mononucleosis, monotony, and monogamy...three things we all don't need.

with a new and improved name!
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yeah yeah yeahhhhhhhhhh.

i got that finality.
it fucking sucks.
i'm starting to feel like i did in the middle of the year where i want to just go away from everyone and everything for a year or two.
yeah, sounds about right.
there's no break to life it's so fucking unfair.

edit: hopefully things change in the future because this isn't how i want things to be.

i think i've figured it all out. i can't keep hanging on to something that i've held on to since 8th grade, no matter how much i want to. i can't get myself all miserable over one person, no matter how special she is. i can't let this summer slip by being melancholy over recent events, no matter how hard it is. i'm never falling for this fucking trap again. i really hope i can find some finality soon in this whole situation. this fucking sucks.

i don't know why, but her telling me that made me nauseous.
it really shouldn't.
but it does.

(this is a story about another person, a person we can call john. from now on, i will refer to john as "I" because i wish to write this story in the first person narrative.)

It is entirely fictional.

I was born in Brooklyn, New York. My parents were already separated. Married for 6 months. My names John. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, i can get to my story. My childhood was more or less a blur. A teenage tragedy, if you will. One specific memory was the re-occuring nightmares of meeting my father, whom i hated with an intense passion. I did not even know the man.I was just angry at him for what he did to my mother. She still had scars from all the nights she was hit by him with various objects, belts, shoes, fists. One time he slashed her at the dinner table, she told me. Even thinking back now, i feel the same rage in the pit of my heart for him, although i have met him, and have made my peace with him. School was just as worthless as trying to cope with my depressed mother. Both just brought me down, and down, and down. But luckily, there was always Stella. I met Stella in middle school. I can't remember the actual grade level. Stella was of incomparable beauty. The kind you only see in the magazines of the anorexic, substance addicted models. Except Stella wasn't anorexic, or snorting coke. She was a dream girl, the kind you could go to with any problem, and she would try her very best to help you out with it, and not pass judgement unless it was neccessary to your health. This was my problem. I was a freshman in high school, and was failing every class. I just didn't care anymore, i didn't care. And the situation at home wasn't any better. I was receiving no praise for any good i did. I passed a test, i only got yelled at.
"I don't give a fuck John."
"You're just like your asshole father."
"Stop getting in my fucking way."

It's funny, now that i think back, smoking pot seemed like the taboo thing to do when i had first started. Stella was so angry with me all the time. All I wanted was to make her happy, but not at the expense of my life. It felt to me as if weed was the only thing that kept me going. At first it was only once in a while, maybe like every weekend, and it wasn't planned. More of a social thing. Soon though, it consumed me. I was smoking every morning. We called it a wake and bake. Even during school hours sometimes. Abandoned stairwells, gym locker room, out of the bathroom window. I got all new friends, and Stella and I grew apart. She was going on to bigger and better things, and i was just in a downward spiral. Stella was a sickness, you see, she was contagious. Stay away from her, my "friends" told me. She was trouble to the nth degree. Fine by me, i listened to my friends, i was happy. Great lie to tell yourself when you're spending more time high than sober.

Scientifically, it has been proven that marijuana can dull the cannibinoid receptors to the point of non-existance. This is what I think happened to me. Weed just stopped being fun. I was still unhappy, dirty, and burnt out to say the least. The whole time that I was in the habit, i was funding it through petty crimes. Breaking into pay phones for quarters, stealing purses during the night, going to local gyms and taking wallets from the suburbanites. After i realized no amount of weed would get me to anywhere near the highs i had acheived, i made a decision to move onto bigger and better things, as Stella had. Except, this was the opposite side of the spectrum. Cocaine. What a powerful substance it was. Gave you a high like none other. Then again, it was a money waster like none other. It was funny, that all i thought about was Stella. Her beauty, it was amazing. Just the memories i had of her were enough to get me aroused. I had hoped that I would see her again someday, funny how life works.

