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1. Just kidding, I really have no idea.

2. It's just that sometimes it feels so stupid not to want people to look at me.

3. After all, I look at everyone else - I am a people watcher.

4. I notice when people's socks match their outfits and stuff like that, but I also notice people's moods, when someone is nervous or distracted or irritated or amused or relaxed or focused or anything else.

5. Sometimes I feel like self-consciousness is related to self-obsession - after all, no matter what it feels like, it's NOT all about me, is it?

6. All these little things that concern me likely concern only me, so, logically, shouldn't I just chill out?

7. If emotions could be ruled by logic, though, an entire profession would be out of business.

8. Yeah, that.

9. I do get it, though, that my lack of trust in other people's good opinions can get annoying, irritating even, and definitely pushes people away.

10. Being reassured ten bazillion times is awfully nice, but it feels overly indulgent and I'm pretty sure eventually he's going to get sick of it. I don't thing this was such a big issue in any previous relationship I've been in, but, I don't know. Maybe I'm a different person now.
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I worked all weekend. Got stuck very late at work friday night - I didn't get home until almost three, and we close at one, and I wasn't even supposed to be there until close in the first place. I've been trying pretty hard to make work as least awkward as possible - Saturday night I always do take-out, which means I'm at the bar, and Saturday night is B's bar shift, and last week I bailed and got someone to cover me so I wouldn't have to work so close with him. This week he switched with another bartender and waited tables I guess so he wouldn't have to work so close with me. Yeah... we were talking to each other, I mean, we had to, we had to talk to each other because we're working together. It's a restaurant - teamwork, and all.

But Sunday - I mean, one of us had to say something at some point, I guess. When lunch was ending and the dinner shift was coming in I was kind of hanging around by the bar - I had asked, at the beginning of the shift, if B could drive me home, and he said okay, so I was just waiting for the other bartender to come in. And we have been talking - about nothing. About the Phillies - incessantly - oh, did you know, the Phillies are in the world series? I am starting to fall for the team, really, I am. They're hardcore. I'm in love with all of them. I can't believe I saw them play that first time over the summer and could barely pay attention to them. Not now, my friends! Now I am glued to the screen!

So yeah, we've mostly been talking either about working or the Phillies. Safe topics, or whatever. But Sunday afternoon B kind of leaned on the bar and looked at me and was like, "will it do me any good to apologize to you?"

And when did I ever say I wanted an apology, anyway? )

But the whole time I had this weird feeling that this is the last time we'll ever do anything like that. Like it's already too late. Like we've both already said too much and we can never go back to the easy way things were. Now it's either going to be complicated, or it's going to be over.

And that's what I was trying to avoid all along. I'd say he was doing the same thing, but really I have no idea.

It makes me kind of sad.
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Yes, as you can tell I am very mature.

One day, perhaps, I will get over my amusement with switching the hyphen from before "ass" to after it.

Today is not that day.

Long-ass entry, my friends, for I have a lot to say. )

So now I can accuse Bevan of making me sick.

Or, I have made him sick.

Either way. Sick sucks.

And thats... what's been up.

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Let me tell you what I feel like right now.

My back hurts.

I don't believe for a minute the simple statement "my back hurts" is an accurate description of what I feel like. Let me try again.

The center of my back is ON FUCKING FIRE. There is a white-hot ball of fucking fire dead center between my shoulder blades and the pain is radiating outward and upward across my shoulders, up my neck and into my head.

Did you know that pretty much every time you move your back moves? Did you know that you use your back to do pretty much everything?

Of course, it fucking hurts whether I move or not, so I might as well move, but not if I'm going to end up passing out from the pain. Or puking my guts out. Neither is ideal.

Yes, I have already double-dosed on anything that could possibly help. This is it. I should have just taken a tranquilizer and knocked myself the fuck out, but there were things I wanted to do today. I would rather have done them anyway, even half out of my head on painkillers, but that's not going to be possible, I'm in too much pain to do any fucking thing at all, and I can't do a fucking thing about it but just sit here and take it.

