The way you drive everyone crazy is infuriating. I don't want anyone to hurt you, least of all me, but we need you to grow up now. It's time to come into the adult world, and stop living in a world of playthings.

You x2:

I don't understand you. I probably never will. He got it right when he said we could call you me too, you know. And at first, it was endearing. To know that someone was looking up to me, that making the right decisions wasn't in vain, because someone (you) was going to be watching my every move and making decisions based on my own. But that's just it. Based on my own. Not doing everything I did. And while I hate that I became this sort of idol for you, that I can't have a minute to myself to breathe, I'm beginning to hate the decisions you make for yourself, as well. I told you a while ago some of the story behind my brief brush with psychopathy. (Not my own, of course - we all know I'm too distanced from myself to be able to admit any type of feeling.) And hun, you are going way beyond anything I'd ever known before. Just... enough with the drama. Stop saying you hate it when you create it. Stop attaching yourself to people who are going nowhere in life. And by all means, stop manipulating everyone around you. It's a surefire way to get yourself seventeen cats that you barely clean up after and a cell phone that never rings.

- me

I don't tell you things, and that makes me a bad friend.

I don't tell you that you are the most important thing in the world to me, and, all melodrama aside, if I lost you, I don't know how I'd be able to move on.

I don't tell you that everything I do, reminds me in some way of you.

I don't tell you that I'm scared about caring this much about you, because it makes me vulnerable.

I don't tell you that I'm scared about my future, and what it means for us.

I don't tell you that I need you more than anything, because I don't want to scare you away.

I don't tell you when I'm worried about something, or hurting, because I've never done that, and mostly, I don't want to burden you.

This makes me a bad friend, and it's not fair to you. I don't give you the chance to be my friend. I rarely give you the chance to be there for me. And I don't know if this is what screws up our relationship, or if we're really just not meant to be forever.

I wonder why it is

that I'm horrible to the people I love most.

I am afraid.

I'm afraid that I won't be able to find happiness.
I'm afraid that I will always be alone.
I'm afraid that my disease has crippled my ability to live.
I'm afraid that I will never be good enough for anyone.
I'm afraid that my life won't amount to anything.
I'm afraid that the reason no one loves me is because I'm not worthy of it.
I'm afraid that I'm going to go off to college and have the worst time of my life.
I'm afraid that the only way I know how to live is through fictional character's feelings.
I'm afraid that I can't seem to share my feelings with anyone, least of all the ones who matter.
I'm afraid that I will end up pushing everyone I care about away.
I'm afraid that I can't seem to make myself rely on anyone, or need anyone at all.
I'm afraid that I won't let myself connect.
I'm afraid that I will never find anyone who completely understands what I am and what I've gone through.
I'm afraid that if I do, they'll run away, because they can't handle someone as broken as me.
I'm afraid that I'll end up being miserable at best.
I'm not afraid of dying; it's living that's scary.

People are screwed up in this world. I'd rather be with someone screwed up and open about it than somebody perfect and... you know... ready to explode.

- It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini, pg 397

an amazing day in photographs that will have no explanations.

This is my family. 

musings on myself and friendship.

friendship is giving someone the power to hurt you, but trusting them not to ever use it.
friendship is knowing that there are some things you can't go through alone, and that you won't have to.
friendship is giving someone all of you even when you feel like you're too broken to fix.
friendship is never giving up on each other.
friendship is you and me.

i have a tendency to run away when things get deep. i have a tendency not to trust people. i have abandonment issues. i think that everyone is constantly taking what i do and making fun of me for it. i hate typing on blogger in capital letters, but do it because that's how things are supposed to be. i worry about every little thing that could ever go wrong, and expect them to do just that. i feel guilty about just about everything. i don't let myself feel emotions until they all boil over and i end up on the ground in a ball sobbing. i know that the majority of the time, most people find me really annoying. i have a tendency to attach to people really quickly, and make snap judgments about everyone. i have a low tolerance for what i perceive to be stupidity.

A piece of semi-not suckish writing for your troubles.

They were the perfect couple that didn’t believe in marriage. She’d watched her parent’s fall apart, and his were too concerned with status to fall apart. So instead, they were happily together, but never bound by law. He made her believe in love again, and she kept him from a self-destructive state. They were the exact brand of medicine each other needed. And really, that’s what love is. Love is being able to fix someone who believed they were broken, and being willing to be fixed yourself.

