Oh no. I'm in big big big trouble.

First I will distract myself by going out with lots of my favorite people in the Twin Cities.

I think I like you because my dreams tell me too.

(Knox in Paris, eventually we had to run for our lives)

I came home and found a summons sitting on our steps saying my mother is being sued. All I can think about is Pineapple Express and wonder what outfit the person wore, how frustrated they got when my mother didn't open the door. She says her insurance is going through shifts and she can no longer get her medication and so she no longer gets out of bed. I don't know what to think. I don't think state health insurance would simply cut a post-surgery patient off their medication like that. She makes me so tired.

To comfort myself on the tragedy of being home on a Friday I decided to give in and read Eat Pray Love while the two books I ordered this week Good, Brother and Sometimes My Heart Pushes My Ribs take their sweet time in the mail. She is in Italy and it makes me think of Italy and how I broke down completely and read novels like this. I am doing better than that now.

Being a guidette in the morning would be way harder at night. All those extensions and poufs and hairspray from the night before. They must wake up and be sticky. Worst morning hair ever.

Also, I am not naked below, just wearing a strapless dress.

TWoww the guidette.

I don't think the things I spilled sincerely are meant to be said that way. I think I'm supposed to phrase them better, less honestly. How can I make the things I think sound good? I worry what my existence is becoming. Why don't you say nice things anymore?

My drink is curdled and I'm still drinking it.

Sitting outside of Dunn Brothers. I have every intention of writing.

Here's a section of what I'm working on, as I haven't posted writing in a long time:


Henry hums. Henry hums as he draws clouds, cows, and chickens. Henry hums as he draws humans with eight heads, a hum for every circle and a giggle. He draws a giant ant. He draws a human that looks like a giant ant. He wants to color them both red.
Henry cannot pronounce the letter S. He brought a fack, he says. He never feeps. At night he stays awake and fits in his mother’s lap, but he doesn’t feep. They try to put him in his crib, but he gets fared and crawls into the big bed.
Like many languages, Henry does not know what to do about the shhh sound in my name and so he drops it.
I spend a lot of time teaching Henry about white space. All he wants to do is fetch.
“Henry, there’s still white space on your picture.”
“Where? I want to fetch.”
I point to the massive uncolored areas between the scribbles.
“I already colored there, can I fetch now?”
I let him do it. I scribble back and forth, coloring in the area for him, coloring like him. On accident I go outside of the lines.
Henry fetches and I can never tell what he’s making.
“What are you drawing, Henry?”
“That’s a line,” he said. “And here’s another line and here’s a circle at the top.”
I ask him if he’s ever been to a museum.
“What’s a museum?” he says.
When his dad picks him up, he apologizes for Henry being tired. He was at Science Museum Camp all morning.

Kitty cat is here.

I made cookies to aid me through my apparently nightly cry. I listened to Bon Iver while I made them and at some point I stopped crying. The debate is whether I get upset because I care a lot or if I get upset because I'm bored. I ate a lot of cookie dough.

I say a lot of things without saying anything.

I am having a Jersey Shore party on Thursday. You should come.

I told my dad I'm in a rut. He said he knows how I feel because that's how he feels. He told me to find a knitting group. I wanted to go to Dunn's, sit and read. I didn't go this afternoon because it was 94 degrees and my cute bicycle seat was squeaking. My dad oiled it, but as soon as I left to go I saw lightning in the distance and decided going to my mom's was a better idea. It started raining as soon as I got to my mom's. The sky is breaking open, which makes it nicer to be home. I think I am going to bake something.

Someone cut down the jungle in my backyard. I'm very upset.

What if life just consisted of the things I like all the time? What if I could paint and read and write and drink and eat and fuck and sleep just all the time? Maybe I would stop like these things too.

I stand outside and wonder if this is how I will remember the summer. The humidity and my bicycle and me, frozen outside of my house staring at the stars and momentarily admitting the things that bother me.

I'm pretty sure things like this aren't difficult for anyone else ever.

Instead of saying what I actually did today I am going to lie completely and pretend that I slept in really late, had a super healthy breakfast, did lots of athletic activities, went to a bar and had a crazy fucking time and met lots of new friends.

My kitty cat came and curled up in bed with me last night. I abandoned any plans I had to stay awake at that point.