No tranquilizer, see, because I certainly don't want to OD. And yeah, you can tack "again" on to the end of that. I don't want to OD again.

I don't want to watch a show because I can't even fucking pay attention to it. I'm just so pissed - why does my body do this to me? Why does it not comprehend that there IS NO FUCKING FIRE in my spine and react accordingly? I am doing EVERYTHING I am supposed to be doing - I AM DOING IT RIGHT, WHY DO I NOT GET MY WAY?

I felt fine yesterday, what THE FUCK did I do differently today?

I don't have work today - I do have work tomorrow. So what do I do if I keep feeling this shitty? I can't go to work - I can hardly get the fuck up. If I keep calling out of work, I have to bring a doctor's note - so I have to go see a doctor, who will be like, blah blah blah, oh, you say you're in pain, SORRY ABOUT THAT, why don't you try this that and the other thing that HAVE NEVER WORKED BEFORE? Hm wait, let's see, are you sure you're not just trying to get DRUGS?

I want to be so advanced that I can make my brain tell my body it simply refuses to register this kind of UNCALLED FOR BULLSHIT.

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS? I haven't felt pain this intense in years! My shoulder? My shoulder hurt? NO IT DOESN'T, THAT IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THIS.

And there's nothing I can do. There is not one single thing I can do about it.

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So, a couple things I want to write about, here, one being one of the lj comms I'm on. I started a livejournal for the comms. I wrote in it, yeah, like one day a month or something, but it was really just to participate in the comms. Fandom stuff, some, and other things that just had to do with life, like art and photography and things like that. One comm I've been reading for a while is [livejournal.com profile] poor_skills (which I did mention the other day) and it can be a little infuriating how self righteous people can be about how much they're willing to sacrifice to be cheaper than everyone else in existence... but there's a lot of good information on that comm, especially for someone like me who often finds myself in situations where I'm like, uh oh, didn't expect this one, what do I do, I know, I'll call my mom, she knows, oh wait, not speaking to her, huh, wonder how I sort this one out? And so on.

So there's this girl who's been posting there a lot and it seems she's out of work because she broke her leg. Okay, so, she doesn't know what to do because she can't work because she's hurt, and she's trying to deal with having no income. Great. Okay, so [livejournal.com profile] poor_skills is a good place to get some pointers. Fine. But I've found myself, tonight, just wanting to shake her. Or at least leave her a nasty comment. Which I'm not going to do, because it's probably not a good idea, but... really? Really, she can't cook, because she's on crutches? Really? Really?


I mean, seriously, I swear I am no type of supergimp. I am so far from that. I don't cook often, because I think it's a pain in the ass cooking for one person, and I never feel like doing the dishes anyway so my solution is just not to use them, and yes, that is called being very lazy, but... I can cook. I can cook really well. It never occurred to me to think, ok, I can't cook because I'm on crutches, I have to keep my hands on them or I fall down (her words, not mine) so I have to eat only things that don't need to be prepared, because I can't cook.

Obviously I'm just being really unsympathetic here. Which is why this is here on my personal journal and not on the comm. And yeah, pretty much all aspects of life are harder when you can't stand up on your own. But harder doesn't have to mean impossible. Really. It doesn't.

Moving along, more of the same and a little bit different, I did say I went to the beach, right? )

I really miss living near public transportation. I really, really do. I miss living in the city. I don't like having a car and I don't like driving and I'm the worst driver ever.

And that's... yeah, that's about it, that's all I got for tonight.

Oh. Oh, there is the fact that I hate my job. I really, really hate my job and I fantasize every day about telling off every stupid, condescending, self-entitled customer and then getting fired. I can't wait.
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I have made it my mission to attend and enjoy a baseball game sometime this year.

Right. So. Remember my entry about the Phillies game and the rain delay and the crazy fan who did a slip and slide on the tarp and then ran into the tube? Yep. Finally on youtube. I knew youtube'd come through for me! As far as I recall, though, he was wearing pants...

I still maintain the opinion, though, that had he not dove into that tube, he could have escaped security.

