Mr. Polish Streetcar

I didn't go far enough. I couldn't, and now I'm sorry about it. Now I realize what he meant about not revisiting traumatic events. And I thought I didn't have any trauma in my life. Apparently it makes no difference that the trauma was more or less my own creation. I didn't get the sense of release that I was hoping for. Hm, there's an interesting parallel. At least I pulled up before I broke down. That could have gotten pretty ugly.

It's not my fault. This isn't about him, or her, or them, or me, it's about you. It's your fault and you do this because you want to see me suffer, you want me to break down, you fucking sadist. I hate you.
That's as far as I could go. I wish now that I'd gone farther, or taken a different route. It made everyone else feel better, but it just made me feel worse.

I've been remarkably lucky. Maybe I'm a little more masochistic than I thought I was, and a little more sadistic. I wonder which is worse for me.

It's the same key. A duality, because the same key opens two doors, the same words bring down two masks.
It's like the political spectrum, which is an odd but fitting analogy. There are two axis, not just "good" and "bad" emotions, but the strength of them figures in as well. Love and hate are like authoritarianism and communism. Not mutually exclusive in any sense. Anybody ever heard of Stalin or Robert Mugabe?

Duality and balance. Scales of justice, yin and yang, there's a lot of symbols I could reference here.

I said I hate you already. And I do, to a point. But the love's there too.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Page 11 Ingenue

So I'm NaNoing. It's harder than I thought it would be, but also easier, if that makes any sense. The words are coming, all right, but they're not the kind of words I thought they'd be. I had one character, strong, smart, savvy, with all these interesting things to do, but I could not for the life of me make her do them. I mean she did them, I just couldn't pull off a play-by-play, I had to resort to some expository bullshit after the fact. At first I thought that it was because I'd let myself get to attached to her, that there was too much me in her to let her do things I wouldn't or couldn't. Then I realized that this all comes from the write what you know thing. I've never done those things, or anything really like them. The one event I got closest to getting right on paper is the one that was closest to my own experiences. It's because she wasn't enough like me for me to get in her head on those things, because if I did, she'd act like me, and she doesn't. And then I realized that this other character I'm writing about is a lot more accessible to me. And damn it I swore I wouldn't write about my own love life. I'm not, completely at least. It's not me, and it's not him on the paper. Sure, they're people a little like us, but it's not what happened, or the way it happened. But it's close enough. Having met and spoken with a hedonistic don juan of a man, I can more easily imagine his tricks. Which is a lot like where Devin came from. Aha! An epiphany, she can't fall under his spell because she is him. He can't bewitch her because she already knows his games, and can play them against him. Maybe win. Enter the ingenue. Of course, that's why she couldn't be a sideline character. The story is really about her. Funny, isn't it? She didn't show up until page 11.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

P.S. 18809

Yorick

Should I have been upset? I did know him, or know of him, I suppose. We didn't get along. I didn't like him much. I suppose I'm not upset because I didn't plan or expect ever to see him again anyways. That sounds harsh. Its still a shame. Thank God for seat belts.


Daydream Believer

Ramen

I once fancied myself a rebel. Then I decided that I really didn't have the drive to defy convention, and at that point I found that that was exactly how I defied convention, and continue to. I don't align, or identify. I tried, goodness knows. But nothing quite fit. I tried to be unusual as a woman in a male-dominated field, athletics or science, but realized that I can't stand math and would take writing over running any day of the week. I change too much, too frequently to qualify or quantify myself as any certain type. Indeed one of the things that I felt set me apart from many is something that's about to change. I suppose I could look at it as gaining a skill. A dubious one, I'll admit, but this doesn't have to be any more character-altering than learning how to fire a gun was. I know how to fire a gun, but I'm not about to go on a shooting spree. It's not about who I am, it's about what I can do. Power and ability. I liked the ride, time to try it without training wheels. I'll probably fall, but I'll probably get up and do it again.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

The Game

I could. I can. I will.

The Dirty Rascal

Here I am, back in the castle once again. For the second time in a seven day period. I don't resent it as much as I used to. It feels a little less like a prison, a little more like a palace right now. Especially after the massive disruption and its aftermath. I feel a little more grounded now, a little saner. Or a little less sane, and just more accepting of it. I'm not sure exactly.