What a nice greeting: we haven't seen each other in awhile let's curl up in bed together.

Chad Simpson , my flash fiction professor put up information about our class along with writing from students. You should read my stuff as well as everyone elses stuff.

A note on crying in response to other notes on crying:
I cry because I miss people a lot. That's the primary reason I cry. I got home from vacation two hours ago and already I don't know what to do with myself.

I've been awake for hours. Nothing like insomnia the night before an eleven hour car ride.

Uncle Jeff and Aunt Phyllis are here with their dogs, Stella and Sam. As a family, we seem to gear towards golden retrievers. I'm making chicken cacciatore and drinking a gin and tonic. We have a lot of wine. Really excellent.

Family Video called me and left me an automated message because they miss me. Why can't everyone express their feelings this openly?

Slept terribly. Somewhere in there, after becoming completely entangled in sheets and blankets I thought, Thank god this is only a phase.

Last day on the island.

I have a crush on all the soldiers in Catch-22. I even like them when they run off with 12 year old prostitutes that are really 28. Like most people, I like men in uniform and in suits, but especially in sweaters. Men is sweaters is the best.

I wish my capacity for missing people was smaller.

Books are just so good looking. Sometimes I don't understand why we need any other art. I fucking love book covers.

Last night Kevin and I were in the back cabin watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia when the door to the cabin opened on it's own. My brother told me to investigate and I said, "No, I'm scared," and I told him to go investigate and he said, "No, I'm scared."

There is obviously a ghost on this island. Probably my Grandpa Rex as we scattered his ashes here or his sister Patti, as her ashes are also here or my Great Grandfather Sherman as he was born here.

Banana pecan buckwheat pancakes. That's all I have to say.

I ate lunch and I ate dinner and I read and knit and took a nap and talked with my Aunt and Uncle and things seem better. I found out bad news about people I know and I don't know what to do about it. I can't do anything about it, but I want to do something about it.

Sat around all day. Had beer and lasagna for lunch. Wrote some stuff that I feel uncomfortable showing a lot of people. Does anyone read stuff about twenty-two years old who just graduated from college besides other twenty-two year olds? Is it worth it to write stuff that will never ever be publishable?

Started reading "Catch-22" again, purely for my favorite part about how Yossarian is in love with the nurse with the lime colored panties because she is the only woman he can make love to without falling in love with her. The last time I read this book I was in Italy, more appropriately, on the beaches in Italy.

I cried in the shower and then thought about how some people wouldn't like that I cried in the shower and then thought how that didn't matter. Eventually it all comes down to I am who I am who I am. The concept I struggle with is applying this to everyone else. I cannot say, "I would like this person, if only for this." The trouble is when people are sometimes the person that you like them as and othertimes are something completely different.

Should I have a sandwich for lunch or leftover lasagna?

I will be sad until approximately lunch time where I will forget all about it. That's how these things work.

This all seems so familiar. I give up.

My dad woke me up to return my flip flips. What a terrible reason to wake me up.

My dreams are usually pretty easy to read, but I have no idea what this means.

This is kind of a long story. If you have no stamina, skip to the star at the middle part.

The Coryells aren't very good with boats. Now you'd think that we would be good with boats seeing as how we have a cabin on an island called Coryell Island and my Grandfather was a captain in the navy, but we are bad with boats. Example: a few years back our extention dock was broken (we had to get an extention dock because of shallow water) and my Uncle Bruce, my dad's oldest brother, parked the boat at a dock on the other side of the island. That night it storms. He goes to check on the boat the next day and it isn't there: it's in the water. This is okay, the boat was really old, named "The Dread Knot," which shows how everyone felt about it. We decide to buy a new boat. My Uncle Jeff wants to look on Craig's List. He finds a cheap boat and my Uncle Eric meets with the owner and the owner is so nice Eric decides we should buy the boat without get it checked out. This goes poorly. It has many problems, lots of money is poured into the boat. My dad is the first one to drive it. It ends in him diving into the water to stop the boat from crashing into the shore in front of his cousins that he hasn't seen in fifteen years and they have to come save us. More money is poured into the boat. Finally the boat seems to be working well. I've been having a great time sitting on it and reading and drinking while my dad and brother fish.