Damnit, now I wanna play on a giant slip-and-slide!

And speaking of shit that sounds made up... )

I'm not so much mad at Erica because she didn't show up tonight as just puzzled. She never turns off her phone so I hope she didn't like fall into the Bermuda Triangle Part Two or something. I'm kind of inclined to think she was hooking up with someone, but I have no idea how true that might be.

I guess I should go to bed now. Growing girls need their sleep, you know.

I'm so not going to bed.
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I did not go to the baseball game today.

It's just as well, because there was another rain delay, and once was enough with that inclement weather business.

I did, however, go to a strip club after work last night.

It was a different one. I felt a lot more comfortable there because I was not the only girl in the place who wasn't, you know, dancing. I still kinda feel like I'm slowly de-volving, though. I don't know. Maybe it's not such a horrible thing. Either way, I had a... good time there. I definitely did. I blew all my cash, of course. Also I got a lap dance.

Funny, that. I've randomly hooked up with people just for the fun of it, I mean, obviously not all the time, but it's happened, I mean, I went to college and stuff, and that seems to be what college students do these days when they're not in class - I never felt like there was anything wrong with that. Usually it came back to bite me in the ass, you know, created some type of unpleasant situation, oh, not unlike THE ONE I'M IN NOW, but I've definitely never paid anyone to act like they were into me before.

She must have been a little into me, though, in some way (or I'm just telling myself that to feel better) cause it's not like I picked her or anything. She was making eyes at me from the stage and she specifically suggested we go to that "back room." I know, I know, that's what they all do, because that's how they make money (and damn, those girls must make a fortune each night!) but I am way, way too shy to wave down some mostly-naked girl and ask her for a lap dance, even if it is her job. She came to me. I wasn't about to be like, uh, no no, I don't want that.

Probably she was like, ah, great, a girl, now I don't have to dance all on some nasty sweaty man.

I'm sure that's all it was.
exhilaration: (impossible things)
I woke up this morning hung over.

I woke up at eight. That's really, really late for me. I'm used to waking up at three thirty every morning, and if I go back to sleep I usually wake up again around five or so.

I did not wake up until eight. So I guess my sleep schedule is already getting weird on me.

My head hurt. My neck hurt. My shoulder hurt. My back hurt. My hands hurt. My face hurt. Every fucking thing hurt.

I tried to get out of bed but the floor dumped me back in. It can do that, the floor.

Okay, so, now that we've established I must have gotten drunk last night... )

Geez, if you read through all this, you're a trooper, that's for sure. Thanks. Even if you don't leave a comment, thanks for just reading. I think a few months ago in one of my entries I swore I wasn't always like this. Huh. Apparently I am always like this. Sorry to mislead.
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It's been an interesting few days.

To say the least.

To start with, Bevan came over Thursday night. Thursday is my only day off from both jobs, except, oh wait, I only have one job now. Anyway, Bevan came over last night. Jory has come over a few times on Thursday nights, but not this week. What it boils down to is that Jory just doesn't really like me, and that's fine. Usually the only kinds of girls who like me are girls like Erica and Krissy: tall and loud and beautiful and love to talk about themselves. And I like to listen to people talk about themselves, so it works out pretty well.

Bevan is a pretty quiet guy. He doesn't really initiate conversation with people. We got to be friends pretty much because I continually tried to make conversation with him because I was bored at work. And I don't really initiate conversation either - I'm friendly but not really outgoing, if that makes sense. So while I feel like oh, Erica has explained every single aspect of her life to me many times over, there are a lot of things about Bevan I don't know. One of them that has been on my mind recently is why does he live in his dad's basement? So finally I just flat out asked him, and he gave a fairly straightforward answer: it's easier. And I suppose it would be, wouldn't it, not paying rent and all that. He had his own apartment for a while but eventually moved back home. Huh.

So really we just talked a lot, to each other, about each other )

So, right, just like I said, kiss kiss, bang bang.

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When you see this line on your flist, quote something from Doctor Who.

"I'm always okay."