            They met at a coffee shop in Brooklyn. She’d ordered a cup of black coffee, after making sure that the cups weren’t made of Styrofoam. He’d ordered a green tea. They were forced to sit together at the counter, because it was eight in the morning and the place was packed with single mothers and fathers in a hurry to get to work, and college students who were savoring the last few moments of a weekend. She had thought ahead and not signed up for any classes that met before noon on a Monday; the only reason she was up so early was because she hadn’t gone to bed. He wasn’t so lucky, and had to be at school in an hour. They sat together for a while, neither casting even a glance in the other’s direction. He was building a castle out of sugar packets; she was reading a paperback Russian novel. Sipping her coffee, she decided it needed more sugar, and, never taking her eyes from the pages, she reached towards where the sugar should be. Her fingers found an empty container, which forced her to look up. When she did, she saw that the black-haired boy beside her had taken every single packet of sugar within arms reach to construct a castle of sugar. “Excuse me,” she said, mustering all the politeness an insomniac could in the morning. “You’ve got all the sugar.”

            He looked up, startled out of his concentration. “Huh?”

            She sighed. “You’re bogarting all of the sugars. Can you give me a couple?”

            “Oh. Sorry.” He carefully extracted two from the top of his creation, making sure not to knock the rest of it down.

            Instead of returning to her book, she began studying him, and his castle. “That’s pretty intricate.”

            “Hm? Oh, I guess.” He shrugged, and they shared a glance. “I’m into buildings.”

            She nodded, and subtly rested her book down. “Is that your major? Architecture?”

            “Yeah,” he replied, turning towards her on his stool. “You?”

            “Creative writing.”

            They talked until he was running the risk of being reprimanded for tardiness, and before he left, they exchanged phone numbers and email addresses, each scrawled on a packet of sugar. He’d forgotten his cell phone at home, and she didn’t believe in them.

            Their initial meeting was over a year and a half ago, and since then, their relationship had evolved into something neither could’ve anticipated. Throughout the eighteen months they’d been together, he’d changed his major from architecture to child psychology, and she had started a novel. He’d forgotten about Valentine’s Day, and she’d had to miss his birthday for a funeral. They’d debated anything and everything over slices of pizza and wine, and told each other secrets they’d thought they would always keep to themselves. And now, on their two-year anniversary, they were getting tattoos. Their friends couldn’t understand it; why tattoos? Why not rings? But the two of them didn’t care. Tattoos were much more permanent than rings, and despite their trepidations about marriage, they wanted something that they knew would link them forever. She’d suggested a heart, but he was skeptical. It was emasculating, but in the end, she won. There was nothing else that seemed to fit.

            So on the exact date that they’d met two years ago, they blew off all of their classes and went into Manhattan, where they’d had an appointment with a tattoo artist for a month now. The end result was more than they could’ve expected. It was just a small heart on each of their left hips, but the intricacy wasn’t what mattered. What mattered is that they each had a full heart now, never to be broken or removed.

I tend to blog when I want to complain.

It probably isn't the healthiest of habits, but it works for me. Let's sort out my list of complaints for the day, shall we?

1. I had to wake up at six thirty because I had school today.
2. It was soft-core raining.
3. Even though it was soft-core raining, three cars still managed to splash me as I was waiting for the bus.
4. My size four jeans from the Gap didn't fit when I tried to put them on this morning.
5. My joints are achy.
6. My spine is achy.
7. Pretty much every little thing on my body that could be achy, is achy.
8. I had a horrible social studies class today, which I won't even go into because I should be sleeping.
9. I got home and there were people over.
10. It's ten twenty-five and there are still people over.
11. All anyone seems to be able to talk to me about is college.
12. I can't even sleep in tomorrow morning, because I have to be at work by nine.

All I want to do is sleep and wake up in the morning and be completely rejuvenated. But it doesn't seem to work that way.

They can take take take the kids from the summer...

But they'll never never never take the summer from me. 

Tomorrow is my last first day of high school, and all of a sudden I am freaking. The. Fuck. Out. I was fine before it was the night before, but now it is and... I don't know. I have issues, okay? I tend to think that people don't like me, and always want to get away from me, and that I annoy the hell out of them. I tend to be possessive of the people I love, and I tend to scare people away because I want intensity or nothing at all. It's a flaw of mine, and I'm quite aware of it. 

And I wish I could post about something in particular here, but the person I'd be posting about has been known to peruse my blog, and I don't want to scare said person, or make our friendship uncomfortable. 

It's like I can't feel anything when you're not around. I can't think of anyone I hate to miss as much as I hate missing you when you're not around. That's all I'm going to say. 

I wonder sometimes, if she asked you not to talk to me, or see me again, what that would mean. Would we be over, or would you be? 

You can tell it's been a long day and I'm so stressed out by how all over the place this is. I think I should probably try and sleep now. I'll try and have a letter up tomorrow or the next day.

rambling reflections.