"No one can hear you scream"
Frightening words, the mainstay of a certain genre of terrifying films. But sometimes they're not scary, and that can be even more terrifying.

It's too easy to blame someone else. It's also too easy to blame yourself. It's not just you, or them, it's a whole pile of different things bouncing around and off each other.

Strange that we reconnected over you telling me I was in over my head, Red. That I'd get hurt. I should have known you were right, at least in part. Sometimes I'm too optimistic for my own good. But now it's not the same. Why is it that while the tricycle seems so steady, the four-wheeler seems so unbalanced? I miss the bike. I miss you.

Why is it so much easier to say, "I hate you" than "I love you"? It's funny that there's no shame, no stigma associated with hating someone, yet there is with loving someone. It's an easy way to sprain your dignity. I guess it's because someone you hate can't hurt you, not really. Not the same way. It's like being a turtle. Loving someone is flipping yourself (or getting flipped) onto your back. Even if they're not trying, the smallest hurt will do the maximum damage. Might kill you.

Take care what you ask of me, 'cause I can't say no.

I won't be held down by who I used to be.

Everybody's waiting for the hammer to fall.

Too young to die, and too old to believe in promises.

I hate the way you look at me, as if I was broken.

In spite of it all, I feel pretty good. Something about a brand-new bird's eye view kinda makes everything seem a little less epic. A little easier to handle.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Wonder

I'm getting sick of wondering. I want to stop thinking, "Is this how it's supposed to be?" I need to learn it doesn't matter how it's supposed to be, because that has no effect on how it is. And as long as how it is is how I want it, I'm in a good place.

That said, I still want to know things. I want to know why after barely talking for nearly two years all of a sudden not talking to someone for two days makes me feel like I've hardly got a grip on the world anymore. All so I can lie. Why I have to keep reminding myself that it was his idea, what he wanted. Why that matters, and why I forget it. Why I made this my problem. Why I don't crave the kiss I should. Why I still crave the kiss I shouldn't. Why I felt so liberated in the knowledge that someone who claims my friendship will hurt me so willingly, again and again, and I can't change it at all. Why I sat down at my computer nearly every day since my last blog post trying to write another one and haven't succeeded yet. Why words echo in my head until I can barely remember the voice that goes with them. Why I freaked out at an oddly familiar whiff of cologne. Why I don't feel any different. Why I don't know if I want to.

But then again, maybe I'm afraid to really ask.

Maybe I'm progressing, and the reason I suddenly don't want what I have is something like why while it's the only fit food for a teething toddler, you'd be hard pressed to find an adult who wanted to eat puréed jarred baby food. The same way I realized I'd moved on from what I wanted less than a year ago, and got a few months later. Maybe I'm just always after the chase.

Ever get caught in a daydream? Someone asks you for something, and you realize that you were a million miles away. Sometimes a little less than that in physical distance. It takes a moment to get your bearings, and you can't go back quite the same way, even though you might try.

I wrote this awhile ago, never actually posted it and I'm not sure why. I just don't remember. So I'm giving it the light of cyberspace, and let's see what happens.

Break in, break up,
Break out, break down.
Fade in, fade out,
Watch it fade away.

Fall in, fall out,
Fall down, fuck up.
Fear, freedom,
Fly away.

Run out, run in,
Run for it, run away.
Make a bet, take a chance,
Screw the rules, play.

Roxanne never put the dress on,
Cecilia won't come back.
Beth's getting sick of waiting around,
And Lucy fell out of the sky.

Dani California grew up rich,
Chantilly Lace wouldn't show her face.
And now Mustang Sally's got a ticket to ride.


Lost in a dream,
Daydream Believer

Gold was right. There is no confidante. A bit ironic, that betrayal comes from this direction. I need people. I need to talk, bounce ideas around. Get a reality check every now and again. But freedom goes with being alone, and loneliness with freedom. No, I don't quite understand why I can't cry.

"If you decide, please don't tell me. I don't want to be in that situation again." She cares, she does. I know. I hope. She has to. I've got too many who I thought did and don't now. She can't join their number. Please.

Please, if you only knew. Maybe I do. Maybe I should have. Shoulda woulda coulda. No regrets. Feel free to jump in any time with the I told you so's. I don't want you to know. Maybe I do. Who knows, that would just give you another power over me, and you've got too many already.

