So I guess-

I'm just the other girl again. Sort of. Kind of. You've been dating her for six months now. But you still want me, after a year and half of being broken up, but it's ok, because I still want you too. I just didn't realize the feeling was mutual, until you told me, of coarse. But there's nothing to do about it. She's your "boo", but you "still have eyes" for me. Cool. What does that mean. It means nothing, it means you've been in a relationship for a while, and you miss being able to flirt with everyone. That's all.

I don't think I should, but I'm gonna wait. Just to see, if when you guys break up, you'll still feel the same. Because you will break up. It's going to happen. She's going to job corps. She can't smoke pot to go. Unless you give it up, you'll just make it too hard for her. But I don't want you to quit for her. You didn't quit for me.

I don't know what I'm doing. End of story.

Wtf.

Yesterday morning, my friend, who is also my ex, who is also the boy I loved and continue to love more than any other boy in the world, came over to my house around noon because I owed him a batch of brownies. His ride had to go pick someone else up, so he stayed around and hung out with me. Which doesn't hurt nearly as bad as it used to. He ate brownies, and helped my little brother put away dishes. Then April and Josh showed up, which was awesome, because I love them. They invited me to stay the night, because they alsways do. I decided I would, and then they invited him. And he said yes. I didn't know what to think of it at first, it seemed like a bad idea (logically), but a perfectly fine idea otherwise. He's fun to be around, and Josh and April both like him.



Everything was going smoothly. We were all chillin' and having a great time. Then Josh and April went to bed, we watched the Goonies. I was half asleep on the floor when I heard you say my name. I mumbled some sort of response. You said "Come lay up here with me." and patted the couch.
Whatttt theee fuck. That's all that went through my mind. That's it. I assumed I dreamt that, so I said "What?", and you said it again.

I got up and sat by your feet, I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want to be so close, but I did at the same time. I didn't want you to do anything stupid. I sat there for a long time. You kept saying I could move over and lay down with you, but my heart was racing, and I knew I couldn't do it. I knew I'd do something stupid. Or cry.

But I regret so much not doing it.

The next morning, we wrestled over a bat. A little tiny bat, that is used to hit the ferrets around. For three hours. We rolled all over each other. Everybit of it was sexual, I know you felt it too. You told me after.

Then we had to leave.

"Hey, where are we dropping you off at?"

"Uh, can you take me to Melissa's?"

Fuck. That.

I fucking hate that.

When you talk to a guy, you're getting along, everything's goin' good, they wanna hang out, then outta the blue they stop talking to you. You go to their profile to check out why.

CLICK! They have a girlfriend now. Well duhhh. Thank you. That's lovely. Good luck.

I'm sick as fuck, and I have a cigarette, and I really want it, but I'm scared it'll make my cough worse. FUCK. I haven't smoked all day. And I'm in a shitty mood.

And I'm terrrified of this coming week. She's gonna pop soon, and I'm scared. It's not even happening to me, but I'm horrified that something's going to happen, something's going to go wrong.

The writer must write what he has to say, not speak it. -Ernest Hemingway

Ahh.

All these boys on youtube, singin' me their cover songs, with their pretty eyes and beautiful voices.

There aren't any clever titles coming to me.

Another dream last night. What is that? Three, four nights in a row-not counting the past three months full of them. Everyone was at the river, lying on the rocks. He was eating a cookie, when there was one bite of it left, he handed to me. I took it because I didn't know what else to do.

What the hell?

I need to start doing cardio on my own time. Maybe I'll try to run a lap around the block tonight.

I don't want school to start. At all. And I'm going to have to ride the bus. Mornings and after. Which means no relaxing in the morning, or afternoons, always in a rush. But then I would only have to deal with them during lunch. That might be better. But still not preferred.

I'm not inspired lately. I want to paint something, but I have no idea. I try to write, but I feel like I'm pulling everything out of my ass. I started a project I was supposed to do for my friend's band months ago, but who knows if they're even still together. I want to go back to the ditch we found. The sky was amazing. So clear. When I looked at the sky last night I felt cheated. I had always thought I had such a great view from my little sidewalk, but then I learned I was wrong and now am no longer content. Hmph.