It's hard for me to believe that school starts on Tuesday. It's hard to believe that just two short months ago, I was blogging about how it was the first day of vacation. It hasn't really seemed like vacation, if I'm being totally honest. I went to the beach four or five times, an all time low for me. I worked quite a bit, though not as much as some of my friends. -coughMatthewcoughcough- And now, I honestly can't believe that it's over, and soon we'll be entrapped with homework and other responsibilities that we really want nothing to do with.

If I had to write one of those stereotypical essays about what I did this summer, this is what it would consist of:
1. Working at the bookstore.
2. Scoping out cute guys.
3. Re-igniting old friendship flames and igniting new ones.
4. Making money.
5. Spending money.
6. Reading my first hard-core adult book.
7. Finding out that I really do like soft-core adult books and YA books much better.
8. Figuring out how much certain people mean to me.
9. Figuring out who wasn't worth my time.
10. Stressing out about college.
11. Getting excited about college.
12. Spending far too much time on Facebook.
13. Crying while writing something for the first time ever. [Well, no, that's not strictly true. But it was the first time I ever cried while writing something BECAUSE of what I was writing.]
14. Going to my first Jimmy Fund appointment in six months, and finding out I don't have to go back for another year.
15. Going back to the Jimmy Fund a week later.
16. Discovering new music.
17. Discovering new books.
18. Getting my hair professionally done for the second time ever.
19. Getting my first intense haircut in five years.
20. Figuring out that shouldering all of the pain doesn't make you the strongest, it's feeling able to share it and work through it that makes you strong.

But while I'm sad that summer's over, I'm rather excited to go back to school at the same time. It's my senior year, and even though I'm still in smart math, it's bound to be a good year. I'm glad to be going back with a higher level of friendship with certain people, and with the sense of knowing that after this year, I can do whatever I want. [But, as one of my favorite kindergartner's reminded me on my birthday this year, "Not if it's against the law."]

Day 3 - Your parents

Dear you two,

I have very little to say to either of you, as it turns out.

Parent one - I honestly think that if you died, the only thing that would make me upset was the fact that I wasn't upset. I'm sure I'd be upset a bit, but nothing compared to what happened when friends died.

Parent two - you're my best friend. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you those two years, it was a mistake on my part, and some serious hoodwinking on your counterparts.

-me.

It's eleven-twenty, and I have to be up at quarter of eight for work.

So I'm blogging. Seems logical, correct?

It isn't. But I can't stop coughing long enough to breathe, let alone sleep, and my best friend isn't answering my text, and I don't want to be a nuisance and call him. So instead I'll sit in bed, trying not to puke again, and be unaware of whether or not the tears running down my face are because I'm scared or because I'm coughing so hard I'm vomiting. Take your pick; either one isn't pleasant.

We are reaching the five year mark of my first diagnosis, and I find that my body is going through hospital withdrawals. How else will you explain the fact that I've been in the Jimmy Fund twice the past two weeks, and on the Pulmonary floor, as well? If you have any other explanations, please let me and the med school grads know, because they have no fucking idea, and it's pissing me off. Doctors have the tendency to want to ignore something if it's not there right at the moment they're looking for it. So when I'm meeting with the pulmonary team today, it's only sensible that they think because I'm a two time cancer survivor, we're blowing this out of proportion, and decide that the best course of treatment for this six-month long cough and puke-fest is a third course of antibiotic, because obviously it's just a really persistent strain of bronchitis. And, of course, the antibiotic is one I'm allergic to. Life's great.

But really, all the antibiotic means is that they have no idea what's wrong with me. Join the club. It was a toss up between the antibiotic and steroids, and while neither sound much fun, I'd rather not go up another pant size. I need to shed some poundage as it is. {Also, in case you were wondering, total puke count during this post - seven minutes so far, fyi - is three.}

I spent the past week worrying that what was making me cough was Graft V. Host Disease. If you don't know what that is, google it. I don't feel like freaking myself out again by going through it. We've pretty much ruled that out of the list of suspects with the CT scan from today, though apparently there were some pretty little dots by my liver that are cause for an ultrasound next time I'm in Boston. {Which, apparently, when/if the antibiotics don't work, will be within the next two to four weeks.} After this, they're going to rule out asthma with the steroids, which I can already tell it won't be. {Let me just also insert here that if this thing is fucking bronchitis, I am going to be incredibly pissed off.} And after it isn't asthma, well, then we get to go do the fun stuff. Bronchoscope's and lung biopsies, anyone? Because you know, since the docs assuaged my fears of GVHD, they had to bring in a new one. Also not very likely, but still a possibility, considering how my body likes to buck the odds. Leukemia in my lungs. Wouldn't THAT be fun? Now I get to freak out about that.

