Why do all my poems sound so sad?

The other thing: to be missed.

Danny and I were drunk facebooking because what else do you do at 2 AM? Right? And he said something along the lines of "I want to ignore him, but I want him to realize I'm ignoring him and feel bad about it." I do this a lot, sort of. Except I get sad or drunk or happy or forgetful and talk to the people I am ignoring again, because I really miss and want to talk to everyone.

But essentially what I am saying, is that it would be niced to feel missed. I miss you. (You in this case is very plural, implying a large multitude of people)

My typical drunk post:
I appreciate everyone I hung out with this week. It was a good week. It makes me not care about things with boys.

I like to pretend that people read my blog and think I'm really exciting. Like whoa I went to a party super drunk and danced forever and then made eggs while drunk and passed out and went to I-Fair and then napped and hung out with lovely people and tried to go to a party but campus safety busted it so we ate t-bell instead because we were drunnnk. SO FUCKING COOL.

Such tiny little things make me really happy. It's a trade off.

I-Fair was really good, but I'm exhausted.

New future career: Make kebabs.

I went to a Knox party called "awkward middle school dance" and it kind of felt like it, only I was drunk and didn't mind that boys weren't dancing with me because I don't like any of them.

I think I saw a boy I used to like, but I'm not sure because everyone looks the same. He looked at me and looked uncomfortable and turned around and I cared enough to keep dancing and pretend I didn't care, which is better than caring enough to get upset. If I were less drunk the situation would've made me uncorfortable. Anyways, I must be up in five hours for I-Fair. I am going to drink many glasses of water and eat pizza rolls and whatever else I can find.

I took a shower and the steam from the shower set the fire alarm off. So I was naked and wet and the fire alarm was going off and in my panic I put on jeans for the first time since May, only I had shaved my legs and that felt awful. Sometimes I so dumb.

I love working on my collaborative project Friday afternoons. It always makes me feel so good because I end the week talking about poetry and writing lots of it and hearing the poetry my partner wrote and it makes me think I should spend all my time doing this.

I dreamt I could sense animals. I identified them with a color. Like I said "I hate to break it to you, but there's a magenta in here." I dreamt there were little pigs that stood up on two legs and were really smart. There was an adoption crisis because no one was adopting them because no one knew they existed.



Pigs look so happy. I look animals that look happy.

I am going to grow my hair out until I look like this:

Maybe I would like getting compliments on how I look more if I worked really hard at it. Maybe if I went tanning and got surgeries and spent more than three minutes putting on make up in the morning. Now when I get compliments (which isn't often, but it's enough) and don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but I think, "What about the things that I do? I want you to read my poetry and love that."

A few things:

1. I try not to judge people when they don't like Salinger. It's hard, because I read "Catcher in the Rye" in the midst of a great depression when I was fourteen. I read it in one afternoon, sitting on the couch in my livingroom, failed to write any of the essays I was supposed to, and shortly after that left school for awhile for reasons you might know about if you know me fairly well. So I could relate to Holden. In young adult lit. we discussed how Holden isn't necessarily representative of being a young adult, but rather he is representative of the grieving process. Holden remains relevent to my life in different ways. I understand though, if you didn't read the book at the right time or don't have similar grieving feelings or don't want to run around the city chainsmoking and drinking cocktails, then you might not like it.

But you should still read "Franny and Zooey." Franny understands me in ways Holden doesn't.

2. I just had the most boring class ever. We discussed two poems. In three hours. We didn't even discuss them indepth. Mostly the professor just talked about nothing. I was thirsty for the whole three hours. There was nothing I could do. It was like torture.

3. I want to have a talk like Holden Caulfield day, only I want to have it for the rest of my goddamn life.

I want to chainsmoke cigarettes and drink cocktails for the rest of the day in honor of Salinger, but I have no cigarettes and no money.
People I want to date today: Holden Caulfield

J.D. Salinger died. I don't know how to relate to my fictional lover of Holden Caulfield anymore. He's been cold all day.

Sometimes I suspect my roommates have sensors to tell when I'm getting ready because someone is almost always in the shower.

I can always tell that I've been drinking when I have dreams about drinking water and when I wake up far too early for the time I went to bed.

I want to drunk email Monica and ask her what she's doing by giving me this to read.

Stop me stop me.

(I had a lot of wine. Dee and I went and bought more)

"That's the thing with enlightened people. They say things
that are so infuriatingly simple when the world is not."