DA is getting really KOOOoooOOOL. It's like that middle school friend who all of a sudden gets super hot in highschool and ditches you.

oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
I am restless.
something inside me. Equidistance between my throat and stomache is aching.
oh woe oh woe oh woe.

There's a 5 legged spider in my bathtub and
I am guilty [oh so guilty] of splashing it with sink water [not bath spout water] before I saw it was 5 legged now it makes me want to cry because I am ashamed for picking on a cripple and I’m sure it used to be a very handsome 8-legged spider
I guess it just wants a nice cool resting place where it can die because like a war veteran they’ve lived the best of their years in action and now they’re just a crisp of what has been because they’re missing some legs [three in the case of my spider] and it makes me want to cry so very badly because its not very menacing at all [as I originally thought when I saw this 5-legged spider in my bathtub] and its kinda cute because it's a crippled archanid and it's in my bathtub
I don’t think I can take a shower properly because I am not going to touch it [my initial plan was to kill it then shower] and I am not going to kill a crippled spider and I am certainly not going to shower while it floats around in my shower water

So I guess I’m not showering for a while

kisses and blue blue eyes. munching on pretzel rods and spooning yogurt. tangling. We stop time to hug and hug, squeeze squeeze, crush my arms around him and bury my face into his curves and angles.
This TIMe it was so natural, there was none of the burdening disconnection.... he came in a brown zipper leather jacket, walking like he's got music in his head. Buys me food. Buys me pretty things. We go to the mall and act like money is no issue (but I am oh so careful to check price tags). Watches me with those big blue eyes under smooth arched eyebrows with reverence. In his vision I can do no wrong. I can burp and he'll think it's cute in a gross way. I can tell him I steal bras and shirts from outlet stores and he'll nod and say he's stolen a silk tie. I can stuff my mouth full of cookie and he'll twist his lips and laugh at me. I leave long red scratches on his back, and half moon wounds on his shoulders. I brush my cheek against the flank of his neck and smell ambrosia. Holding hands in the car, intertwining fingers and grabbing and clasping, holding on to his hand to confirm this reality--or dream. Music again. Listening to music in the car, we turn it up and I bounce in my seat, and his profile is smiling. --Garbage-Gwen Stefani-U2-Beck-- Pingponging responsibilities, "no you decide what’s for lunch / No You decide" Decisions decisions decisions make playful quarrellings. Curling underneath hotel covers, I’ll whine that I’m cold, and he places his warm hands around me, pressing his hot body to me, and I’ll still whine that I’m cold. He holds me with one arm, while handling the damn remote with the other, flipping- flipping, the TV is a montage of shows, patchwork of media, I get bored by this and decide to punch him for amusement "OW!" White and black wing tip shoes. Mirrors and our reflections, I am vain and turn my face towards the reflected images of two lovers, this is another evidence of this dream- me and you in the glass- a round Asian face with pouty lips, sometimes glasses sometimes bare face, in the same picture with a lean masculine face, structured by delicate feminine bone frame, small, pink lips curved as lovely as a cake's icing roses, he has deep big eyes, a long nose that he frequently complains about "I want a smaller nose, my nose is ugly" and that which I love, when we kiss sometimes I feel his nose against my cheek, I want to say this all feels like completing a puzzle. Limb to limb, lips to lips. Driving. Sneaking in late at night, or early in the morning. Waking up. Swollen eyes, brush teeth-brush it!- wash face with 3 different cleansers, shower for 30 mins, special softening shampoo, water, wash. I feel so beautiful in his presence- I am part of his existence-he is part of my existence. I feel so pretty because he tells me so, not the usual vociferous proclamation, but light gentle words softened by his loving gaze. I purse my lips, look down, and shake my head shyly~~ he is the beautiful one. His bare back is an unbroken plane of skin and on the right side is my tattoo: a gleaming samurai sword, a spreading cherry blossom branch behind the sword, numerous 5 petaled flowers. I designed it, I drew it, and the tattoo artist only brought it to permanence. With him, in private, in public. The most powerful urge of mine has been to talk to him. Talk to him with my body, my words, but I want a different language. I want to communicate with him in this exclusive language, esoteric messages between us, I am so sure that we have this ability that I open my mouth. But our language dissipates when I realize I have no such power. But I was so sure, I was so sure. Reflections again, virtual images, clear pictures of people, it's US, next to his light pale skin, I look colored: painted tan with a tint of yellow, black hair over the shoulders. We are such good human beings when we are together. I am less angry (it doesn't vanish, I am by nature angry, I think I was born angry) and he is less angry. Our insecurities shrink; I don't feel so fat, or hideously proportioned, or gruesomely ugly. He tries to not think of his loathed school work, and the lack of work. He doesn't feel so ugly or thin and underdeveloped because I am touching him, hugging him and stroking his skin with my fingers. Playing his body like music; turning him to art. "You are so lovely" We say 'I miss you' before the Dead Line- randomly in restaurants, those tender moments. Intimate and foreboding. Truly an oxymoron, so sweet that tears well up and conjure a sour salty flavor of bile and dread in the back of my throat.

