resolving

get a car and move out

take a vacation somewhere out of the country

spend a week on the oregon coast, just by myself

donate 10% of my income to charitable causes

digitize my note/sketch -books

do one big act of service every day

exercise daily (running around in video games doesn't count)

do something with someone in real life every weekend

write for an hour every day, just write, doesn't matter what about

(keep trying to) draw something every day

clean up my music, don't listen to garbage, be more discerning

be more decisive

take a class

read one book a week (comic books don't count)

express gratitude daily

be kinder to myself

not a morning person

so i deleted my fb account. it wasn't worth the hassle i was getting from my mother. apparently complaining about work is going to lead to us losing our house (what?) so i just dropped it. it was dead weight anyway, the only people i cared about enough to check on them are people i talk to on a pretty regular basis outside of fb anyway.

was late to work. i didn't want to be here today, and it seemed like my morning routine just dragged and dragged, my subconscious was trying to be helpful. somehow my phone ended up beneath me in bed and i never heard the alarm anyway.

i'm probably going to have to delete this blog now, too, since i said i didn't want to come in to work. it'll get me fired. this is me rolling my eyes.

guess what?

bah humbug.

i took the afternoon off yesterday, and this morning i remembered why i never ask for time off, even if i desperately need it - it's because when i get back in, my entire shipping room is trashed, my desk is a mess, and i can't find a goddamn thing. including my box cutter.

how am i supposed to run a shipping room without a box cutter?

how am i supposed to slit my wrists?

oh, the melodrama. i would make fun of my histrionics, but today, right now, i kind of really want to.

same old again, i know.

i know. you're just glad you don't have to live it.

"maybe THAT is your purpose for existence, chels, you're supposed to be the cautionary tale, the person who everyone else can look to and go, well, at least my life doesn't suck as bad as hers, and then feel better about themselves."

you know what? fuck you all. especially you, seth. you pedophile. how is your child bride doing, these days?

i think most people who major in psychology only do it because they are trying to understand their own fucked up selves. like a psychology class is going to teach you anything. pfft. all it teaches you is to fake it till you make it.

i'd rather not make it, if that's the only option to get through anything.

i vote the world owes me a giant fucking favor, and if i don't get something amazing out of nothing sometime soon, then jesus doesn't love me and the whole goddamn thing is a sham.

and now, back to the gravy train.

Same as Always

This morning I found the cd case that had all the discs I burned during my year eight months in Connecticut. I've been ripping them to my iTunes library here at work. Listening to them totally takes me right back there. Driving the Toyota Sienna everywhere - basically living out of it - the trees. Oh, I miss the trees so much. I miss doing something that made a difference every day. I miss playing "mom."

I got a holiday card from them two days ago... I can't believe how much the kids have grown in two years. I want to go back, I want to go visit before they move on so much they completely forget me. I sent them Beatles RockBand for the xbox Cory got the Christmas after I left as a belated birthday/holiday present. I wanted them to remember all the times we spent playing Rock Band, just the four of us, Cory and Claudia fighting over who got to play the drums until Claude got halfway through the first song and remembered she hated playing the drums. We'd always have her sing. She was good at it. It was awesome. Oh, I miss those kids. I miss feeling like a crucial part of something. Knowing that things wouldn't get done without me, knowing that I got to - and was capable - of taking care of them. Making sure they were okay, and healthy and happy and having fun.

Now I'm back here. Useless and accessory, stuck at home because of stupid choices from my early 20s that screwed my credit. Working a job that takes no brains, that doesn't want or value creativity or ability. My... all of me... wishes I could go back to that year. Go back to being needed and wanted and challenged every day and being able to go to bed at the end of the day with a sense of fulfillment and accomplishment. I think that's why I have so many dreams about babies lately. I ache to be needed like that again, by someone, anyone. I know the things that I'm best suited for. And it's not packing boxes and beings stuck at home like a perpetual 12 year old.

I'm trying not to be whiny, I don't want to sound whiny, but I want to try and express how I feel and what I'm thinking today. Or, this morning. Mornings are slow at work, usually. And I'm avoiding work because I'm tired and I ache everywhere and it's cold. I feel so old. I'll be 30 in a little more than three years. How did I get to here? I remember being 11, and imagining myself at 21, coming back to visit the family from college, with a car and a boyfriend, tall and gorgeous with long brown hair... stylish and smart and funny... and here I am, 27 and a college drop-out, an ART MAJOR drop-out, short, with short blonde hair and still no car, no boyfriend. Not just visiting home, but stuck at home...

Nevermind. I can't write like this. It's all just the same. The same thing every time. These words aren't new.

"Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, 'Where have I gone wrong'. 

Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night." 

- Charlie Brown

oh what gems we pull from these coffers

New Music Sun/Monday yielded up some pretty decent finds! Check'em out, yo.

Knockout by Air Waves




Shoeing the Bones by Cate le Bon




Good Evening by The Concretes




Modern Drift by Efterklang




I Met Up with The King by First Aid Kit




Never Come Around by La Sera




Running Out of You by Keep Shelly in Athens

exercises in futility

the needle: pain shot through, naked light
from the hole in the ceiling
where we kept
that single glowinthedark star

to pull our
thoughts
through.

especially, in these
moments of darkness; blinded.

the pull and roll.
skittercrawl into
the lighthole. where

are you kafka? give
me my axe.

let's do this
shit.


of the dreams that vanish with every dawn
i will say this:

(m)hyster(ia)ectomy(oliosisinomaplasty.)


we adore other gods here now
so, next customer please.
twelve items or less, you're

holding up

the line, and the guy
behind you with the
charcoal brickettes

has a party to get to.

do you need ice with that?


and sleep, that most uncertain vessel
writing passage to distances
you can't span when you're
not sleepriding.

can't or can't afford.
no,  no
the cost is too much.

feel them waving.

certainty is expensive,
and every friend is
better in the dark.


of metallic cables
i am too inclined to speak.
here is another long
gash beneath the skin.
i never took automatonomy.
never needed to, i
i had a gift.


music, take me

or

don't.


but the church bells have gone underground
and so have the moles,
religerosity rolls
down the holes
in drolls
to the tolls
the tolls
the tolls.
bankrolls.


with speech coming out of their mouths like writing
the ultimate allure.
if he really spoke like that,
the only thing coming out of his mouth
would be mine.


already for you with sublime tints
blinded by the visceral edges
of geometry, the quick

wit of parallel corners.

rhomboid you can't
hide from me. i see your
blue hue

the green in between and
every edge
in red lines even
as the lines are
transforming. draw, oh

draw me the untold color
of your shapes in
these movements
in the dark.


where my gestures are seagulls who lose themselves
the low fog rolls in
and my grand movements
fly off in the clouds.

shrieking witnesses
loud, lonely over

wavemass after wave
after wav-
ing always
the hidden waving

drowning lonely, white
invisible
in the
distance.