Okay. I have work in eight hours. I'm going to go make some tea, try to stop crying/coughing induced-crying, and go to sleep. {Puke tally - now four. Phone calls made - one. Phone calls answered - zero. Freaking out stage - past defcon five.}{edit: the phone call was returned because he's awesome.}

Day 2 - Your crush

Dear you,

First off, let me say I hope I meet you soon, because crushing on a figment of my imagination is not doing wonders for my sanity. Neither is your ever-changing appearance, in case you were wondering.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's move on. I hope this letter finds you well, and my other brain-figments aren't giving you too much of a hard time. [Because let's face it - they're my brain-figments, there's no way they aren't giving you any trouble.] They're just going to have to get used to you, though, because I don't think you're going away any time soon.

Let's now move on to the things I like about you, the things that make you "crush worthy." I could probably go on for hours and millions of numbers, and I'm sure you'd like that, because what guy doesn't like to have his ego stroked, but I'll limit myself to your top ten.

1. Your accent. We all know I have a fetish for them, but your all-American southern Alabama accent just takes the apple pie.
2. Your hair, in particular the scruff around your face, though the "a little longer and it'll be shaggy" golden brown hair atop your head ain't hurting, either.
3. Is it bad to say your size? Because honey, I absolutely adore the fact that you're a foot taller than me and you can pick me up like I was a down comforter. 
4. The way you protect me. I may be one of the biggest feminists you will ever meet, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good to have your glances harden and your hand take mine every time some skeezeball looks for a second too long.
5. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't swoon each time you picked up a guitar. I know it's cliche, but hey - it's definitely working for you.
6. The way you make me feel like I am the only one who merits your attention, the only thing in the room that's happening worth any sort of focus. I feel like the world could be ending while I'm telling you some stupid story about what happened to me, and you wouldn't even notice. Gotta love a guy who pays attention.
7. The fact that you actually pay attention to your surroundings. I know that totally contradicts what I just said, but I mean it in a different way. You read the paper. You read books - god, I can't tell you how hard it is to find an attractive guy who actually reads books. Believe me - I've tried. 
8. Your humor, and the fact that you actually get mine. 
9. The fact that being with you doesn't come with any drama attached at the hip. 
10. Everything about you. Yeah, I know it's stupid, but hey, it's true. 

Is it too weird to say that I've already pictured how we'll meet, and what our first date will be like? If you were pondering it, this is how it'll play out.

You'll come into the store, and I'll have my eye on you, because I think you're cute. You'll be eyeing me a bit, too, and we'll occasionally make eye contact, and when we do, I'll look down and smile, embarrassed to be caught ogling the customers. You'll wait a good five minutes or so before coming over to the counter and asking me for some good recommendations. I'll smile with my entire face, and bounce along the wall of books, pointing out the ones I like, and the ones I think you'll like. I'll be overly flirty, but you won't care, because you find it kind of endearing. You'll thank me, and go sit down with the pile of books I just handed you, trying to make your decision. In the end, you'll choose two: the John Green book I absolutely raved about, and the Jonathan Tropper book from downstairs that I told you you had to read, as well. You'll come back upstairs to my register under the guise of making sure that the book you picked up was the right one, and we'll start talking again. You'll ask me about my favorite authors, and I'll tell you that I can't pick just one. You'll tell me that you feel the same way, and somehow, because it always does with me, we'll get to the subject of Harry Potter. I'll tell you about A Very Potter Musical, which won't sound as interesting as it should to you, but you'll say you'll go home and watch it anyway. I'll grin when you say that you will, and tell you that you'll have to come back in and tell me what you thought. You'll nod, and say that you don't know when you'll be able to make it back in though, because you've just moved here, and you have to help your family settle in. The act of kindness towards your family will make me swoon a little bit, and I'll offer to show you, and even your family, around the island if you want. You'll nod again and say that that would be great, and I'll scribble my number down on the back of your receipt.

A few days later, my phone will ring, and it'll be you. School is starting in a few days, you'll say, and I'll have to be going back off to college. It's my freshman year, you see. I'll understand, and say that that's too bad, and that I wish you could stay longer, but what is the point of this call if you're leaving soon? You'll be silent for a few seconds, and I'll worry that I was being too forward, but eventually you'll chuckle and say that I caught you, that you were calling to ask me out to dinner if it wouldn't be too much of a bother.