What do I really want?
That's not as easy a question to answer as it should be. Maybe because I refuse to acknowledge the truth, maybe because I'm afraid of it. Maybe because I don't know which is the lesser of two evils.

Evils. Yep, that's pretty accurate. Love it or hate it. Love you or hate you.
When did evil get so bloody seductive?
Daydream Believer

Weak

Something about tonight leaves me cold, if you'll pardon the pun. Eyes downcast. Demure, or furious. I don't know why. I can't see your eyes, which I hate. You can't see mine either, which is my last line of defense. Maybe I'll say something I regret. Maybe I'll regret it right away. Maybe it'll take a few days. Maybe I'll change your mind. World's biggest hypocrite, maybe my worst idea ever. Would I change a moment of it? For nothing short of world peace. Do I regret? Absolutely. But I'll work on that. It's over now. I have lots of regrets, I'm slowly rubbing them out, letting them fade into the background. You wanted this to do good, not bad. You should know by now that you're a force of evil in my life, in all its variable forms. You haven't called me pretty lady since we started this. I don't know why I miss it. I hated it when you said it. I only exaggerated slightly about not wanting to go home. I knew I'd have to face it if I came in. And it was better to stew out there than in here. There was the chance that you'd find a way to fix it. You usually do. You sometimes humour me. That same hug. The same as he had. You hate being compared to him, but you're so much the same. In action, in word, in memory. Maybe one day I'll be able to relegate you too. Say with confidence, "I don't need you anymore." I could say it now, and it would be a lie. Maybe I should brush up on my lying. Might be less painful for both of us. Every time, it always feels like there was something left unsaid. One final line that would tie together the loose ends.
Maybe it's goodbye...

Daydream Believer

P.S. Give me a week, once I've gone back to motown. I ought to be back to normal. Well, normal for me.

Encore

Here it comes again. That feeling of deadness, emptiness. The very feeling I tried to escape. Doubled in strength and from two separate angles. Threatening to swallow me up with every passing moment. I don't fear being alone. Never have. The way I plan to live my life, I'll probably spend a good deal of time alone. It can be peaceful. It lends clarity, perspective. What I fear is the loneliness. The feeling that everyone who I might once have mattered to is gone. There's a saying, the pain of rejection is not from someone saying no, it's from the feeling that no one will ever say yes. Loneliness is like that too. It's not being alone, it's the feeling that you'll be forced to be alone.

Would you mind if I pretended...

Another shoe drops. There should only be two, but there have been more than that so far... there'll be more. I should know my limits by now. What I can handle. I've got a lot of tears in me, but for some reason certain things just won't make me cry. At least not on their own. Three exceptions. Now, at least. Up until a week ago, only two. Funny, it's not who you'd assume it is. Maybe I'm only really strong when I really have to be. If that's the case, this is a very good sign. Fuck, there's silver lining all over this bloody cloud. Long as I pay attention to it. We walking into this hoping we wouldn't wreck it and expecting we would. But its not wrecked. Is the tension going to be worse next time around? Possibly. Friendship is less of a string and more of a finely-wrought steel cable, firmly anchored at both ends. No one can hurt you like a close friend.

One day I'll wake up and it won't hurt anymore.

One way or another it'll all shake out.
Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

Lash

He looks at you like I look at you. You've got it made. Are you sure this is what you want? Poor baby. This isn't fair to you or to them. Is wanting what I want so wrong? You don't have to explain. You're either the most manipulative sonofabitch I've ever met, or you just don't care, and I don't know which at this point. I don't even know if it matters. I care, I care about the people I love, the people who are important to me. Relax, he's just being him. He seems genuinely concerned that this is going to hurt you. Its about curiosity, and it's a good thing you aren't a cat, dear. It's not a threat. I don't know if it's a threat. Do I have a reason to feel threatened. No of course not. Is that a lie? I could be spiteful and mean right now, and say something that would damn near bring somebody to their knees. But I'll hold my tongue for their good, after all, nobody expects things like that out of me in the first place. What am I retreating from?

I didn't say most of what I just wrote, and I kinda wish I could sort it all out better. I've turned their words over in my mind so many times that they have my voice. Now I've said or done something that pissed somebody off, and they won't tell me which of the dumb things I said and did pissed them off. And is avoiding me. So yeah, as if I needed more of a reminder of what a fuckup I am.

daydreaming the days away....

Burn

Just to recap, yeah, the vampire thing is pretty hot.