*Cut to today. Every year my dad and brother go charter fishing with Captain Norm, who acts exactly how you would expect a fisherman in a small town to act. He's really conservative, says "oh" a lot and talks about his wife. This year I went along. It was really boring. I pulled in three fish and the rest of the time I was bored. We caught 8 lake trout and 2 salmon, one king and one atlantic. We reach shore and drive back to our boat. We get in and my brother realizes he's left two switches on for hours and hours. The boat doesn't start. There is a simultaneous cry of oh shit from all three of us. We start to panic. My dad says, "I'm going to Norm's." After banging on several doors my dad finally finds Norm. Norm tells us that we probably just pushed the kill swithc, because we are dumb city people after all (he didn't say this last part, I'm just adding it for affect). Nope, our battery is legit dead. Luckily Norm has an extra. He compliments our new boat saying, "I have a garbage boat too." He asks what happened to our old boat and my dad says, "My oldest brother sunk it." Finally we make it to the island.

We are bad with boats.

What do people wear fishing?

Going to go fishing on a big boat. Going to catch some big fish. Actually, my arms will probably get tired and I'll ask someone else to pull in the big fish for me.

I think the more people that leave the more I lose my identity. I have a hard time getting dressed in the morning. I don't know what clothes I like together. It doesn't matter. I even have a hard time at the bookstore. Nothing looks good anymore. Or everything looks good, one of those. The nice thing about large groups of people is that they generate titles. Knox College student. Member of a sorority. German Club president. Things like that. I feel nameless. (Fulbright scholar?) (No, that sounds wrong.)

I am reading Falling Man by Don Delillo. It's really sad. The kind of book where everyone is sad and confused because some giant change took over their life. It's making me sad and confused. Not really sad about my life. Sad about a lot of things.

A few cabins down from ours there is the Walker cabin. The old Walker's are too old to come to the island, so they stay at their cabin on the mainland or they are passed away, I'm not sure. They are wealthy. The younger Walker, a man in his 40's or 50's doesn't work except to sometimes go on archaeological digs. They're very nice. Young John Walker has helped us many times when our boat stalled. He lets us borrow his tandem kayak. He got married once, a few years ago. His wife died of cancer shortly after they got married. Isn't that a sad story? I keep thinking about it. He has all this money, but he spends all his time alone on an island with all these boats. He even spent the winter here. There is a period before the ice is hard enough to walk across. That means that there were several months of the year when he was just alone. What do you think about when you are alone for that long? Does he think about his wife? Is he happy?

It's a beautiful thing to wake up to birds chirping and the sun shining after the weather report predicts rain for every single day of your vacation (so far it rained on Monday). It's so warm I didn't even turn on the electric blanket, but that also might have been a result of the awful sunburn that's covering 50% or so of my body.

I have been reading too much and am starting to think in sentences, the way people do in books. Things become less gutteral. I don't think about things that I wouldn't want written down. I think about the things that should be written down.

Perhaps tomorrow I should write.

I lay in the sun on a boat for so long that most of my body is sunburnt and I still feel like I'm on a boat even though I'm not.

Kayak was lovely. Kayaking is a lot faster than swimming so basically I sat in Scammons Harbor for an hour and a half while my dad swam. The water was this nice green color and for most of the trip it was just us, some birds, and a little sailboat in the harbor.

Later: reading, sitting in the boat while my dad and brother fish, making myself a picnic lunch to eat in said boat.

I feel much better this morning. The island is weird at night. It's really dark. Being from the city I have no real concept of what dark is. I'm used to streetlights, I walk my dog at 11 at night and feel perfectly safe in my ability to get around. The island is pitchblack. I need a flashlight to walk the ten or so feet from one cabin to another. Sometimes I make the mistake of shining the flashlight into the woods and I can see the first rim of trees and after that darkness. Last night I went to the other cabin to use the bathroom and after I returned to this cabin I swore I could hear someone walking around in the darkness.

I cry a lot at night at my cabin. Last year I stayed up all night crying the night before we spread my grandfather's ashes. It would help if my dad didn't go to bed at nine thirty, leaving my brother and I restless.

This morning I am going kayaking to Government Island while my dad swims. I am basically a half-iron man trainer. Yesterday I carried the water in the basket of my bike while they swam, which ended poorly as I kept stopping to look at touristy sights and they had nowhere to refill it and my brother drank lake water.