I, of course, will accept, and bring you to my favorite restaurant, where we'll talk about everything. You'll admit to not having watched the youtube sensation I told you to yet, and I'll tease you relentlessly throughout the entire meal. At the end of the night, you'll drive me home, and you'll grab my hand as soon as you start the car. You'll walk me up to my doorstep, and say that you had a really amazing time tonight, and that we need to do it again soon. I'll agree, and you'll kiss me softly on the lips before turning and leaving, and we'll all live happily ever after.

The end.

Now doesn't that just sound like perfection? So let's work on making this dream a reality, shall we?

Love,
me

Eat Pray Love put me in this mood.

I want to do something life-changing. I want to do something that will reconfigure the way I see and look at things. I want to feel connected to someone, connected in a way that I can't even begin to explain. I want to change someone's life, to make a difference for them, even if it's just for one person. I want to be able to have someone point at me and say, "She changed my life, altered the way I think, and all for the better." I want to see and do things that I'm scared of, and be able to tell the people I love that I love them without worrying of what they'll think.

I want to learn about myself. I want to know the way my mind works, even though some of the truths will undoubtedly be ugly. I can't learn to love someone else until I know how to love myself, I can't learn how to love myself until I understand myself, and I don't think I can begin to understand myself until I begin to fix myself. To pick up after the hurt, and the disappointment, and glue the many pieces back together.

Gandhi said that [excuse me while I butcher this quote] "Almost everything you do will be insignificant, but it is of the upmost importance that you do it." But what happens if we don't even know what it is we are supposed to be doing?

Day 1 - letter to your best friend

Dear you,

Hi. I'm hoping you know who you are, and if you don't already, you'll know by the end of this letter. I had a hard time picking which close friend to use for this letter, but in the end, it was you, because not only have we been friends the longest, we've been through the most amount of shit together.

So here we are. This is my letter to you. I feel odd typing it, since I don't normally type letters, but I am since I'm posting it on da blog. Which I don't even think you read. But okay. Here it really goes.

How are you doing at this moment? We've exchanged a few words today, but they were mostly about me, and now I'm feeling bad again about that :p I've been thinking about our friendship a lot lately, so that's actually probably going to be most of what this letter is about.

I think it's best put as saying that our friendship is intense. Extremely intense. We met under odd circumstances, and we went through some of the hardest times in my life together. Times that I honestly don't think I would have made it through as well as I did without you to lean on. The other night you were telling me how much I meant to you, and I felt... I don't know. I felt wanted, needed, appreciated, and I can't tell you how valuable those feelings are to me, though I think you probably already know.

You are the one person in the world who I feel like I can talk to about anything. You're the one person in the world who didn't treat me the least bit different when you found out that I had had cancer. You're the only one who I can count on to be there, and not get scared away. There have been times when all I've wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the floor of my room, and sob until my eyes were crimson and I passed out from dehydration, and then I'd talk to you, and somehow, you would make it all better, even though sometimes, you contributed to it. But it's like one of the lead singers of my favorite guilty pleasure bands said - "The closest friends you'll have are the ones that you'd take a bullet for, but they're the ones you constantly feel you could put a bullet in as well."

I love that we talk about our problems together. I love that we talk about random things until two in the morning. I love debating good bands and bad ones that are complete guilty pleasures. I love it when you text me with something totally random, just because you think I'll enjoy it. I love your jokes - well, the funny ones. Mostly, I love being your friend, and I love that you give me a chance to be myself without any repercussions or judgments.

This letter is a mess. A wicked messy mushy mess. So I'm going to add in the lyrics to Weezer's lyrics to "My Best Friend." Every time I listen to this song I almost start crying, and it reminds me of you. A ton.

Love you, kid,
me.

When everything is wrong I'll come talk to you
You make things alright when I'm feeling blue

You are such a blessing and I wont be messing
with the one thing that brings light to all my darkness

You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do

There is no other one who can take your place
I feel happy inside when I see your face
I hope you believe me
'Cause I speak sincerely
and I mean it when I tell you that I need you

You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do

I'm here right beside you
I will never leave you
and I feel the pain you feel when you start crying

You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do

You're my best friend
and I love you, and I love you
Yes I do
Yes I do...
Yes I do.

30 Days of Letters.

Starting today, I'm going to be participating in the thirty days of letters challenge. I can't promise that I'll do it perfectly, or every day, but I'm going to try. These are the challenges, if you were wondering/wanted to do it.