I want to run away somewhere, just for a week, before school starts. I want to go to the woods and just run. Hearing only rustling in the grasses, and skittering in the tree tops. Running and running. Feeling the mossy bark scrape softly across your arms as you brush by the trees. Your feet crunching in the dry, fallen leaves and twigs. Until you find yourself completely lost, looking up in search of the night sky only to find a canopy of branches. Your heart hammering with adrenaline, but you don't care. You're glad you're all alone, no where to be found. Somewhere you can just sit, and think, and only be interrupted by things that can't talk, can't fill your head with stupid ideas. Somewhere peaceful. Where you can ponder all the questions you've ever had, where you can decide whether or not this perfection could be made by accident, or by some unknown Creator. Where you can decide for yourself who you are.

Sometimes I feel like a spy.

At the can and bottle return at Fred Meyers, there was a little old Mexican man with a cart full of plastic ArrowHead watter bottles, and Monster energy drinks. Rythmically he put each one into the bottle return, carefully reaching his hand into the cart because there was a small swarm of bees darting in and out of the sugary cans.


A girl walked up with brown paper bags that said "RAM" on the side in red ink. She was pale, with dark hair, and maybe 20 years old. She had an Ugly Betty feel about her. Her bright colored layers, and knock-off brand Uggs that were the same color as her pants, made you want to help her. Her hair was long, to the middle of her back. She looked like she could be beautiful, but she wasn't brave enough to try.


She stood by the return with her bags, and looked around. Her mouth moved as she said something to the Old Man, and he replyed to her with few words and a shrug. She walked up to the call button, and hesitated before pressing it. The red light came on and she stepped back. One of her bags slipped, and the bottles spilled out onto the ground. She hurried to pick them all up, and turned slightly pink.


A clean shaven, yet dirty looking man on a mountain bike road up next to her. They spoke for a moment, then, for a reason I have no idea of, she gave him all but one of her bags. They exchanged a few more words, then smiles, and the girl walked off towards the bus stop, with a single bag of empty plastic water bottles. The Biker Man then spoke to the Old Man, and seemingly convinced him to hand over the rest of his bottles and cans. The Old Man shrugged again, printed of his ticket and walked in side to get his money. The Biker Man seemed rather smug to me.


He then pressed the call button a few more times. After two minutes, a blond Surfer Boy worker walked by. Biker Man spoke to him, but Surfer Boy shook his head and walked off. Then another worker came out, but he appeared to be either off work, or on a break as he headed to his car. Biker Man kinda shook his head. Old Man then walked out of the store, holding his walet and a pack of cigarettes, looks like he had enough bottles. Shortly thenafter, a worker finally came to help poor Biker Man.

Mom also came back to the car, and we went home.

I still want to know why the girl gave him all of her bags but one, and left.

Again.

Another stupid dream. Why does he always have to be in them? I hate so much to wake up and realize he really didn't just smile at me. To realize that we weren't that close, and he's not that sober. Almost every single night this summer, he's somehow been twisted into my dreams, but we're always with a group of people. And I can never get through the crowd to him. He sees me, because he smiles, or waves, or laughs, or winks, or tosses something at me. But I can never get close to him. Not close enough to touch him, or talk to him. Why?

Question?

What does it mean, when someone you've been close to for over a year, in no sexual way at all, gets drunk with you, then goes on an adventure with you? An adventure involving exploring the cemetary at 11 pm, then getting caught by some old lady who thought we were trouble, and telling her we were just paying our respects, and having her apologize, then jumping the fence. Then finding a trail that led down to a ditch, with nothing exciting except the cattails that reached over my head, and the moist grasses that whipped at my legs as I walked through them, as well as the croaking frogs and singing crickets. Then stumbling our way back up the hill, which seemed much steeper than it did on the way down. Then taking another drink, smoking a cigarette. Then walking through an apartment complex only to find an exciting little play structure. Then, me being who I am, excitedly running to the top of it, and going down the biggest slide, almost falling sideways as I land. Then rushing to the swings together, looking up the whole time because the sky is amazing and all the stars are out. Then running back to the slide, then realizing my phone is missing. Then searching everywhere we can and not finding it. Then him inviting me to play tic tac toe on the highest part of the play structure. The tic tac toe board is actually focused more on math, so I choose to be 2's, and he chooses 3's, only to find quickly after that the middle square does not have the option of being a 3. Then laughing and calling it stupid. Then running back down the stairs. Then finding those things, almost like two cans with the string in them, one on each side of the playground, and telling him to go put his ear by the other one, then laughing (because you feel so ridiculously childish and happy for no reason at all, it's like the youth is seeping from your pores) and saying hello through it, with him then responding "Sierra's a little teeeease", in a sing-song voice. Then me immediately standing up and wondering what on earth I did to have him say that.