I wrote a letter. It's in my secret blog.

I am really confused. I am going to write in my secret blog about this.

Things I did today:
1. Rode on a ferry.
2. Saw the Mackinac Bridge that connects the lower peninsula and upper peninsula.
3. Road a shitty not-cute bicycle around the eight mile perimeter of the island on the only state highway that doesn't allow cars.
4. Ate fish and chips.
5. Played mini-golf. Final Scores: Tasha: 90 Kevin: 54 My Dad: 50
I got the highscore!
6. Sunburned my nose.
7. Got turtle fudge.
8. Rode on a ferry again.
9. Went to the grocery store. Bought a lot of beer.

Yesterday when it was raining and 64 degrees there were two people running across in sandbar in the water by our dock. They ran lots of laps back and forth. They were both very ripped.

A while later another couple came by. They were thin, but in terrible shape. The girl was in a bikini. They ran for a minute and then stopped and started walking. They turned around after one lap.

Mackinac Island! I've wanted to go to Mackinac for years, but my dad always says it's too touristy and usually we go to Drummond Island which for a brief period of time was inhabited by the president of Dominos Pizza and he wanted to build up this great city. Instead he moved down to Florida and built a super religious small community and left everything he started building on Drummond to rot.

*I fucking love boats. There is a sailboat sailed by our cabin and it's so great. I've been telling my dad for years that we need a yacht. Nevermind that we can't afford a yacht and don't have deep enough water to park a yacht. I told him we can keep it in Lake Superior and sail it to Lake Huron like our mean neighbors, the Horweens did out of Lake Michigan in Chicago.

Going to Mackinac Island tomorrow. Gonna ride a bike and eat some fudge. They call tourists who come and eat fudge "fudgies."

I was sitting here when I looked outside and the whole sky was pink and orange and wonderful. What's that rhyme? Pink at night, sailors delight, pink in the morning sailors take warning? I always get them confused. Like beer before liquor you're in the clear, liquor before beer, never been sicker. I went out to the dock and watched the sky for awhile. The clouds were moving really fast. Then I went to the path in the middle of the island and walked around for a bit. Everything was wet. There were lots of slugs. I turned to go back down our path, but had a hard time finding the canoe paddle marker because the trees had grown so much. I haven't been here enough lately.

I went down to the dock again. Going back down the path I thought about how I always think about other people while I am here. I am always longing for someone or something. Sometimes it's not even a tangible person as much as it is the idea of one. That's almost better I think. There's something so lonely about being on an island. Back on the dock the clouds had shifted and dimmed. A few minutes later my dad and brother came back from fishing.

I get chocolate cravings after every meal.

Purposefully not looking at my phone is a lot like looking at my phone.

It was rainy all day today. I finished a book, did a 500 piece puzzle, made lasagna, and half-thought about things the whole time which made everything else go rather poorly (I am only vaguely sure how the book ended, some slight lasagna mishaps). Now I am going to start another book, perhaps curled up underneath a blanket, and contemplate more things that never reach anywhere, because there really isn't anywhere to reach.

It is what it is.

This is terrifying. It's almost 4 AM. I am awake. It's cold. It's dark. I have to use the bathroom, but the bathroom is in the cabin next door.

I like to sleep with giant comforters and no sheets. Anyone who has ever seen my room knows this. This week, I am sleeping with a sheet and an electric blanket. I'm been severely downgraded.

Sat on the boat reading and drinking beer while my brother and my dad fished. It was really nice.

(Note: don't break the seal on a boat)

I am growing my hair out. I'm pretty sure I look better with short hair, but I don't remember what I look like with long hair.

I am sitting in a hotel room and it is dark. My dad is doing some core exercises on a yoga mat. My brother is sleeping. I want to turn the lights on. Last night I slept with the lights off. I haven't done this in months. I woke up and had to use the bathroom and almost died tripping over shoes.

Here's the story I've been reading that makes me think of people I know and makes me think of myself.

I am in Norway, Michigan. There is a pizza coming.