Day 1 — Your Best Friend

Day 2 — Your Crush

Day 3 — Your parents

Day 4 —Your sibling (or closest relative)

Day 5 — Your dreams

Day 6 — A stranger

Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend/girlfriend/love/crush

Day 8 — Your favorite internet friend

Day 9 — Someone you wish you could meet

Day 10 — Someone you don’t talk to as much as you’d like to

Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to

Day 12 — The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain

Day 13 — Someone you wish could forgive you

Day 14 — Someone you’ve drifted away from

Day 15 — The person you miss the most

Day 16 — Someone that’s not in your state/country

Day 17 — Someone from your childhood

Day 18 — The person that you wish you could be

Day 19 — Someone that pesters your mind—good or bad

Day 20 — The one that broke your heart the hardest

Day 21 — Someone you judged by their first impression

Day 22 — Someone you want to give a second chance to

Day 23 — The last person you kissed

Day 24 — The person that gave you your favorite memory

Day 25 — The person you know that is going through the worst of times

Day 26 — The last person you made a pinky promise to

Day 27 — The friendliest person you knew for only one day

Day 28 — Someone that changed your life

Day 29 — The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to

Day 30 — Your reflection in the mirror

if there was a class in wanting, i'd pass with flying zebras.

I want to take a road-trip.

I want a best friend who loves me even though I have my insane moments, and I complain/talk more than any human has a god given right to, and even though I show my affection with incredibly horrid teasing.

I want to be a part of the Quimby family.

I want to be a cool grown-up.

I want to be able to have kids.

I want to be able to watch ads for St. Judes and St. Baldricks without wanting to throw my computer or television across the room.

I want to be able to crank out a book in six weeks.

I want to be called pretty, and beautiful, and baby.

I want to be invaluable and interesting, someone indispensable.

I want to live in a movie, or a television show, where there may be problems, but they're resolved by the end of the show/two hour period.

I want to be the kind of person who doesn't stay in her house for days on end when she doesn't have to work, and instead be the kind of person who goes out and makes the most of her life.

Want is a dangerous word. But I can't seem to get it out of my head. Which is most unfortunate, because it just makes me upset, and feel inadequate. But this list has just been a few of the things bothering me lately. Why do I always get so depressed at night? Especially when I'm on cough medication?

This sucks. Ugh and I had something totally artsy and trendy and hip and thought-provoking to say here but I totally just forgot it in a flurry of itchy forheadness.

So long, suckers. :)

Now he's guilt-stricken sobbing with his head on the floor...

It's been a long time since I last posted. My apologies. Life has been crazy.

But it's also been a long time since I read a book in one sitting. And that's exactly what I just did. I snagged a copy of Tangled by Carolyn Mackler from the ARC shelf at work, and I needed a new book, so I started reading. Now, let it just be said that I didn't get home from work until around nine-thirty. While working at a bookstore isn't one of the most draining jobs you could have, it's definitely not what most people think it is. But I digress. So I sat down at the kitchen counter with half of a leftover potato that my sister had made with dinner, vetoing the stir-fry she'd made as there was no meat in it. (My mother has recently decided that what she needs to do is be a vegetarian after reading some book, so now we're all being punished.) It took me a coupe of tries to get through the first couple of pages, mostly because I was exhausted and trying to eat and all of that good stuff. But as soon as I got into it, oh, boy was I into it. It's a minute past eleven right now, and I've just brushed my teeth and come up to bed. I'm still in my clothes from the day, because I couldn't put the book down until I'd finished it.

I realize that I haven't actually told you what the book was about, but honestly, anything I try and say right now will come out as incoherent gobbldygook. So I suggest looking it up. Basically it's about four people who meet, however fleetingly, on a vacation in the Carribean. There are four months in the book, April, May, June, and July, and each month is told in a different POV. (On a side note, I remember when I had no idea what POV meant and I thought it was some kind of car.) (See what I mean about the gobbldygook?)

Anyway. The book was good. And I really like Carolyn Mackler's other books, too, although I definitely favor Vegan Virgin Valentine. It's one of my all-time favorite books. In other news, I wore a dress that I got with my friend Jess on... Friday? Yeah it was Friday. It's super cute, and I actually felt like I looked good in it, which is one of my favorite things.

Goddamn, I'm hungry now. Maybe I'll go try and find a midnight snack...

I am my own affliction, I am my own disease.

One of my biggest flaws is my ability to always believe the best in the people I choose to. Not everyone, no. I have no problem pointing out the personality flaws in the people I want, but for the people I have some warped sense of loyalty to, they can do no wrong.

And it only ends up hurting me. Because I count on them to do things for me, to keep the promises they make, even when every one else around me is telling me that I'm too good for them, that I could do better, and I'm only going to get hurt. And I always do. I don't trust many people. I put on a good show of it, sure, but I don't. Why is it that the people I do trust are the wrong ones? That they're the ones that always end up letting me down?