So I'm playing with fire, but maybe that little burn is just what I need. A distraction. What might happen if it wasn't a distraction is dangerous territory, as is what might happen if the distraction grows to overshadow that which it is supposed to distract me from.

Somebody's gonna hurt someone before the night is through,
Somebody's gonna come undone, there's nothing we can do.
Everybody wants to touch somebody, if it takes all night.
Everybody wants to take a little chance, make it come out right.
There's gonna be a heartache tonight.

I'm hoping I've gotten through the first part of the heartache, and now I'm free and clear for awhile. I gotta say, one hell of a distraction. I'm working on this whole "no regrets" thing, I am. Trust, limits, history, geography, friendship, lust, fear, curiosity, human nature, hope, longing, self control, joy, pain, there's a lot here. I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't enjoying it. I weave complicated webs, and do so willingly. It makes life more interesting. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I can play at both Valerian and Mandrake. There are many ways to be intoxicated, I suppose, and this is a particularly finicky one. But I've still got a smile on my face, and for once the adorable side is up.

Funny, isn't it? The way things shake out. Every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end.

Keep Dreaming
Daydream Believer

If this was a movie, the song on the soundtrack would be I'm Still Here. But it's not a movie, so I can't guarantee that everything's going to work out in less than an hour. I can't guarantee that everything's going to work out at all. I hope it does, for what it's worth. I doubt I'll sleep tonight. Maybe this is the beginning of my feline demise. No regrets, you taught me that. If this is your way of protecting me, you're doing one hell of a job. I'd still be driving around if I didn't have the sense to know I'd have the truck around a tree within the hour. But I do, so I'm here, typing out idle, angry words that may or may not be worth anything tomorrow. About a friendship that may or may not be worth anything tomorrow. I hope your secret is going to smile at you, laugh at your dumb jokes, and remind you to keep your chin up about her. Because I would have. I probably still will, but I don't know whether you'll want me to. Maybe I pushed just a bit too hard, but you know that that's the way my mind works. You were concerned about destroying something by divulging, and I hope you haven't destroyed something by keeping mum. There are some stupid things I could do right now that I've never been so tempted to do in my life. I won't, because the risks aren't worth the possibly rewards, even thinking of the risks as the rewards, but at least I'd be able to sleep tonight. You were so concerned about the worst that could happen. I can't think of anything worse than this, than leaving things this way. I hope that whatever you're afraid of was worse than this. Because this isn't going to go away on its own. We're at a bit of an impasse here. Maybe I do know. Goodness knows I've heard words like this before. But now, as then, I think I'm crazy, imagining something there that isn't. It wouldn't be the first time. Even the first time with you. Maybe I'm overcomplicating things. Maybe I'm reading in too much. Maybe I'm not reading in enough. Maybe now, like then, the simplest answer is the truth, much as it makes everything else complicated, much as it goes against probability, even the things I know and feel. Maybe now that I've proved that I can out-stubborn you, you'll trust me. Why is this friendship so hard all of a sudden?

It's on your front porch.

I wish... never mind.

Daydream Believer

Till I Am

Who'd have thought that a song called "Crazy Bitch" could seem so romantic? This side of a good night's sleep, it doesn't, except for that odd memory. Still haven't decoded that funny look... but I'm pretty sure I'm not imagining it now.

So maybe I'm walking the razor's edge, given history, and its unsettling habit of repeating itself. In terms of "what might have been" there's quite a bit. Maybe it still could be, but I doubt it. We're not who we were. Maybe it feels so safe because its not, the same way that some things feel so scary because for once there's nothing to be afraid of. Another chip off the ol' shell, I suppose.

Yes, it's a hellhole, but dammit, it's my hellhole. I guess that's why I smiled all day today. When I wouldn't last night... or couldn't.

Relative reality... hm, there's a concept I could sink my teeth into. Nothing more than what you can perceive exists, or even if it did, you wouldn't notice it. The only truth you can find is the one you come up with yourself.

Keep dreaming.
Daydream Believer

How can I fit so many labels onto such a short post? Metaphors and total lack of clarity!

25 and Sunny

In response to Loud, I hadn't really thought about what kind of motorcycle... preferably one in a relatively un-motorcycle-like colour... like hot pink or something like that. Or maybe a red one... but aside from that, one that runs would be a good start, I think.