Here's the story even though I've probably already told you:
My Great great great great great Grandfather William Henry Coryell and his wife and kids homesteaded Coryell Island. No one is quite sure why they homesteaded the island that they did instead of one of the large islands surrounding it, but they made their choice. For awhile, when ferries were a super popular way to travel, there was a hotel on the island and the ferry would bring people from Chicago to stay there and catch lots of fish. At one point, the hotel was so popular there was even a post office on the island. In the seventies, after graduating from college my father, along with others helped tear the hotel down. The post office is still there, albeit empty.

My dad said there are two types of people with cabins on Coryell Island: rich people and people who inherited them. We are in the second group.


See Coryell Island? It's the little one across from Government Island. I bet you can't guess who owns Government Island.

I am in love with the author of the story I am reading. I will post it when I'm done.

Here is a little snippet. It's from bearparade.com. It's called "Eat When You Feel Sad," and it's by Zachary German.

"It’s eight PM. The sun is out. He sees people in the park across the street. He feels like he understands them and empathizes with them. He is sorry they have problems. He wants to help them but understands he can’t, in any tangible way, but only abstractly, by living the best he possibly can. Robert starts to drink Elephant malt liquor. He cries. He is listening to Broken Social Scene. He thinks of calling someone, and then he thinks of throwing his phone out the window, or maybe breaking it somehow less dramatically, or maybe just I don’t know, I don’t know how I could somehow make my drunken fictional self not call her while not breaking my phone, I’m not sure how I can do this. He wipes his tears. He thinks of what he’s glad about. He drinks more and more Elephant malt liquor until there is only one bottle left and then he looks at it and thinks of what he’s glad about. Robert sleeps."

Sometimes I read stories about boys that I don't understand and I think, "This story is trying to explain to me all the boys that I know that I don't understand," but I still don't get it.

This Ukrainian guy bought me a beer and gave me his number. Yup, all the boys love me.

I'm so tired of people. I am tired of people moving, tired of people being confusing, untrustworthy. I let the same people make me feel bad over and over again. This is why Coryell Island exists and why I am going there tomorrow.

Fuck you.

I think she's saying she wants to die.

When I was younger I was really depressed. Then my mom went to detox and to the hospital and I got better because I didn't want to be in detox and the hospital when I was her age.

I can hear my mother sobbing in her bedroom to Larry. I need to leave.

I want to read books like "How to read between the lines," "How to explain what people say."

I started writing a story called "Colin moves to Reno and Other Stories." So far there is only one story. It is a page long.

I think Danny should start a tv show called "Dinner with Daniel."
I am going to tell him this when we go to dinner.
He can have shirtless male assistants.
It will be perfect.

As a person who is terrified of many things, I am extra terrified of the doctor. Unfortunately my yearly physical occurred today. Luckily internally and externally I appear to be in perfect health, assuming my blood tests come back normally.

(I am fairly certain that large metal objects never ever belong in the human body and find it kind of absurd that this is a required thing that must happen to me at least once every year)

Sleep has a tendency to be thought of a reset button, but it's not. I went to sleep feeling kind of bad and woke up feeling kind of bad. I think my cold is getting better though.

I wish I had faith in people. At sometime around 11 I start doubting everyone.

Does anyone (like Jenny) want to go to Cecil Otter at the Varsity with me on the 30th? It's 10 dollars and he's cute.

I saw a really cute boy in Dunn's tonight while I was in line. Who gets to date boys like that?

Sometimes I get the urge to gather everyone I know into a small bundle and take them with me wherever I go. I think my thoughts to other people, the things I would tell them if they were there. But people are not here, not very many people are any ways, and the people who that are here, are understandly busy. I think thoughts to tehm even. I was talking with Colin the other night and I said "I am worried this is how life is going to be forever," and he made his typical face and expressed typical bewilderment at what I said. But I do worry, I worry that I will settle, I will lose people, and I will lose people, but I want to lose them less quickly. (This little selfish part of me wants everyone to stay unemployed and here).

I took a handful of homeopathic pills for colds and passed out immediately after work. I'm not sure they are supposed to have that affect. I might be feeling better though.

This is how I feel often.

Colin is moving to Reno. I won't see him again until September and after that I won't see him again until sometime after I've left and returned to the country.

At Danny's grad party his parents didn't recognize me and then I said my name and his mom goes, "You were in gymnastics with Colin. You had long hair and were really tall and had trouble doing the bars."