I'm tired, and I'm needy. I'm a person who likes to have plans, set times for things, and not be spontaneous about when she's going to see people. I get too aggressive with my teasing most of the time. My stomach inflates after I eat, and sometimes I can't see my toes. I don't deal with my emotions well, and I hardly ever cry. I don't trust people. My face is oddly shaped, and I have too many scars to ever be considered unblemished. My family is so dysfunctional, we'd put Jerry Springer out of business. I get attached too quickly, and hate talking about my problems, because I feel like I'm burdening people.

These are just a few of the flaws I think of about myself every day. And I know that there are good things about me, too. I can write like nobodies business. My legs are nice looking, and my hair is actually pretty hot. My eyes, while they may be a bit murky, are green, and I enjoy that. I have never, ever, ever, turned down a friend in need. I keep the promises I make. I try to make everyone happy.

But when I'm thinking, the bad usually outweighs the good. So why is it, when it comes to my friends, the good outweighs the bad, even when there is only one redeeming quality to be found in them? Why is it that I continue to let these same people hurt me over and over, and continue expecting a different result?

This is a whole mess of rambling. And I'm sorry. But I'm tired, and I'm needy, and most of all, I feel lonelier than I ever have before.

It's not very often that I find myself wishing for a boyfriend.

But that sentence basically sums up my night. All I've done today is fight with my dad, and of course, he wouldn't let me stay home tonight.

So we're at the beach that I  went to [while we were supposedly at the Providence Place Mall] with Haley and Kevin two weekends ago, and all around us there are kids my age hanging out and acting like idiots together and all I want is for someone to act like an idiot with and hug me and just yeah.

Okay, so. Story of my life at the moment: My dad is a douchebag. My little sister is in a mental hospital and basically told me that she hates me. I'm losing the people I'm closest to, and I have no idea why. All I want to do is sit down and cry but we all know I don't do that. Basically, I'm all alone and have no idea what to do about it.


Hence the boyfriend-wanting.

So. It's officially my first day of vacation, and I'm still up before noon. In fact, I was woken at eight fifteen, if you can believe it. We're having our septic pumped or replaced or something that deals with big machines, so I woke up to the beeping of something large backing up. I thought it might be an alarm, but no. It was just sweaty men working with poop.

Anyhoo. I worked yesterday. I was down in the adult section, where I feel quite out of place. I should probably get to work on reading some adult novels. I worked with a girl named Clea, who I think is absolutely positutely amazing. I like her. I'm working again tomorrow, but I'll be upstairs with Lindsay. Who is another one of my favorite people.

Okay. I think I'm going to go for a bike ride to work off the ice cream and bagel that I had for breakfast.

Summertime, and the livin' is easy...

After tomorrow, I am officially On Vacation. At least from school. I'll still have to go to work, but it's nice to pretend. It's nice to pretend sometimes that I'm one of those girls who is thin and beautiful with long legs and gorgeous hair with even greener eyes who tans, and fills out a bikini in all the right ways. One of those girls who has the ability to let the days all run together during the summer, because the most stressful thing in her life is picking out which pair of earrings go best with her new dress. 

Instead, I'm me. A bit too pudgy to be thing, but too thin to be constituted as fat. My legs are a bit longer than average, but not noticeably long. I'm too plain to be beautiful, the most I'll ever be is pretty. The only time I was satisfied with how I looked in a bikini was when I still had a feeding tube. [Albeit, I wasn't completely happy as I had the feeding tube and that illicited quite a few stares.] My eyes are, and always will be, a murky pond-like green, and no greener. If I'm out in the sun for too long, I turn into a speckled lobster. My hair is soft, but it just lays there, dyed into submission. And to top it all off, I couldn't even tell you what the least stressful thing in my life is, even if it is summer. 

So. Here's to fantasies.

Something I'm working on.

It's three pieces, but I only have two of them semi-done. I'll probably add more to them later.

I.
I am that girl. That girl you either don't look at, or look at for a moment too long, because there's something about her that you can't quite identify. I'm that girl who you'll love and hate, because she won't make you talk about your feelings, but she'll probably make you uncomfortable with her blunt assessment of her life and inability to care if someone hears her or not. I'm that girl who either says too much or not enough, and is constantly looking for things she can solve for anyone but herself. I'm that girl who never leaves her house, content to keep her adventures in her mind, at least for now. I'm that girl who will mop the blood off your face and tell you that you're still a hero in her eyes, even though you lost the fight. I'm that girl who will keep going even when she can't, when the tears are pouring down her face and her body is tattered and worn. I'm that girl who you either don't look at, or look at for a moment too long.

