Pluto is not a planet.

August 28, 2006

and I’m surprised that this one still is. this place is so messed up, it isn’t deserving. I am so tired of everything around me. like just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, “it all” begins falling apart. vicious cycle. sift through my pile of “never again’s”. noticing that some aren’t. just hopes. & your card’s come up again. I guess its that time of year. girls like you remind me of how infantile and na├»ve I can be. you’re beautiful. but the sparkle in your eyes diminishes more and more each time I interact with you. noticable only to me. you are indecisive and incredibly difficult. you long for something that sure as hell isn’t me. sometimes I don’t even know why I try so damn hard when you treat me the exact opposite of how I treat you. attempting time after time to bring out the best in you just brings out the worst in me. I’m exhausted and feeling terrible by the end of each day spent with you. wishing you’d take compliments without the usual “i know” eyeroll. sometimes I wonder if anybody thinks about you as much as I do. tonight was horrible for the both of us but with every moment and with all sincerity, I hope you’re feeling okay. does that make me sweet or an idiot? i don’t really do things for the sole purpose of feeling appreciated, but if you did, it sure would make my day.

p.s. myspace is a joke.

Drix in search of self.

August 24, 2006

and insomnia ensues. I truly abhor this feeling of h-elp/ope -lessness. but I suppose these interminable nights leave me time to continue (un)productive hobbies such as this. this is my playroom therapy. this tiny keyboard is my “ms. a.” this is my escape from the smallness that I feel. I can be as big as I want and these keys let me act how I want. welcome to thursday night(mare).

this is only decipherable to one girl.

what’s the opposite of amnesia? because that’s what I have. because sometimes I can’t find my way around my memories. always having to take different routes. and I think you were the best one. its like it was never really going anywhere, with innumerable breakdowns but really, it made for the best trip. I’m completely out of place (everyw)here. and at the same time not. its like it always was. I am always on the verge of love or giving up. or that’s at least what I’ve convinced myself of today — tomorrow it will be something else. I’ve got aluminum foil on my bedroom windows to block the heat and sun. but at night, it blocks out any amazing views of the moon and stars. I long to marvel at the pulchritude of your smile and eyes and being, but I don’t want to get burned. and I think I’m all sorts of crazy. maybe I’ll just go to sleep and wake up ten years old in a shabby house in valinda.

because how could any of this be real.

think myself to pieces. and writing too fast to keep up. make up for true blues and dead reds. that doesn’t even make sense. but nothing ever does anymore it seems. rhymes and (no) reasons. just like random poems via text messages at three in the morning. I can’t wait until autumn and winter. visible breath and brilliant burning colors of the leaves are somehow associated with feeling okay to me. and just as easily as you can run home from problems, you can run home TO them. journal writing counts. its funny/terrible how its kind of what I’m known for now. and all this time, I’ve wanted to be so much more. this may be all (the friend) I have.

written while seated on a bench at the Orange County Museum of Art. “happy places” and melancholy thoughts.