Texts from right now:

(My brother)
I'm. Staying in basement. Berrd pong. Great nifhr. jm not dribinf, I'm way smaryer then that. Go twins!

Here is an Ellen Kennedy story called I Like Everytime We Have Sex

Books on my list to buy:
Peter Markus Good, Brother
Ellen Kennedy Sometimes my heart pushes my ribs
Sarah Manguso Siste Viator
Michael Dickman The End of the West

I have somewhere to live. Most of my Austria fears have been eased. The email I recieved this morning:

I'm Gottfried, one of the Austrian teachers at Freistadt's business high school.
I'm just writing to tell you that last Friday - after a long search - we reserved for you a small flat (approx. 35 m2) in Freistadt's main square (Fam. Höller, Hauptplatz 3, A-4240 Freistadt, Austria) from Oct. 1, 2010 to May 31, 2011: a bedroom, a small living-room with kitchenette, bath+WC for 330 euros per month (all inclusive), which is quite okay, I should say. The flat is ideal because it's so centrally located that both your schools are within easy reach (on foot!). Hope you'll like it.
Please, tell me what you think about that right away. If you have got any queries, don't hesitate to contact me anytime.
I'm looking forword to welcoming you here in Freistadt.

I'm still terrified, but much less so. I did email him back right away I was so excited.

I thought I drank far too much water to ever be hung over, but apparently not. Maybe that's because I spilled some of it on the floor. Oooops.

I can't find my strapless bra. It's a super classy look.

I'm soooo excited that Elizabeth is here. And I'm sooooo excited to go out. I'm just excited right now.

I had a dream last night that I was about to finger a girl and couldn't figure out where the hole was.

Fell asleep on the couch watching Criminal Minds with Danny. We then decided 11 was bedtime and he went home and I drove to my mom's. We are 85 years old.

Maybe I'm just tired and hungry.

I feel awful right now. I think reading makes me sad. I finished The Body Artist and Feed today and I feel ridiculously terrible. Danny is coming over. We are going to watch a movie. I need to spend more time with people. Holy shit, I feel bad. I feel the kind of bad where I am hesitant to talk to almost everyone because I feel like no one will like me I am so sad.

Lunch with Val today! I have now seen seven Knox alumi/students over the course of the summer. This is lovely.

Katie is pretty great.

I was at work for eleven hours today. Then we all got a lecture for not being responsible. Really good.

I'm going to ride my cute bicycle to the bookstore so I can feel better.

I finally shaved my legs after four days of not shaving. It was not a moral thing, but pure laziness. Four days might sound like a short period of time and it is. The hair were barely poking through and visibly it wasn't noticable but it was driving me fucking crazy.

I need to lie better. My boss asks me questions and I tell the truth and then he yells at me and then I get kind of teary-eyed and know I shouldn't get teary-eyed because Julia is coming and I don't really want someone to comfort me, I just am frustrated because I'm tired and have been getting yelled at all week before my boss even sees what work is being produced. This is not how to get me to do better. This is how to make me sad.

Today I asked a little girl if she ever had any mice in her house and she said,yes, in China, they were all over and so were the flies.

I really like this poem.

I'm processing very poorly today. I just don't know what I feel right now. I got home from work today and didn't know what I felt then either, but it was sort of sad. When I feel sad I feel the same as when I have the hiccups, I worry that's how I am going to be forever.

Hmmm. Hmmmmmmm. Hmmmmm.

I'm taking what people give. Like, I don't see some people all the time, but they show up sometimes and that's enough, or I know that they probably have no interest in talking to me, hearing about my life, but they do it any ways and that shows something, is enough.

I forget who it is, but someone has a short story about this girl who has sex with this guy who flies airplanes and she writes to him and goes to the mailbox everyday when the mailman comes to see if he wrote back, but he never did and she married the mailman. The telephone is scary if people pick up and if people don't pick up. There's just nothing enjoyable about the entire experience.

I really don't like telephones.

I like when my cat presses his little nose against my fingers and walks under my hand so I pet him without purpose. The way he rubs his body against my calf tells me that he loves me. Humans do things like that but it's so full of implication. We hug and it means something and I'm just tired of implications. I want to curl up against a body and feel good.

