i'm back from outer space

running today was terrible but sometimes it's the most torturous activities that are the best for us. my lungs felt like they were going to explode.

whenever my mother goes grocery shopping she always buys caffeine free diet pepsi, and no one likes it but her. i think it's selfish.

i'll be in a better mood soon.

i am piss drunk and everyone thinks im an idiot. i'm very sorry that erik had to deal with ym shit and walk me to my door. im sorry that others had to hear my bitching. but i'm happy that you're happy in my own sick masochistic sort of way.

i am upset that everything in your life is going so swell. but honeslty at the same time i wish u the best because im terrified and sad of my own feelings towards anyone and anything.

i'm a big fat faker and i mean it. i'm not emotionally detached because its how i am. i'm that way because it's how u made me and im too much of a fucking coward and to grow up and find someone that i can care about.

i am honeslty happy that you have someone. although it rips my throbbing little heart out, i know its better for me to be alone than you, because i am the stronger one. i'll be able to live like this longer nd forever until the icy mass known as my heart is forgotten in this giant pooling and shifting of ice and arctic currents.

even when im drunk, im beautiful. even when i'm totally wasted, im better than anything you've ever had. i hope this beautiful holly is the exception.


i will die before i fall apart. no one knows how solitary a hear can be until theyre me.

learn your social security number, boys and girls. it's a lifeline. learn the patterns in your spegghettios and the way your first true love flips thier hair. remember that people are more than a face and an action. be careful who you love, they just might jeopardize your sense of fashion and self control.

i am poison.

I KNOW YOU WELL ENOUGH
TO KNOW YOU NEVER LOVED ME
do u know how many people hate you for making me cry do u know how many people hate you for making me cry

nothing could have ever stopped me.
everything else just slows it down, it makes this kaleidoscope of harsh words and last breaths blur into crystal monotony, slow motion. it it it makes it easier to swallow, but harder to escape. you can tell me i'll regret it, you can tell me DON'T CALL ANYBODY, i can erase numbers and try to forget them, but it only pauses the inevitable.

your voicemail. and yes, i left a goddamn message.

i am so masochistic. i could puke.

heyitsbri iwasjustcallingtoseehowyouwereandstuff becausewehaventtalkedforawhile youcancallmebackifyouwantto bye.

bye.

it's okay. memorial day and alcohol and being drunk and dancing without pants on and materialism and running, running so long and the lull of summer that echoes so days are years and nights are days and shadows.

mistakes are hard to undo.

don't call anybody
don't call anybody
don't call anybody

lets not forget that we're born to lie, murder, cheat and steal. we are not monogamous or kind. love is secondary to a slab of raw meat. that it is animalistically built into us. that we only overcome it through careful and strenuous societal training and most of us do not overcome our natural disposition at all.

it's not worth thinking about or questioning. it's chemicals, they say. the chemists and physicists of Yale, Harvard, Oxford. it's in your brain, in the neurons. even love is chemicals connecting, not flowers and kissing and sacrifice. it's not in the words you so carefully choose, the compromises you make, the diamond ring. it's chemicals. that's it, that's all, says science.

is your brain stem compatible to mine?
will our neurons ignite and collide?
will you be my alchemy valentine?

don't call any body

where is this proverbial finish line?

i highly recommend stopping by your local blockbuster and picking up a copy of "BLOOD GNOME." sheer quality entertainment, boys and girls, as long as you enjoy gnomes eating people who are having kinky, bloody sex. like, I AM TOTALLY THERE!

i ate almost nothing today and got 3 hours of sleep last night. hopefully that will result in the loss of a pound or two. losing weight without trying is a warm feeling.

Brad Pitt as Achilles... gave me a total boner, i must admit. that man's body is one singular rippling muscles. christ on a cracker.

craash, craaaash, craash - into a ditch!

round breasts, not cone-shaped. round breasts are more attractive.

why do we want what we can't have. why do we want what we can't have.

!

tell my body this. tell this to chemicals and nerves. tell this to soft eyes and hot nights and brushing faces.

honestly, i'm giving this up.
really. really.