When i saw Stella again, i was so high on cocaine, i didn't recognize her. I had gotten into the habit of snorting the shit, getting on the subway, and watch other people's reactions as my nose bled torrents of crimson blood. It's not like i could help it. The capilaries were so fucked in there, it was hopeless. I still get nosebleeds from time to time. Anyway, i saw Stella as she got onto the Rockefeller Center stop, and though i didn't recognize her at first, i though she was a beautiful woman, and i wanted her to see me bleed, watch her pity me. I needed a major psychoanalysis. I sat across from this woman, who was rummaging through her bag for something. She found her cell phone, brought it face level, and caught my eye. She immediately recognized me through the dried blood on my face, and made me get up to hug her. Naturally, I had no idea what the hell was going on. This woman was embracing me, and although it felt good to have human contact, it was abnormal for me, being a loner. I pushed her off, and then i finally got a good look at her. Stella. The woman of my dreams. I embraced her again, for what felt like ages. I didn't care that i was getting blood on her Armani dress suit, or that my tears were hitting her smooth, hair-product filled hair. Eventually, we separated, and she took me to the hospital.

I was amazed that she went out of her way for me. Truly amazed. When the coke wore off, and my face was cleaner, i could see her in the light. She had bought some Prada sunglasses, and changed her eye color with some contacts from green to blue. They matched her undershirt. I knew that my cocaine was confiscated, but my only concern was that i didn't go to jail. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Stella. I was in a room, wearing a hospital gown. After about an hour or so of just staring at Stella, a doctor entered the room. He spoke directly to me, did not even acknowledge Stella. He said he was admitting me to a drug counseling program, and that my cocaine was seized by the FBI. He then went on to tell me that i would not get jail time, providing i gave names and addresses of dealers. Fuck him, i thought. I had an urge to kill him right then and there. In front of Stella. Let her see how much of an animal I had become. I wanted to be her pet. A kind of lion and lion tamer relationship was what i desired. The urge passed, and i agreed. Better to let other people suffer than myself, it had always been my mentality.

Later on that day, when i was deemed fit to function in the real world, without IV wires or EKGs, i was checked into drug rehabilitation. I hated it the moment i stepped in the door. Although I was happy that i was getting clean, i hated being trapped there. They had a strict no-leave policy. Whatever. I was doing it for Stella. As soon as i got my room, the nurse told me to get some sleep. I laughed in her face. Did she realize what I fucking went through the past couple of years? I hadn't slept consciously in over a year. I passed out here and there, but the cocaine kept me going. You can imagine my surprise, however, when i put my head down on the pillow in that room, and slept for about 48 hours. I woke up three times, one to go to the bathroom, two because i need a fix so bad, and three because i was pulling my hair out of my head, and a nurse woke me up and sedated me. The dreams were thrilling! I couldn't remember the last time I actually dreamed. I dreamed about marrying Stella, and having children with her. I dreamed about caring for my mother, because no matter how much she despised me, i loved her for staying with me. I dreamed about murdering my father for all the inadvertent things he's done to me. I woke up, and looked around. Pale blue cornflower walls, with a tan carpet. If relaxing my eyes was the mission they set out to do, it was accomplished. I got up, put on slippers that were at the side of my bed. I then walked into the bathroom, and took a nice, hot shower. My first in a while. I mean, when i was living on the streets, the occasional rainfall kept my from developing empetigo or some shit. I walked out of my room into a long hallway. A sign in front of my room read
Right: Cafeteria
Left: Medical Ward
I guess i was in the residential ward. My stomach told me i was hungry, so i made my way down to the cafeteria. The food wasn't that great, but then again, nothing was anymore. My taste buds were so shot, i didn't really care what i ate. I cleaned my place, and headed back to me room.