Oh dear.

I found my phone though, I asked a stranger to call it. It glowed under the swing.

I had planned to write a really long great blog about Warped Tour today,

But then I decided to get on his Myspace, and felt sorry for him because his status is "RIP Dad".

Then I felt less bad for him, because he had a message from baby momma saying he needed to see his kid.


Blahhhhh!

Last summer.

I miss the adrenaline, the fear, the adventure, the excitment. I miss running through the streets at night as fast as we could for no reason at all. Or the time we dressed up like joggers, so we wouldn't look suspicious. I miss the midnight walks to 7-11 with pocketfuls of change for cigarettes. I miss roaming the apartment complex meeting new kids, and helping the drunk ones up the stairs. I miss lying in bed pulling my hair out because I couldn't find anyone with a bowl. I miss filling up the neighbors fountain with shampoo, and taking a ceramic bunny from one yard, and putting it across the street in someone else's yard. I miss the endless Slurpees, and knowing the 7-11 workers and talking to them every time we went in. I miss the rush of getting in someone's car that we had never met, onlyheard of, and going all over town with them. I miss crawling out of window and landing 8 feet below on the ground. I miss making sure that I was never out past five in the morning. I miss going to Freddy's everyday for lunch, and hiding our bikes in the bushes to make sure no one would steal them while we ate lunchables. I miss my heart stopping whenever a cop drove by. I miss throwing soda out over the bluff by night, and climbing up to the cave by day. I miss your mom, and how nice she always was to me, even though I never knew her very well. I miss breaking into the pool with the apartment kids. I miss being out every single night of summer, and never getting caught. I miss the days before you had a car, back when we weren't confined to a mini van, with stupid music blasting so loud you can't hear the person sitting next to you. I miss shaking in fear over the thought of all the trouble we could get into. I miss my heart racing. I miss never being bored.

I live too much in the past.

Do you want to end up like your father?

I have a number in my phone from a guy I met at the river on Friday. Problem is I don't know if he gave it to me for me, or for Josh. Actually I don't even know how I got it. Nor do I remember whether or not he was attractive. Oh well. I didn't puke and that's all that matters. Even though everyone else did. I'm so proud.

I also ate shit a few times. Once in dirt and once in gravel. It turns out I lack enough commen sense to realize that it's probably not a good idea to take a piggy back ride from someone as intoxicated as you are.

I like drinking too much.

I'm braver when I drink. And I talk to people I would normally avoid or ignore, but I'm not mean. I'm really nice. So it's not that bad.

No idea.

I always say I like the weather when it's like this, and I do. The cool fresh air, the shiny paleness of the world, the break from stiffling heat. I love it. But at the same time, it is a total good mood killer. It makes you feel dull, and numb. Which isn't always bad. But after a long period of time it can result in an unfortunate depression.

Something Hemholtz said, in Brave New World, I can't find the exact quote, but basically he said that he wanted to go somewhere cold, somewhere miserable, if he went somewhere warm and bright, he would never be able to write about the way he truely felt.

Testing, testing, 1 2 3...i just want to see if this works coming from my phone :)

I admit it.

When I got drunk at the river I liked that those guys, no matter how nasty, referred to me as "beautiful", and held my hand so I wouldn't fall in the water. I liked that they talked to me.

I liked even more that whenever they did talk to me he would come over and stand next to me. Even if it was just so he wouldn't have to explain something terrible to my mother.

It did bother me that he was all over a nasty little girl six hours after I'd fucked him.

I didn't expect the sex to be good, but I knew someone would call me out on it, and then I could take everything out on them.

I don't really even like sex that much. Except for with that one guy. Who I'm supposed to hate.

I don't hate him at all, not even a little bit. I just pretend to.

I keep having nightmares about going back to school. I don't know if I dread it so much because I'll have to see them together, or if it feels like I'll be stuck there forever. Probably both.

It makes me feel less guilty for cheating on him when I take care of him when he gets too drunk. I hope he can tell I do it because I love him.

I would have never told anybody what he was doing if I would have known she wouldn't believe it.

I feel so much sexier now that I'm tan.

I miss cutting. But I'm so close to a year.

I think there's a part of me that wants to be alone forever. Otherwise I would try to make things work.

I was recently accused of lying to everyone I care about, and fucking all the ones who don't give a shit about me, and I guess it's true. But the lying isn't intentional.