I go for days without wearing eyeliner and when I do wear it I stick my finger in it and I end wiping half of it off. I need to take better care of myself. I eat and I shower, but I don't remember what I look like. I don't try to be pleased in the morning. I should do something with my hair. I used to be pretty sometimes.

I'm so good at letting everything get turned around. Why am I always casts as the person who desires things even when I am so passive? Sometimes I don't desire things, sometimes I vaguely want, sometimes I am bored.

I keep being on the verge of saying lots of mean things. But I stop myself.

The day after the fourth of July: my stomach hurts, my hand hurts, but I don't know what I did to it, I started getting a hangover at 1:30 am and I have to go back to work.

Bummer.

The problem with getting rides from other people: I get antsy waiting, most people I know are consistently late to everything.
The problem with driving myself: I am the first one to arrive everywhere. I can drink less beer.

Fourth of July Nostalgia

Larry (my mom's boyfriend) stayed at my house last night, which yeah, I suppose it makes sense as he fixed the garbage disposal and stuff, but I just really don't like him and I was sitting in the family room, drinking a beer and watching The Hangover (it was one of the more boring Saturdays of my life) and he kept coming in which was really awkward and I kept wanting to laugh/be disgusted as his long greasy hair and it was just rather unpleasant. The worse is in the morning when I want to walk downstairs in my t-shirt and underwear like I always do, but no, I have to put shorts on which sounds like a small task, but there is just pleasure in walking around in my t-shirt and underwear, so I put shorts on and walk into the bathroom to find the toilet seat up. Really, LarrY? You're atleast in your forties, can't you put the seat down?

I sat outside Dunn Brother's for a long time today reading a Lydia Davis book and watching people which always results in watching people watch me watch them. This woman stopped in her car in front of Dunn's and people kept going up to her and asking if she was okay even though none of them seemed to know who she was. Eventually a girl came out with a glass of water and the woman in the car drove away. A man walked by with a cane, his body shaking all over. He zigzagged like a centipede, unsure of where he was going. A surly man that looked Mexican, covered in freckles and tattoos sat next to me reading. He didn't glance up from his book once. I almost finished the Lydia Davis book. I spent a long time thinking about people and who I wanted to talk to and even more so who I wanted to talk to me. I reached no conclusions.

Boys boy boys
We like boys in caaarss
Boys boys boy
Buy us drinks in baaaarrs
Boys boys boys
We love them!

I made a fantastic dinner of lasagna, salad, bread, and wine (well my dad bought the wine, but the rest was all me).

How my father and I buy wine:
Me: I want a tasty wine under ten dollars.
My dad: I want wine that won't give me a headache.

I am never driving my mother anywhere again. I sound like I'm about fifteen years old, but that's what my mother does to me, she turns me into a fifteen year old. I hated being fifteen. Does anyone else have panic attacks at the prospect of having to see their mother?

I'm tired of taking care of my mother. I feel like this makes me a bad person, but I just can't tolerate it anymore. I can't even listen to the sound of her voice with starting to feel loads of anxiety.

I woke up still needing to say things so I wrote some. I am going to bike to the grocery store and get the ingredients for lasagna and then I am going to buy a baguette because any sort of pasta is better with bread. I wish they had saltless bread here like in Florence.

I make it so easy for people to take advantage of me.

Will someone remind me to stand up for myself? Tell me I am not a fucking doormat. I don't hate myself anymore, why do I still act like this?

Goal for tomorrow: remember all the things I wanted to say tonight.
Goal for tonight: Don't cry.

I saw Twilight tonight with Jenny and Jim Beam and it was a really good time. Then we went to a bar and talked for a long time, which was also a good time.

I need to submit things to get published and get rejected. Even rejection will feel good.

Speaking of rejection: stop acting like a dick. I do have limits. My self-esteem isn't that low.

I'm lying on the couch trying to write. This is a unique experience.

I have never been so satisfied with nothing before. Not that I am satisfied with it, I just haven't been crying, haven't been very anxious. I just work on my puzzle, my knitting, watch bad television, sometimes I see people.

Things I dreamt about last night: building collapse, Knox students, zombies, vampires, Twilight vampires, and Pretty Little Liars. This means there are too many infectious monsters in our society.

Sometimes I make an effort, but it's small and if it doesn't work I give up.
I probably don't care as much as you think I do.
I could care more, but I don't. That would be stupid.