july 2009

[july1st, 8:10a.m.]
goodmorning, july. i feel threatened by everyone, lately. i wish i could go on a run. stop arguing with me all the time. what's for breakfast?
[continued8:44p.m]
i'm hungry. i don't know when i work next week, or the following. i don't know what i'm doing tomorrow, or the next day. i'm sick of being in the dark about things. i woke up this morning at seven fifty-two. my window is open upstairs. mom's on the phone. i'm not going to pretend like we're really close, and i'm not going to follow the current and send you my sympathy, but i am sorry. i almost wish i had met this feeling on a more eye-to-eye level so i could be more comforting than a rock, except i'm not. my phone battery is dead, again.

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[july2nd, 3:01p.m.]
i don't know what's changed. i'm going to summerfest tonight, i guess. i wish chap stick worked for me. "do people ever call you cat?" no. i can see in the dark. i feel like i'm cold, all the time. i wish i'd have seen death cab for cutie in concert. mom's doing math homework in the couch behind me. i've got dishes to clean. i don't want to color-by-numbers, anymore.

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[july3rd, 11:55p.m.]
billy shaved his head. i'm really wired right now. five more minutes until my chicken nuggets are done. make that four. i've got better things to do.

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[july4th, 1:50p.m.]
do you know what's changed? i do. it's that we don't do things anymore, like we used to, and that has ruined it all. i suppose people on the lake don't have calendars, because last night they lit all of these color bombs and sent them off into the sky. i thought today was america's birthday? i like to take naps. i feel bad that you're wasting your entire summer under your covers. i feel like i've got a lot to say today, but at the same time, i don't know if that's true. i would enjoy a watermelon slice. i'm not going to drape myself in an american flag to prove my patriotism. i'm wearing a green sweatshirt today. je t'aime pour toujours.

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[july5th, 6:43p.m.]
truthfully, no. i don't want to "reimburse" you because of your poor planning. i'm hungry, but i'm not. i’ve been sleeping so strange at night from effects they don’t advertise.

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[july6th, 12:10a.m.]
i cried when you left. i don't know if that says that i'm just not ready to meet reality, but i am sick of being alone. i used to like those glazed blueberry donuts more when i was eleven. i've been so sad lately. my lights still don't work. i still don't have a car. i still haven't bought my flight ticket home from north carolina on july thirty-first. what have i been doing lately?
[continued5:48p.m.]
my tongue hurts. my back hurts. i made ten dollars today, but i owe someone ten dollars, so i guess we're back to zero. i'm really interested by smoke. not smoking, or watching someone smoke, but just smoke itself. i bought new face wash. you're too loud; everything is too loud.

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[july7th, 11:46p.m.]
there is a hole in my sock, so the sole of my foot is just kissing the carpet. i hate when people pound a point into my head. i'm going to the lake tomorrow. "she's been disappointed enough in her life. i didn't want to do that to her, again."

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[july8th, 11:02p.m.]
as if; take back your sticker. north carolina is in almost sixteen days. if i said i was disappointed, that'd be an understatement.

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[july9th, 11:44p.m.]
i needed a night like tonight.

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[july10th, 11:31p.m.]
it's painfully obvious i'm not who i used to be. i can hear the streetlights turning on behind that maroon curtain that holds the memories inside this house. the tv is on, but the sound is off.

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[july11th, 10:02p.m.]
i'm going to ball you up some creativity and throw it at your million-dollar smile because i've got so much hanging around in the first place. get your own friends, and quit stealing mine. fifteen days until i'm gone, i think; it's not like i've been really counting. my room is always clean now. if my blinds are open, i'm still awake. unless, my mom came in my room while i was sleeping and opened them, which i guess ruins this entire idea. i still have no lights in my room, and some brainiac decided to remove the fan part also, so air circulation throughout my room is at a stand-still. i wish i wasn't so irritated. turn up the current.

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[july12th, 11:53p.m.]
i need this tuesday left to me and the sprouses and the dunes. paycheck tomorrow. do you know what's nice? loving where you work.

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[july13th, 4:20p.m.]
i already know i need a car, and if you drove as fast as you run your mouth, maybe i'd have one by now, but the fact you'll harp on that i don't have one doesn't do me any good. i'm getting irritated. tuesday is a working day, which is lame on more than twelve accounts, and by that i am counting all the sprouse children i could be spending time with. quit treating my text messages like they're twitter. i don't care what you're doing every minute of every day, so stop wasting your time and my texts. i need wednesday here now.