^!%#&&(&*$*&!%*#(^^%*(

as soon as i want to. as soon as my flesh concurs.

really.

i am trying to figure out when every action of my life became so monumentally unfamiliar, alien to who i thought i was, without me realizing it.

i am trying to know what is wrong with me, in all senses. i am trying to understand why i could not just go on being the bri that was the bri. i recall the bri who wanted a relationship as opposed to sex, chinese food as opposed to liquor. i am not the bri of then. i am a bri that cannot sleep at night. i am wondering who i am now, drinking too often or much more than before, less affected or terribly in denial of my care and concern for others, alone and glad, seeking gratification in anyone, anything other than a human being i could actually have feelings for. i am trying to figure out just where the hell i went wrong. i went to the gym every day, i have lost weight, have become a healthier person. i met new people, good people. i made admirable grades, even after tom came here and tipped my sphere. i picked up the pieces and moved on. i am wondering how i will ever be able to trust anyone again.

not that i ever have feelings. for anyone.
so hard. to trust.
life is an alternately happy and sad proposition.
love is a sad one.

in this time and place and channel, there is nothing better to be me for.

why is there this constant pressure for everyone to fall in love and become attached to one person? i would like to say this is a blatantly american concept, and while in theory it may be, it's obviously rampant through the universe.

sometimes i feel like i'm in love with everyone.

besides, aside from our country's best efforts at feigning monogamy, husbands are still mounting secretaries on desks during their busy work schedules, and lonely housewives continue to seduce the 21st century equivalent of the milkman.

i can't relate with the monogamous, the cheating, or the polyamorous. so. i have to wonder, where exactly does that leave me in the grand scheme of things?

[concerning "eat n' park"; shouldn't it be "park n' eat"?]

alone at the bake sale, friends. alone at the bake sale.

I know it seems as though you're all I think about, but this is a lie. You're simply 65% of what i write about, and that's not terribly impressive considering I only write about things that bring me considerable stress and which I don't like to think about at unspecified times. Not to take that away from you.

I didn't realize how little you cross my mind anymore until today. I don't know how or when or why but my brain has changed a function or formula. Neurons are fighting against you. I wouldnt know what to say if you were here, or on the line or online messaging me with that underlying layer of unease. I’m not who or what I was when we last spoke, when I saw you walk out of the hotel room with a trash bag full of gummy bears and into the arms of ice cold California. I don't know who I've become, but I wouldn't know what to say if you did in fact decide to communicate with me. I wouldn’t feel comfortable. I'm different. Things are different. You're a distant person, eons away and I'm something else all the way over here.

All I did was ignore the problem and delete you out of my phone, out of my room, out of my routine. Out of my life? I thought that maybe it would fix itself and I'd forget you all together or learn to hate you or see you as someone worse or at least unworthy of any kind of respect or care. As the months pass I realize that there is no finite end to any of this. Just you fading further and further away, supassing the 3000 miles and becoming buried in the end of an era in my life. I'll progress through college, ambitious and tough, unfaultering, because that's who I am. I'll love my family and trade and leave and find friends and boys and life. You'll probably stay in California and be an electrician, marrying some white trash girl with a killer body who likes guns and the way a revving engine sounds. Am I supposed to send you Christmas cards, or tell you when I move, or enquire about your life? I realize you won't do these things but I'm different than you. I wont evade my obligations to you or anyone else. So you will receive these cards and wishes and youll probably feel something, something vague and old. But it'll grow more unfamiliar with each passing holiday, season, year. I used to think the end of this abstract you and I thing was abrupt and certain, but it seems as though it's going to linger and linger.

I fully realize that I will probably never see you again. I don't want to talk to you. I wouldn't go back to it. I won't call you sober. I won't empathize, or email you. I won't initiate conversation. I won't tell you about my accomplishments or failures, or deaths in my life or new phases of me, the girl you knew for 4 years as bri, as anna, as Brianna, short, brunette, cute, fucked up, a liar, inescapable, smart, easy to push aside and turn on and off, a girl who doesn't know what she wants in life, impatient, immature, always playing the part of the victim, over-dramatic, and not worth it. Not worth it by a long shot.

For what it's worth i don't feel much negativity anymore about our span as a you-and-me undefined enigma. i am absolutely in awe of how much i can care about someone that i choose not to speak to. who knows how much of me was made by you, altered and formed and detailed by your prior knowledge and experience.

i'm just sad that i stopped being a kid
when i started talking to you.

i am all alone, a singular section of the universe. every nerve spins with the feeling.

if we're all composed of the same atoms that came from the exploding igniting gravitycollapsing stars that were here prior to the sun and we don't care or don't understand or are uncomfortable with that correlation how is it so easily construed by you and a simple scantron selection? a geology final telling me to choose -

you are made of star dust; true or false?

a matter of opinion or variation and situation, of feeling. bubbling in the a or b, this may be our last dance.

that was a very personal question, professor kammer. i never asked what you were made of.