I threw up my lunch today. Again.

At this point I'm just trying to figure out the most enjoyable thing to regurgitate. So far Chinese takeout is my least favorite. Ravioli seems to be tolerable. Alcohol is the easiest.

I thought I was finally past this overly emotional, self loathing part of my life. I've already been that girl, lying on the bathroom floor drinking myself to sleep while listening to the Bright Eyes discography. I suppose heartache always feels this shitty. You think that one day you will grow and mature...learn to take things in stride and see it as a lesson learned. Wrong. I'm right back on the bathroom floor. If anything it just gets fucking worse.

In the past week I've added three layers of brick to my wall. I'm a goddamn mason. I'm trying so hard not to be jaded by love but I can't help but lose a little less faith every time I get a brick thrown in my face.

I've never wanted to hit the fast forward button so bad in my life. This year has so far been nothing but shocker after shocker. That's what she said? Okay, yeah...I'm a lady. Anyway, really. I feel like I'm on the fucking Truman Show. I thought Arizona was going to be a new start in the right direction. Now I'm not so sure. I feel like I've been lost in this desert without water and I'm mistaking inanimate objects as loved ones. My mom always tells me this story of when I was a kid, back in Oregon. My grandma had one of those miniature cactus things in a pot on her coffee table. I kept trying to touch it one night and my mom kept telling me it would hurt me. So what did I do? Oh of course I open face slapped the thing. Twenty years later what do I do? I move to the cactus capitol of fucking America and jump head first off a cliff onto a Saguaro. I use metaphors way too much. Even I don't get it.

I'm so fucking tired. And I'm using the F word even more frequently which means I'm REALLY at a loss for words. I'm exhausted. Hopefully my mind will clear up soon and I can make sense of this whole shit storm that seems to never end. Once again...metaphors...NOT on point. Bed. Sleep. Now.

My mom just gave me an Easter Bunny Pez. I think I just found the best thing to throw up.



"So long everything!" he shouted, then he ran next door to Margot's house.

"I'm moving," he said.

"Where?" asked Margot.

"Two weeks away," said Mitchell.

"Where is that?" asked Margot.

"It's everywhere I will be after I walk for two weeks," said Mitchell, "I have lived in the same place for a long time, it is time for me to go some place else."

"No." said Margot, "You have only lived next door for fifteen years."

"Sixteen," said Mitchell.

"Fifteen...sixteen, what's the difference?" said Margot, "I want you to stay next door forever."

"I can't," said Mitchell, " I do not want to go wake up in the same old bed and eat breakfast in the same old kitchen. Every room in my house is the same old room, because I have lived there too long. “

"And you look at me and think, same old face, same old tail, same old scale, same old walk, same old talk, same old Margot,"

"No," said Mitchell, "I like your face, tail, scale, walk, and talk.”

”I like you."

"I like you too," said Mitchell. He walked through the door.

"I must pack," he said.

“Don’t you do what you’ve wanted to. Yeah, don’t destroy yourself like those cowards do and maybe the sun keeps coming up because it has gotten used to you and your constant need for proof.”

Lion in a coma, lying in a coma.

Blastin' Girl Talk ("Unstoppable" album...hottest album cover...ever?) Greg Gillis is my dream boy in sample-track form. Drinkin' a bruised pear. Cold spaghetti noodles with soy sauce...surprisingly pretty damn delicious. In the past few days I have eaten enough Brie cheese to supply an upscale winery. Except for my mastication process wasn't nearly as glamourous. I believe I have officially developed an aversion to dairy. I don't even want to think about how many hormone-injected cattle I've unintentionally subjected to mass-production-abuse in the past week. Corporate consumerism is a bitch.

If there's one thing I regret in life, it's not learning how to spin turntables.

I can't wait for summer. I'm not a cold weather sorta gal. I really wonder how I managed to survive in the Northwest for so long. It's a miracle I made it out of that gloom alive. I'm so happy in Arizona. I guess I'm just a desert girl at heart. Although there are certain things I miss about Portland, I don't ever want to live in 100 shades of grey again.

My penny loafers need new pennies. My junk drawer needs organizing. Candles to be lit. Cockroach guts to be cleaned up. Walls to be drawn on. So much to do...

mute. with the closed captions turned off.

Grrrrr. That's what I have been doing lately. Really. My once sighs of frustration have officially morphed into animal form. I caught myself literally growling today...more than once. Schmort can vouch for this werewolf-like behavior. By the way Schmort...thanks for sharing your brie and crackers with me today. Fancy hors d'oeuvres always make me feel better when I'm stressed. You sure know how to treat a girl right. Anyway. The Growling. Sort of sounds like some cheap horror film that focuses on girls' boobs and masochistic, raunchy sex scenes rather than the villain itself.

"Crystal Wade please dial 3803". "Crystal Wade to the front lobby, Crystal Wade to the front lobby". "This message is...URGENT...". "You have...7 NEW messages..." (insert werewolf growl). Today was one of those days where I wish I were Mogwai. You know...the Gremlin. All I would need to do is add water and I could multiply myself. Although...they would be much meaner, uglier versions of myself. At least they would get shit done. They or I? I don't know...can I take credit for clones of myself?

I can't sleep. I've tried Tylenol PM, Benedryl, NyQuil, alcohol, herbal teas....nothing. I really don't want to take Ambien because I'm horrified that I'm going to start sauteing cigarette butts in massive amounts of butter. Nothings worse than unconscious fat and nicotine intake. Or maybe I am sleeping. I don't know to be honest. The strangest things have been happening to me lately. I'm having the most realistic dreams ever. For the past two weeks I have been having a hard time deciphering dreams and reality. It's quite possible this is some sort of psychosis developing. Most forms of psychosis aren't detectable until your mid-twenties anyway. Maybe I just have a lot on my mind, and I'm trying to process it in my unconscious? Shit. I don't know. There have been several times this week where I have imagined that conversations/events have taken place, but actually hadn't. Reality versus imagination. Total. Freaking. Blur.

I've decided I like summer a whole lot better than winter. I decided that a long time ago I think, but it's become apparent now.
I miss lazy days by the pool.
I miss the smell of sunscreen.
I miss the smell of barbecue although I don't eat barbecue.
I miss bloodshot eyes from chlorine.
I miss walking up to the highest point I could find to watch the sunset.

Nostalgia hit me like a freight train this week. All I want to do is surround myself with old familiarity. I've been looking at old photographs, reading old letters. Why don't people write letters to each other anymore? I miss that.

Screws are loose. Marbles are lost. Lights are out. Something. I'm lost in a whirlwind of imagination and past memories. Nothings current. Nothing makes much sense. Maybe I'm overwhelmed with work and my personal life. I don't know. I wish I didn't make things so difficult. I wish I knew when to shut the hell up. I never know when to shut the fuck up. I never know when to hit the mute button.

I remember when my biggest concern was transferring my favorite comic from the Oregonian onto my multicolored silly putty. I remember not wanting to mix my silly putty too much because the bluish-pink swirl would soon turn to solid purple, and then the fun was over. That's how I feel now. Like a big blob of purple with the worst comic sloppily smeared onto the surface. I'm like the mirror image of Garfield with the color worn out. I'm sorry if you don't know what I'm talking about...I've never been good with metaphors.

I self sabotage. I make myself purple on purpose.