I’ve been getting the feeling that my life is becoming a string of futures; a long series of ‘could be’, ‘can be’, but ‘isn’t’ circumstances.

Holy bitch-tits. If one more person tells me how to handle MY BODY, I’m going to explode. And not just implode to myself- literally my body with break into a million pieces that shoot out and stick to the walls.

Bless your heart, you crazy little soul.

My day started out at the doctors office, surprisingly not for my face, but for my arm, (History: When I was 6 I broke my arm pretty bad and as a result I am unable to turn my right arm over to face palm-side-up). First off, I had to go downtown at the ass-crack of dawn for this appointment just to sit in an office for 2.5 hours, only to be greeted by a doctor is terribly uninterested. So, I get an x-ray and this doctor tells me half-heartedly that I can have surgery to remove a piece of bone in my elbow and it MIGHT enable me to have more mobility in my arm.

This guy was a dick and the uncertainty is too large a risk. I’m not a fan of surgery and I find this procedure unnecessary and costly. I have adapted to the radius my arm can turn and it’s actually my stronger arm. I can’t sacrifice the feeling of security in my body over the POTENTIAL for enhancement.

Am I wrong?

Infinitely cold.
I need a body to hold.

What is it with kids from Florida and onsie pajamas? Seriously. Third kid I’ve seen.

I got this albino peacock feather yesterday. I had never seen one before and I think it’s great.

gghhoosstt:

I wish I’d fall in love again so I could stop hating everything.

ohno-ohmy:

He pushed me up against the bricks behind the Sears house he grew up in. 

“You,” he hiss-moaned into the back of my ear. He dragged his fingernails up my thigh to the ridges of my skirt. 

“You have to stop fucking with people so much.”

I felt dangeours. I looked up into his eyes and held back spouts of girlish laughter. 

“Oh!”

I tipped by head back, my ratted hair clawed up into the bricks. 

“More! More!” 

The giggles escaped and his violent and freshly drunk hand twisted it’s way up the rest of my skirt. I winced and my knees buckled and wilted. 

I said his name, but felt the same suffocating numbness that I felt every time I was touched when I was seventeen. The night air still felt good.

“Oh, no…”

His fingers crawled in tighter. My head jerked back harder. 

“Say ‘more’ again.”

“It hurts.”

My knees went slack and he followed me deep into his mother’s flower bed. As he touched, I rolled the dirt through my fingers and cried my eyes out into his shoulder. 

“Say ‘more’.”

The flowers ripped up from the earth and lay across my moon struck face. I smelled their newness, their virginity. I wondered if it was a real tragedy that they had been taken so young. 

He was done and I sat up. 

I said his name as I shook earth from the insides of my legs. “Do you think that other people get sad about things like flowers?”

He looked at my quielty. 

“No,” he whispered. “Just girls like you.”

Oh Wesley, you are so adorable.

Adolf Hitler, from Mein Kampf

Reading this again and remembering why I picked it up in the first place.

We should have kitty bath parties!

Yes, yes, and more yes.

The same thought is constant in my mind day in and day out.

I dream about it.
I eat foods that remind me of it.
I travel to places that bring me back to it.

If I ever lose it, I don’t quite know what I would think about.

Pancakes make me happy.