When i had arrived, there were two men, named Mike and Larry, who demanded that I accompany them to the Medical Ward. They were wearing blue jeans, and black dress shirts. Odd attire, i thought, but they seemed like nice guys. I went with them. We entered the Ward after a short walk, and immediately i felt unsafe. The walls were all gray, and there were no windows. This was no Medical Ward. This was a Detention Center. They grabbed my arms forcefully, and dragged me into a room with a table and a chair. In the corner, there was an apparatus, but it was covered by a black sheet. I was sat down in the chair, and the two men stood across the table. They stood there, and asked me questions.
"How long have you been snorting cocaine?"
To which i answered, I don't know.
"How many other dirtbags like you are out there on the streets?"
To which i answered, fuck you.
"You need a fix, don't you?"
Yes, very much so sir.

Mike walked over to the corner, and took off the sheet. The contraption was just like the block that prisoners placed their head in before being guillotined. In fact, it was a guillotine, i just didn't realize it yet. I caught a glimpse of the white powder i had loved so much on the table in front of the block, and my body shuddered. I wanted it so unbelieveably bad. As Mike primed the machine, Larry explained the rules. I would place my head in the block, and a line of cocaine would be placed in front of my face. As he explained this, i felt pads being pressed onto different sections of skin on my body. Larry continued. Everytime i made an attempt to snort the cocaine, i would be electrically shocked, not to the point of death, but if i tried hard enough, i would die. The choice was yours, he told me. The choice was all mine. Stella, all i thought about was Stella. As my head was being placed in the block...

The Best Laid Plans of Men and Women Often go Horribly Fucking Wrong.

These words unspoken.
They’re on our lips.
Limitations, inhibitions preceeding them.
Cautioning us to stop.
But
Who
Really
Knows.
Life is a mystery, you have to take chances.
Of course, we hope for the best.
But the best doesn’t always come.
The best laid plans of men and women often go horribly fucking wrong.

comments, suggestions.

disclaimer: this entry probably won't make much sense.

alright so anyway.
i have alot of things on my mind and i'm gonna just vent them.

i'm sad summer's almost over.
i'm starting to like myself again.
i'm glad i can appreciate beauty of any kind.
my mother is the strongest individual woman i've ever seen.
i love her for it.
i'm in a love hate relationship with world of warcraft.
i'm generally confused about my relationships now that i think about it.
i love my friends to death, but i hate the inhibitions i have.
i want to do what i want, when i want to.
too bad it's impossible.
i also need new music, this same shit over and over again is getting boring.
i still have a full year of high school for improvements.
i'm enjoying summer.

that's basically it for now haha.

haha never would have thought i'd meet someone at the harry potter opening.
pretty awesome night last night.

it's funny how things turn around so quickly.

so long good summer.
it was nice knowing you for like a fucking week.

i feel like i'm an annoying person.
i ask people to hang out too much.
especially a certain person...so sorry to that person.

blahhhhh summer sucks lately.

only good things have been happening in my life.
it feels so damn good.

edit: spoke too fucking soon.

edit #2: everything's good again haha.

i got a 4 on AP US and a 5 on AP Language...needless to say i'm very fucking happy.

SUMMER IS SO FUCKING SICK RIGHT NOW, I WANT IT TO LAST FOREVER.

so lately, things are pretty good.
summer's awesome, as expected.
my beard is fucking sick.
not too many parties, but i'm ok with that...just being with the people i love is enough for me.
i've really gotten into guitar.
i bought a $700 acoustic the other day i adore.
today/tonight was fun.
bbq, chilling at kristen's.
pretty much what i think summer should be.
i also got good news!
goodnight anonymous reader.

...she even got weak at the knees.

OH SHIT 07/07/07 LUCKIEST DAY EVER SINCE THE LAST LUCKIEST DAY EVER.

i wish people never hurt.
i wish we just never felt pain.

holy shit, i'm rofling irl.

and i want to speak these words but i guess,
i'll just bite my tongue.
and accept someday, somehow, as the words that we'll hang from.
i don't want to speak these words,
cause i,
cause i,
i don't want to make things any worse.

funny how some lyrics apply directly to your life, isn't it?

while it is obviously only a drop in the bucket, it's a drop in the bucket that starts the ripples of change.

i love you mexico =[.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=wHU0LXYJdO8

funniest thing of the week.

mexico inc!