II.
Hannah is the rain that kisses your limbs on that hot summer day. Hannah is that cup of tea you curl your hands around and smile because the steam hits your face. She is that feeling of craving something you don't know the name of, and the feeling of when you finally find it. Hannah is the arms that embrace you when you return from a long trip. Hannah is the blanket you hide under during a thunderstorm, sure that the simple cover of cloth will keep you safe. She is the color your lover's eyes turn when they see you, and the spark you feel every time your hands touch. Hannah is the smell that hits you as soon as you hit a bookstore, when you can't help but smile. She's the adrenaline that floats through your veins each time you do something that you're not quite sure is allowed, and the whirring of your computer each time it starts up. 

I am a writer.

That's how people know me now. No longer am I the cancer girl, the victim, the one everyone tiptoes around.

But I find that with being known as "the writer," there are more and more things expected of me. "Hannah, can you read this over and tell me if you think it's any good?"

"Can you proofread this for me?"

"Can you help me with an idea I have?"

"Can you tell me what you think of this speech? And if you don't like it, can you help me rewrite it?"

Etcetera. Most of the time I don't really mind, but then there are the times when I just want to scream. I wonder if these people even have any idea what being a writer means. On the second day of being in New York last summer, the teachers sat us down to tell us what our classes will be like. One of the most powerful statements I heard during those two weeks was from Lisa Reardon: "Writer's are the keepers of humanity." While that sounds heady and self-promoting, I agree.

Think about it: we watch people, we see what they do. Then we write, preserving feelings and situations and people for all of time. [Or at least, until all the copies of our books are gone. (:] And as a result of this, we feel more. We become the people that others go to to vent, to tell about their problems, and instead of pretending that we know what it's like, and that we're feeling it with them, we do. Because by writing characters, we feel each of these emotions as strongly and as painfully as if they were our own.

And while being a writer means feeling all of those things to the nth degree, being a writer also means that we have to write. You can't be a writer without writing, and then rewriting, and then rewriting a bit more. And these things take time. So excuse me if I don't want to read what you wrote because I'm too busy writing my own shit so that maybe I can actually make it. Excuse me if there's no way in hell I want to sit down and proofread a million and one mistakes because I'm doing that to my own.


I'm a writer. So just leave me alone and let me write.

Secrets revealed.

Do you snack while you read? If so, favourite reading snack:
I don't really snack while I read. I mean, if I'm hungry I will, but not just "oh I'm gonna go get food cause I'm reading." 

What is your favourite drink while reading?
Again, same as the answer above. Right now, I'm feeling either Lemon Propel, as that's what I almost always am drinking, or lemonade. Just cause I'm craving lemonade.

Do you tend to mark your books as you read, or does the idea of writing in books horrify you?
It doesn't horrify me - I like when I find books at the library or something that have a little sketch or initial on the corners. But I don't do it myself. 

How do you keep your place while reading a book? Bookmark? Dog-ears? Laying the book flat open?
I usually either leave it open or try and remember it. I usually don't remember the exact page, but I can remember what was happening, so I can find it pretty easily. 

Fiction, non-fiction, or both?
I like fiction, with the one exception of memoirs. I don't know why, I just love them a lot :3

Are you a person who tends to read to the end of a chapter, or can you stop anywhere?
I can stop anywhere. 

Are you the type of person to throw a book across the room or on the floor if the author irritates you?
No, I'll probably just sigh annoyedly. 

If you come across an unfamiliar word, do you stop and look it up right away?
No - if my mom is around, I'll usually ask her. But otherwise, I just read through it and try and understand on my own. 

What are you currently reading?
Nothing, actually. I need to start a new book. I just got a bunch from the library, and my friend Ava lent me The Pact by Jodi Picoult, and my mom is gonna let me read her copy of Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea, which is a memoir.

What is the last book you bought?
The last book I bought myself was Nightlight, the Twilight parody. But the last books that my mom bought me [that I know of, since my birthday is on Friday! Eeeek!] The Diet for Teenage Girls ONLY! and The Secret Life of Prince Charming by Deb Caletti.

Are you the type of person that reads one book at a time, or can you read more than one?
I really can only read one at a time - which really sucks when we've got books we have to read for English class. I mean, I can read more than one if I have to, but it's hard. 

Do you have a favourite time/place to read?
Anytime, anyplace dude.

Do you prefer series books or stand-alones?
I don't discriminate! 

Is there a specific book or author you find yourself recommending over and over?
Little Brother by Cory Doctrow. I loooooved that book. 

How do you organize your books? (by genre, title, author's last name, etc.)
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. I don't organize. Anything.