I call her Siren for different reasons. Her song tempted me, drew me out of myself and towards her only to dash those initial thoughts on the sharp rocks surrounding her. Reminding me why I was never cut out to be a sailor. As much as the song haunted me, it told me a lot about her as well, maybe a little more than she wanted me to know. She made me sing, when I was afraid, and for that I owe her a lot. Although I doubt she knows it. I hated her for a time, a hate fueled by jealousy, loneliness, and misunderstanding. And then I sailed away on the ripples of those small words that meant so much, and here I am, standing upright and unmystified, like a four-year-old marking her height on the door frame.

I'm sure Freud would have something to say about the funny dreams. I blame it on change of diet, actually getting as much sleep as I should, and the number of detective shows I'm watching. Maybe not so much that last one, but you get the idea.

Anyways, it's sunny and warm outside, so I'm going to rip myself off the computer chair and go outside. If anybody feels like joining me, feel free. It's too pretty a day to be by yourself.

Daydream Believer

Regime

It really isn't the time for numbers. Especially since I've always said I didn't care about them. I did. Not about them, per se, but about what they represent. 155 really doesn't mean a thing until you put it into context. Nor does 125. Or 106. But every time I read those three numbers, I assign a significance to them.

At least she's supportive this time. I took drastic measures before. Not even really on purpose. Back in the black eyeliner days. I call them that, but I still wear black eyeliner. Just not like that. But I did take those drastic measures, and nobody even noticed. So either they just don't pay attention, or the drastic measures were a futile exercise. Either way, I didn't get what I wanted. So here we go again. I think my body's starting to rebel, started even before I started this madness. Or maybe I'm simply hormonal. It does happen.

So dismiss this, if you wish, as the ramblings of someone who doesn't know what she's talking about. Someone who's only ever walked the straight and narrow. Someone who's never rebelled against anything. Because that's what I'm doing isn't it? Accepting the arbitrary restrictions, not fighting anything except myself, my own needs and desires. Conforming. Means to an end is a common defense. I'm never going to be the means to anyone's end again if I've got anything to say about it. I'm takin my own means, to the end I want. Finally. A little dash of control.

It's cold. I don't care. It's not the reckless, wild "I don't care" of there's something more important, it's just the simple truth. The feeling of nothing more important. I want to be important, I just realized. That's not something I tend to say. It's unseemly. But at the same time, I don't think I can help it. Maybe that's what this bit of karma's for. Because, horror of all horrors, I want to be important. Could be that all these inane motions are the channels I try to go through to be important. Maybe I will be someday. But for now, it's cold, and I really don't care. That one was a little reckless.

Reckless, undue risk, maybe while I'm in this mood I should learn to drive a motorcycle. I've always wanted to. It's not rational, it's not safe. It would piss off a couple handfuls of people I could name without thinking too hard. Maybe that's why I've always wanted to do it.

Sticks and stones. I really wish I knew what that look meant. Before you leap headlong into lake conclusion, it isn't that look. A small, twisted, probably very wrong part of me definitely wishes it was, but it isn't. And I'm not just saying that because if it was, it would shatter too many boundaries and foundations to think about the repercussions. It's just a look I can't figure out. Maybe it's different every time. It might be a question. The "I want to ask but..." look. Can't think of what the question is though. I don't have too many secrets anymore, and the ones I've got are solidly buried under mountains of meaningless trivia. Like an extremely complex calculation, much as I hate to compare myself to math, one of those nearly-endless problems that you have the final equation for but have to go through three or four equations to find each one of the values that go into it. Maybe that kind of equation doesn't actually exist and I'm just rambling. As always, I wish I understood that which I don't.

I would so like to be an optimist. Maybe that's why they say I'm crazy.
That's what I'd like to say to the subtle-as-a-train-wreck kick in the pants. How can you stand doing and saying these things, and drag yourself out of bed in the morning, knowing what you know?

Pascal's wager really isn't my thing, but maybe there is something I can't find. I don't know why some believe and some don't. And I don't have a name for what I believe or don't believe, as the case may be. I guess for now I'm working on the "When I know, I'll know" assumption. Fear or no fear.

Tragedy is when an individual is unwilling or unable to connect to their surroundings and society. Well, maybe this is where I try to connect.

Wireless network found!?

