4 weeks sober

it is one of those days where everything feels very heavy. my eyelids, my head, my organs, my arms and hands and fingers and fingernails and cells and cytoplasm and golgi bodies. it's all weighing me down. i'll shake it off and leave the cells and fingers and organs underneath my bed with the dust mites and crumpled gum wrappers. i'll keep my eyelids though so i can close my eyes and ascend into the lucid sky as a transparent, aerial spirit free of temporal baggage. i'll remain there until i inhale enough of the unstained sky to fill my squalid lungs that i left under the bed. i'll watch the earth and develop a charitable empathy for all the little people, each doing his or her very best to find what fulfills their little lives and validates each polluted little breath they intake. then i'll close my heavy eyelids and descend to those cumbersome body parts and proceed with my cluttered, selfish existence.

i feel sad for the sun. i imagine he is sweetly attempting to reach his encouraging beams into this listless dungeon but is rudely interrupted by the murky window, creating a muted, somber aura absorbed by the barren cement walls.

my flight leaves soon but i am sitting, unshowered and undressed, in the middle of this godforsaken apartment writing nonsense about golgi bodies and a personified sun. i don't know if it is prudent to use the term "godforsaken" but it is entirely too appropriate to replace with a less relevant synonym.

my new favorite work: copacetic
it's not even in the Microsoft Word dictionary.

kenny king

finals week. week of perpetual tension headaches and desperate pleas for inspiration from a higher source. at this moment i am cramming for my 8am media law final in my excessively warm apartment. i turned the heat up to 79 degrees [f]. my exboyfriend's mediocre musical attempts on the guitar are quietly humming from my laptop. although i will give him this much: he really does have an intriguing voice and his lyrics- however self-satisfying and dramatic- are kind of lovely. i don't think i have listened to his music in over a year and a half. alright, i have had enough, i'm changing it.

ashley and i went to kenny king's charity christmas party. it was the most enjoyable BYU party i have ever attended.

injudicious

i'm afraid that stripped of my impractical life plans and injudicious pursuance for affection i am nothing more than an oblivious little girl, defined by diluted standards and contrived ambitions that i don't even consider myself capable of.

i will own up to the fact that previous to today i had no idea what 'injudicious' meant. but i like it. it is a good word. i will induct it into my vocabulary. injudicious. injudicious.injudicious.

i don't contribute much to society but one day i will and my contribution will be relatively insignificant and flawed but absolutely sincere.

bricks

i told trisha about my desire to be a freelance writer and she was vehemently encouraging.
i told her about how one day i would like to own a used book shop somewhere with mild weather and intimate neighborhoods; she was thrilled.
i told her about how i am a biotch and she told me she admired me for it.

everyone should get a trisha.

i am 20

i deleted a bunch of posts. i like blogging because when i want to dispose of journal entries i am relieved from ripping pages out of my diary and messing up the binding. i don't know why i said that because i actually don't even own a diary. well, i actually do. it's blank. i would have started writing in it a long time ago, but its too beautiful. so naturally i have to write beautiful things in it and i have nothing beautiful to say.

more and more i feel i want to be a writer. like my mom. she is so talented. she could help me get published. i don't even know what i would write. and i need to develop my writing. and i am a pathetic speller.

did you know i am 20 and have never been in love?
i think thats really something.

syrup

this silky smooth music, the unsteady fall of rain outside my window, the pit in the bottom of my stomach that i have contemplated the origins of and have [likely erroneously] diagnosed as stress: coalescing to create an altogether pathetic scene of self-pity indulgence.

it just feels good to be sad sometimes.

other times it doesn't.

allow me to digress but not too far because this is most likely a benefactor to the previous statements. i hate food and i hate scales and i hate the media telling me i'm too fat and i hate myself for being constantly concerned about it. i can feel myself slipping back into that paranoid, miserable, calorie-counting state of mind. le sigh. and thus the cycle continues.

oh, this is a shameful post. most likely to be deleted in the morning when i realize a slightly punch-drunk aubrey tastelessly deemed it appropriate to post on the WWW. g'night.

woops

it is sunday morning at 1:33am; i am exhausted.
the obvious thing to do is blog.

my boyfriend just left. he was watching football and i was sleeping in his lap. prior to this i was watching a fat camp reality series with blake. my saturday nights have come to this?

i feel awful as of late. this is not exclusive to physical illness.

forgive me.
i do not want this blog to become a victim of my whiny self-criticism.
although i admit i find it much easier to narrate my thoughts to an electronic entity than effectively express myself to anyone with the capability to actually offer some sort of condolence.
i will refrain. tonight. goodnight.

P.S. this has been weighing on my mind recently:
Great people talk about ideas.
Average people talk about things.
Small people talk about other people.