Well, I worked all weekend. All. Freakin. Weekend. Including Saturday morning at 5am (Saturday is not my day to work at the Coffee Co) at the Coffee Co in town instead of the one on the boardwalk. Mine and Erica's dinner did not happen - I do not have cream cheese - and in fact I have not seen Erica all weekend either. Bevan and Jury came over to my house after Bevan got off work and we had a few beers out on the porch. That was actually pretty nice. I've got a great porch. And since Erica wasn't around, there were no weird Bevan/Erica vibes going on. But that was Thursday. I didn't go out all weekend or have anyone over or do anything remotely cool - well, I did see Doctor Who. That counts, right?

So today I worked this morning at the Coffee Co. Then I got called in to work again this afternoon, also at the Coffee Co, cause, I dunno, I guess someone else called out. And who came in for some coffee? Oh, Bevan and Jury. Apparently they were out surfing in the evening and decided to come up on the boardwalk afterwards.

I always thought Bevan surfed early in the morning - I guess he does surf early in the morning, I mean, the Coffee Co in town is on his way home and he used to stop in there a couple times a week after surfing. I guess he probably still stops in there a few times a week, it's just that I'm not there. But anyway, I know what he likes to drink, he likes to have a large vanilla cappuccino with a tiny splash of almond in it too. So they said they were picking up dinner near where my house is so I asked if they'd wait fifteen minutes for me to get off and then take me home, and we ended up all picking up sandwiches and coming back to my house, and then we took the sandwiches and some beer out to the beach and sat on the blanket for a bit and that was pretty nice.

So I guess people who live here do go out on the beach, just not during peak beach hours or something. I don't know. I haven't really figured it out - maybe there is nothing to figure out. Some people insist they haven't even seen the ocean in years even if they only live a few blocks away, and then there's people like Erica who want to go out on the beach all the time at all hours of the day. I guess everyone is different.

So, here is something real interesting about me and Bevan )

So really, I suppose me and Bevan have known each other for about ten years now :P I'd like to say this is why I felt so comfortable talking to him, and I'd like to say this is why he's pretty much the first real friend I made here, as opposed to just, you know, someone to hang around with randomly, but, honestly, we didn't remember each other. I didn't and he didn't. The totally dumbfounded gaping from both of us when we realized that we had already known each other is a pretty good indication of that.
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I said the other day that this house feels like home to me.

It doesn't. It feels like I live here. But it's not home. It's never going to be home. I don't know why I ever thought that. I'm not even going to be living here at this time next year. And this town? It's never going to be home. I understand small towns. It's never home unless you're born there. If you weren't born there, you're always going to be "new." I'm always going to be "new" and this is never going to be "home."

Home is always going to be in Pennsylvania. I spent the first eighteen years of my life living in the same house in the same environment with the same people and that is always going to be home, and I am NEVER going to feel comfortable in my own home.

And that's just the way it is.

Friday night after work I didn't hang out with Bevan. He just drove me right home after I helped him close up the bar. I guess that's how it's going to go now. I'm some girl from work that talks to him and does his work for him so he can go home sooner. He's just a nice guy who gives rides to the girl who can't drive; he's just a nice guy who's friendly to the resident crippled girl, poor thing with no friends.

It wasn't like that a few weeks ago.

Now it is.

Cause his girlfriend is home now.

Whatever, I promise, the rest of this entry is just as reflective but much less dismal )

I'm back at my own house and it sure as hell doesn't feel like home and I don't know why I ever thought it did.

Matt's leaving tomorrow afternoon. I miss having real friends. I really, really do. I hate being here. When I've got everything all settled with this house, I'm leaving. I don't know where I want to go, exactly, but if I hate it here, there's really no reason to stay, now is there?
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Ok so there's this old movie called Buffalo 66 that I used to watch with my friends when I was a teenager. The girl in the movie always ordered hot chocolate. I thought she was cool, so I always ordered hot chocolate. My girlfriend at the time also always ordered hot chocolate, and specified that she wanted whipped cream. I thought that was cool too.