Daydream Believer

Sad Eyes

I may be broken, but I'm not broken down. I'm sure they're trying to be sensitive by not mentioning it, but they can't simply not know the particular circumstances which cause me to want to do all sorts of tiny meaningless tasks but not actually get on with my life. I've never been this motivated to garden, paint, or write in my entire life. I'm distracting the fuck out of myself for the next four months to avoid inevitable cabin fever and caginess.

It's not that I don't want a job. I could complete a psychoanalysis to the best of my ability and figure out all kinds of deep reasons for why I'm reluctant to get a job. I don't want to accept that this is as much the real world as that was, I want to pursue other things, I want time to visit friends and family. But the simple answer is just that, simple. I've only had that one job, at least in classic terms of employment. I hated it. Why'd I stay? A combination of not realizing how much I hated it until I got some hindsight, and not wanting to let anyone down by quitting. Just like the victim of spousal abuse who thinks that that's just the way marriage works, I didn't realize that I didn't have to hate my job. However, now I'm feeling tremendous pressure to go back to it, and I really don't want to.
With a little luck, maybe I can get to something else first.

I had a brief brush with the world of bureaucracy today, and once again, am glad I didn't go down that path. A simple delivery. I walked through an open door, not marked with "Employees Only" or any indication that I shouldn't walk through it. I was promptly told that I wasn't allowed to be there, and fortunately, rather than being forcefully escorted out, pointed through another unmarked door towards my destination. This is why I'm an artist.

After that, I ordered new set of eyes. These ones come with clip-on sunglasses. I still marvel that my old frames, purchased 6 or 7 years ago, are basically of the current style, thick semi-transparent plastic. Anyways, 6 or 7 years later, it's time for a change.

I've only got so much positive outlook. After today's meltdown(s) I'm looking to build up another supply. I've heard green tea is really really good for you.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

It's Not What It Looks Like!

Okay, okay, I know this looks bad. Really bad, in fact. My place is a shambles and it looks like a herd of water buffalo just came through, but I'm organized and closer to moving out, I swear. Really.

Next time you hear from me, I'll probably be back in the castle. Unless it's before Friday. Bags, boxes, and my weight in packing tape are going with me for a lovely little 10 hour drive. Yep 10 hours, not 8. Apparently I don't drive as fast as my parents.

Ironic, I never opened the peanut butter jar. Just another change, I suppose. Here I am going back, and I can relate CC saying he's sad to go back. Work, and quite possibly a lot of stress in my future. Job anxiety is not good for me, and I think it took some hindsight to figure out just how much I hated my job. So here's to my luck and hopefully not going back to that job. Here goes nothing.

Keep Dreaming,
Daydream Believer

Thanksgiving?

I'm completely aware it's the wrong time of year, in fact nearly the opposite time of year, 6 months later, moving from winter to summer, not vice versa, but I don't care. I've got good reason.

I am not required to travel only with the permission and accompaniment of a male relative.
I can legally work.
I have nearly 15 years of schooling under my belt, and there's no reason why I can't get more.
I have never been intentionally locked in somewhere.
I have never been severely beaten.
I reached the age of majority in my country of residence without being married off.
I have both hot and cold running water in my building.
I am not forced to cover my hair or face in public.

Much as I frequently voice (justified, in my opinion) complaints about the state of women's rights in my own country, in relative terms, this is not so bad. I just finished reading Khaled Hosseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns, which reminded me, as something does every now and again, to take a second to be thankful for how far things have come in this country, however far we may still have to go.

Even more so, I dream of the day where every woman on earth, indeed, every person on earth, can be thankful for every single one of those things.

Daydream Believer

How Far is Heaven?

I could.

Bleach my hair out, wear too much eyeliner, wear skinny jeans and decry all things "ordinary".

I could.

Be petty and mean and fake and pretend flawlessness and put everyone down who doesn't meet my exacting standards of thinking just like me.

I could.

Follow all the other lemmings off the bridge, place more stock in appearance than fibre, go on a diet and weigh exactly one hundred and nine pounds, and then complain about how fat I am.

I could.

Stand by and watch, listen, speak only when spoken to, or about.

I won't.
I'm sick of this shit, how old are we?

And I would love to say this is just about me, that I'm sitting here feeling sorry for myself because I want something from someone, because I feel gypped. I do as well, but at the moment I'm more concerned with who else this affects. Really, girl, grow up.