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[july14th, 10:55p.m.]
time to leave. time to leave. time to leave.

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[july15th, 1:04a.m.]
at this point, i feel bad for whoever i room with in college. i still sleep with my bear from the house with the green awnings. i'm not tired. my heart hurts. it rained for about six seconds outside my window. my room is covered in night.
[continued7:08p.m.]
oh, i bet.

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[july16th, 9:01p.m.]
i've got my mom's taste but my dad's mouth. margarine is no substitute for real butter. i'm surprised with you. am i really that ignorant to have never noticed? or maybe you just never told me. mom needs to buy donuts tomorrow. maybe you haven't heard, i don't wait around for things i know aren't going anywhere. i won't move you an inch, even though my arm is asleep.

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[july17th, 10:54p.m.]
i didn't really do anything with my day. maggie is having her friend who lives at the bottom of the hill sleep-over. i returned that book i bought from barnes&noble because it was a horrible beginning and i wasn't really wanting to read the rest. i got a free icee from burger king because i am a real people-person. i think tomorrow is looking very promising.

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[july18th, 11:44p.m.]
i'm just so tired. won't you sing me to sleep and fly through my dreams, so i can catch a ride with you tonight? let's get away from this place, have a new name and face, i just ain't the same without you in my life.

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[july19th, 11:53p.m.]
i'm busy.

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[july20th, 11:52p.m.]
let me put this in the most simplistic of terms because you're just not getting it; you're annoying me. i need to wake up in nine hours so i can open my jaws for my orthodontist and he can tell me that i am doing exactly what he told me, and i'm exactly where i should be, and that in exactly one year i will have my braces off and my teeth will be exactly perfect. i wish i cared.

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[july21st, 3:59p.m.]
i work in thirty-one minutes. i think i know what i'm after, almost. these shoes make me look like a duck. five days, six-hundred and eighty-five miles. i got another job, working with donald crego. he's pretty goofy, but i think we'll get along.

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[july22nd, 11:12p.m.]
i won't be updating online while i'm on vacation in three days, but i guess i could just drop this huge load of ideas when i get back. you must have forgotten about me.

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[july23rd, 8:29p.m.]
where'd you go?

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[july24th, 10:28p.m.]
i'm way too angry to write this. my phone is about to die, and i need to pack. one day, six-hundred eighty-five miles.

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[july25th, 3:06p.m.]
dad drove me past the house with the green awnings. it doesn't have green awnings anymore. every house in this city is built with brick. i think the ice cream parlor on the edge of town got shut down sometime within the past eleven years. we're going to grandma&grandpa's today, i guess, so dad can wallpaper their bathroom. i feel welcome here. it's really no wonder we never come here anymore; it must be hard to fit three bits of trouble into your intense schedule. i've got my dad's hands.

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[july26th, 10:33p.m.]
i wish i could stay here longer than four days. this house is really modern and clean cut. i like it here.

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[july27th, 9:43a.m.]
it's so quiet here, you can hear each individual thread's conversation in your sheets. i think we're going grocery shopping today. i'm suggested to read the book, naked by david sedaris. uncle mike is taking his dog for a walk, maybe i should take my shower and balance the universe. i have a feeling i'm going to like this monday.

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[july28th, 4:17p.m.]
i don't think you understand what i mean. i like my handwriting, now. the paper skyscraper is a very cool store. we're having tuna casserole for dinner, then going somewhere for a surprise. the sky was very chatty last night. these are the jeans that usually smell like rubber, but not today. i don't know why i tried so hard to get back to you; you've made it more than obvious what kind of person you are, and i'm sick of the norm. keep running. the only person in my life that i let call me 'baby' is my grandpa. uncle mike is napping - perhaps he is tired from his argument with the board of snots here in his complex. i've started to become very familiar with cars. i'm not going to miss warped tour this year, i don't think. (and by 'miss', i mean emotionally. i don't really care at this point.) no one would have seen this coming.

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[july29th, 10:30p.m.]
i don't really want to leave.

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[july30th, 11:42p.m.]
i'm exhausted.

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[july31st, 9:52p.m.]
mom thinks there is a mouse in the attic. i think this is funny. goodbye, july.