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NuclearGerbil
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Name: Chesty
Country: United States
State: Virginia
Birthday: 3/12/1986
Gender: Female
Interests: Theatre, art, reading, writing (poetry, rants, stories, etc), dancing, singing loudly and off-key to my muzak, people-watching, mockery, self-deprication, rescuing innocents, slaughtering the same...
Expertise: Theatre- Set Decoration/design, Acting, Stage Make-up and Screen Make-up, directing, Stage Managing
Art- Working on it
Life- fucking it up. Over and over and over again.
Super Hero work...
Emotional Duct Tape.
Occupation: Artist
Industry: Art
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
3/26/2003
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| Isn't it funny? I saw that Sam had been posting on XANGA of all places, via her AIM profile, which I looked at because I was BORED on the computer... and now I just feel like I should turn off my computer for a few centuries. UGH this technology stuff is ruining my life. I am going to go live in Ireland for two years without a laptop and wait tables at pubs and hook up with some hot irish guys and girls. Yeah, cause, you know, Ireland makes you lesbian. Just a note for the unwary.
Being home is weird. I feel like I'm visiting extended family. But they have my cats. My cats aren't weird.
Um. Not that I think anyone is going to read his post. Hilarity at its finest. This is just sort of a finishing kick to Xanga's metaphorical balls, 'cause I'm not coming back. I post enough crap on my Livejournal to have to worry about a second festering pit of dispair. Har har.
Seriously, though, I ahve family in Ireland. Wouldn't that be swell?
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| Today Chuck Norris turns 66 years old. Since he rounhouse kicked Father
Time into the sun some 40 years ago, he still looks 26. In honor of his
birthday, we invented the ROUNDHOUSE KICK TO THE FACE, A shot with a
lot of oomph.
Rounhouse kick to the face:
In a 2 oz. shotglass, layer 3/4oz Aftershock, 1oz Vodka, 1/4oz Bacardi 151, set on fire, blow out and down. | | |
| Haha.. I'm back at school but I got so used to updating my Livejournal
over the summer (yes.. I did.. but very little angst I swear!)
that Xanga kinda feels obsolete.
Maybe I'll post more later. We shall see. Meanwhile, check out my Livejournal.
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| In my funk this morning, I could not think straight. I finally decided to take a shower to see if that would help.
As I stepped into the shower, though, I found myself crying.
Desperately crying. Turned into heavy sobs which escalated into me
screaming until my throat was raw, and throwing anything within reach
at the walls.
Welcome home.
The old mantra started going through my head again as I sat there, staring at my razor, water raining down on me...
Help. Oh god, please help. somebody. anybody. help me.
Over and over and over. The same old song. The same old feelings..
things I can't even attach words to. I suppose it's close to trapped,
anger, pain, desperation, panic.. and a very, very clenching fear.
It's kind of funny how powerful fear is.
I suppose I've been thinking a lot about who I am (again). Still
haven't any clue. I haven't very many friends who might know. I started
making friends in the seventh grade. When I started pretending to be
one of them. All my life, though, I've always pretended to be the
perfect daughter. I don't remember much of elementary school. because
my life was school, homework, food, sleep. The end.
I was the perfect machine. But then my mother let slip that she
wouldn't love me if I wasn't getting good grades. So I stopped getting
them. I'm still not sure how that worked.
I don't want to be this sad, hiding, miserable fearful creature. I refuse. I simply refuse. I was so happy in Radford.
So happy.
Of course, I decided that staring at my razor while contemplating
ultimate questions wasn't a very wise idea, so I got out of the shower.
This is my last post in this thing for the summer. It's just going to
be repetitions of every other experience here. if you want to know how
I'm doing... look back to before college. I will be keeping a physical
journal until school starts again. I am not looking for sympathy or
anything. I don't want a plethora of comments. I just... needed
to tell someone. And nobody was around to listen.
Sorry for the angst.
Spot
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| I'm trying to stay optomistic, but it seems like Radford is so very far
away... like it's been an eternity since I felt like smiling. Only a
week. ONE WEEK.
I think I need a therapist.
Or a tommy gun.
... what's it like to stand in your shoes?
To have never felt the belt of somebody's abuse?
Sorry guys. This was actually going to be a post about kittens. Go figure.
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