It's been a while.

And for that, I apologize. I just haven't had much to say. But recently I've been wanting to become a legitimate blogger. Someone who gets real followers, someone who writes in this thing every day. I feel like that would help me become a real writer.

I have this picture in my head of what a real writer looks like. A real writer drinks multiple cups of coffee or tea every day. A real writer has a glass of wine with dinner. A real writer has a desk. A real writer wears these incredibly chic clothes that she's bought from the thrift shop, or consignment stores - she rarely buys anything new. A real writer has books strewn everywhere, each and every one of them with a worn down spine from overuse. A real writer has stacks upon stacks of notebooks filled with random scribblings and ideas, and most of them are tiny nuggets of gold that could be turned into something valuable if cultivated. A real writer is thin, because she lives from paycheck to paycheck, and is constantly running around looking for another job to help make the ends meet. A real writer has long hair that is usually up in a bun or ponytail, but reaches halfway down her back on the odd occasion she lets it down.

None of these things are true for me. I have this picture in my head of what I should look like, how I should act, what would make me a real writer, and I can't live up to it. Instead, I am me.

Okay, this has gotten insanely off-topic. Maybe I'll post something real later. I just feel bad that I've been neglecting this blog for my Tumblr, which isn't really a ~blog because all I do is reblog other people's posts, for the most part. I doubt if I posted any writing there I would get any response. Mostly because you can't comment on things there... Though people can comment here, and don't, so I don't know what I'm talking about. Excuse me while I go try and wrap up my crazy.

            I want to live in a cute apartment in New York City that’s decorated with fascinating knickknacks and furniture that doesn’t go together but fits and works. I want to be thinner and taller, a size four and five six. I want to have wavy hair that comes down my back just far enough that I can put it up into a messy bun and look artistic. I want to wear these clothes that shouldn’t go together either, but just like my furniture, they work. I want to be known as that writer girl, the one who’s always carrying a notebook or a laptop, always scribbling or typing away at something. I want to laugh with friends and drink crappy red wine with our pizza and French fries while we get into debates about anything and everything. I want to have a dog that jumps up every time I come into the room, who attacks my legs with glee when I come home from work. I want to have a job that I love going to every single day, I want to have coworkers that I go out with for drinks sometimes. I want to wear big sunglasses and not look like a bug, I want to be drinking coffee every morning and be unable to function without it. I want my teeth to be straight and white, cute little rows of white Chiclets in my mouth. I want to have men staring after me as I walk by, only to look away when I catch their eyes and smile. I want to strut down the streets with my head held high, knowing that I am a sight to behold and anyone looking at me is doing so out of admiration, not disgust. I want to have a blog that everyone loves and talks about. I want to be free of my family; I want to be happy; I want to be loved. I want to go home at night and curl up with my dog and a good book. I want a roommate that I love, who challenges me to do my best and vice versa. I want to learn how to cook exotic dishes and not-so-exotic dishes. I want to be part of a community of writers, who sit down together and discuss their stories and their characters and everything else. I want to be writing every day. I want to have a box full of journal pages that I’ve printed out, to save for a rainy day when I’m wondering what exactly I was thinking when I was sixteen, seventeen, and so on. I want to have artistic talent, instead of just creativity. I want to be a character in a book, complete with my own special happy ending and guy of my dreams. I want to live this life that I’m thinking of, the life that I’m trying so desperately hard to describe, but can’t seem to grasp the words for. 

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.