Now I always order coffee. Bevan always orders coffee. And not because either of us particularly loves coffee. It's because there's no reason to go out and sit in a diner anymore unless it's because you need your caffeine fix and you're fucking exhausted.

exhilaration: (impossible things)
I haven't seen my mother in over a year.

I did not go to my grandmother's funeral purely because I did not want to see my mother there. We spoke twice on the phone in the months following but I have had no contact with her whatsoever since moving out here.

And yet I can still hear her voice in my head any time I try to sit down and sort my life out.

I was thinking today that really, I'm not doing such a bad job. My upstairs is going to be finished by summer, and it is going to bring me income. That's pretty much a fact. Everything is going according to plan, and it would take something pretty major to derail it at this point. I'm not in any kind of weird relationship with anyone - I hang out with the people I work with, and that's while we're at work, and, sometimes, after work, but that's it. I take all the medications I'm supposed to and don't take anything I'm not. I even made an appointment to start physical therapy at the end of May (of course, earliest date I could possibly get.)

This is pretty much a thousand percent improvement in my life. I'm not relying on anyone else to bail me out, and I'm not damaging myself in any way. But all I can hear is her voice, telling me "you'll never be able to do [whatever], [whatever] won't work, [so-and-so] is just making that up, they won't really help you, blah blah blah."

When I look back at my life, I kind of re-realize all over again just how badly my parents did me dirty. And the thing that blows my mind the most is that they think they're fucking saints and that they're so wonderful to have put up with so much shit from me and that they tried so hard but I was just so bad...

Every so often I really work myself into a frenzy about this stuff. It just all makes me so furious. I know parents make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. But to fuck up that badly and not even think you did anything wrong?

I know I'm really stubborn, and I know I'm really proud, to a fault, and I know those aren't positive characteristics. But I was also a fucking kid, and, I swear, I was legitimately disturbed in the head, and, if there's anyone out there in that wide cold world who should have cut me just a little bit of slack, well, I'd say my supposedly-loving parents should have been my best bet.

Of course to hear them tell it I'm sure it's a different story entirely.

But it's my damn story, and right now, I almost hate them both.
exhilaration: (impossible things)
So tomorrow I'm going to the doctor.

I hate going to the doctor and I can't imagine this visit being at all productive. I just can't see that happening at all. And this is based on many previous experience. I don't have some kind of unreasonable fear of doctors. I don't even lack faith in doctors in general. I just know for a fact that doctors, especially clinic doctors, are very quick to give you the brush off. And so that is what I'm expecting to get.

This is what I do when I feel like shit, I write and write and write and write... )
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Melodramatics ensued.

The End.
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I had a new years revalation.

That's kind of like making a resolution.

Well, it isn't really. A revalation is a lot more final than a resolution. Who keeps their resolutions anyway?

I think, all this time, when I lived in that closet, when I lived on Marcus's couch, when I moved back home, when I lived with my grandparents, when I was in the hospital and when I was in the other hospital, all along, I think I thought if I just stuck it out long enough, Daniel would come back and "save" me. From what, I guess maybe from me.

My grandfather died tonight.

And Daniel is not coming back, nor is he going to ask me to come to New York with him. I'll probably never see him again. I haven't talked to him in ages. He blocks me on IM now. He never answers my calls. He probably feels like all the years he lived with me I just sucked him dry of everything, and he's sick of it and is glad to be free of me.

He is not going to swoop down and pluck me out of this disaster I am trying to live in and move me into his loft in NYC where we will live happily ever after.

I can never go back to my parents house.

I can never go back to my grandparents house. They aren't there anymore.

I don't have anywhere to live. I have no money and the money I don't even have yet is already owed to the Great City of Camden, for I must pay for the crime of lying to get prescription drugs without said prescription, for I clearly haven't paid enough.

I'm never going to be friends with Daniel again. I've completely destroyed that relationship, whatever it was.

I'm never going to be without pain.

I'm never going to be able to walk.

And I'm never going to be able to take an honest look at my life and say a single good thing about it.

Happy Fucking New Year.


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Lara I.

October 2012

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