I’m tired; I don't want to deal with upcoming reality. I’ve recorded all I can remember. This is for me

So i'm a tremendously successful failure . and the letter told me so, and thus i set out with engagements in distracting mindless activities, such as buying 2 boxes of wheat thins (on sale 2 for 5$) a packet of peanut butter, chocolate chips ahoy ($2.50) and a large mint chocolate chip italian ice,(2$) and as i stumble back with my bounty, minute to anxious minute spooning sweet green, chocolate sprinkled relief into my mouth, i force myself to think of the cliche, age-old, over redundant, over used phrase of "and failure never tasted so good" It didnt really taste that good you know, what tasted good was the mint chocolate chip italian icee from Rita's, i'm glad theyre open, they closed for the year when i had just discovered how delicious their mint chocolate chip italian icees were.
but now theyre open, so i've got a haven. Rita's mint chocolate chip icee, the bathroom, the library, the painful minutes of PAIN while running that ive forgotten because ive atrophied into such a lazy piece of failure.
i think i'm over it, it doesnt swell up that tingle of the electric bird inside my breast, bitter flavor, biting feathers
maybe i chose the wrong pants, perhaps my middrift showed and they hate slutty sluts with midrifts pretending to be literate. maybe i spoke too loud, too colliqual and casual, i had used the phrase "yes, i really liked this (blah blah) it was very tasty." maybe they doubted my abilities because my answers were too hasty, "i would really love focusing on writing for a month" maybe i smiled too much, and they just dont like the flash of nervous teeth and curving lips, maybe because i was the first group, i shouldve waited till at least the 3 group, first groups never have the advantage, maybe i did the assignment wrongly, too many abstract nouns, maybe because i shouldve worn the male gray button up dress shirt, maybe because i appeared too cocky, too mouthly, and perhapsy bitchy? maybe i shouldve shouldered the role of the reticent, endearing, blushing asian ingenue.
ugh
i've always imagined my mind to be far more coiled and grinding than other teenagers, so in a sense, i'd convinced myself that i was acceptional, definately above average, looking down on the average in fact. But failure has pulled me down to reality, shattered its shockingly cold glass hand over my face, or maybe its my face that is glass, and shit. Now i'm average. Damnit, how i wonder arrogantly "if i didnt get in, who the hell did?" that reticent, blushing asian ingenue of course.
i love mint chocolate chip italian ices, i've incorporated 'mint chocolate chip italian ices' in this entry 7 times including in this sentence, and i've alluded to mint chocolate chip italian ices once, ops, there i said the phrase now 8 times.
and i've included the word 'failure' 4 times, inculding in this sentence.

and now i have to toss my head and look up and forwards. Torwards a road with more failures because in the end, the successes don't matter, successes lead to more failure. Thus i'm deflated, im not a magnet of accomplishment and success, but i look onwards. That reticent, endearing, blushing asian ingenue is a wicked double sided cunt, somebody shut her up with mint chocolate chip italian ice and a bitch slap.
'failure' demands a recount, the word now stands at 8, inculding in this sentence.


i'm- a- gonna- go- eat- chinese- cooking- now-