Abi's journals

Fuck the world. Everything falls apart anyway. So why do I keep trying to save the pieces?

Like a samoan man in... golf shoes.

NoPot, me, and Bats, waiting for the slowboat to hades.

Being distractedly verbose.

FUCK this and FUCK that and FUCK YOU!

Side Note: So apparently, the medical term for what I have is vaginismus. And it kind of sucks sometimes. Especially when I get nightmares about it. Now thats just ridiculuous. I'm a goddamn medical rubix cube at this point and I'm really fuckin sick of it.

Annd once more my crippling fear of airplanes has cost me an opportunity in life. I see an airplane even on the ground and my lungs tighten and my chest burns. And I feel awful about fucking up something important for one of my best friends, and about having to drink before going into work so I don't break down crying about everything I feel responsible for lately, and for realising that now with my art gone, I don't have anything left. I have words that sound flat, pictures that blink lifeless up at me, hands that shake too much to paint more than a few moments, panic that chokes and crushes and exhausts but keeps me from sleep, indecisive blood that makes my shoulders twitch and my words stick to my tongue.

At least, the anxiety that generally overtakes when things touch my ankles, or my neck, has dropped a bit. Theres always that to be glad about.

Currently snuggled up in bed with Chelsea, who is not a blanket hog thank god, drinking wine for breakfast again. My boys got us each a bottle of Mad Housewife and I'm slowly depleating my bottle of white. I've become an alcoholic in four days, its ridiculous.

Anyhoo, we stayed up and watched bad movies, ordered pizza and Chelsea ran face-and-knee-first into the glass door on the balcony. I am recounting her chromosomes as we speak, just in case. I think her lip stopped bleeding by now. Also, Chelsea likes showing her boyfriend my awful, half-burnt ass on webcam. It is very sad. Like seeing a panda with its head shaved or something.

Boys are getting us breakfast now, but if that ain't enough, theres always waffle house. I went to my first one yesterday and it was NON SMOKING. WTF IS THAT. Fucking Columbia and their RULES. I don't approve.

I think Chelsea farted so I am going to smother her. Goodbye.

Funny, I get my heart sorta kicked, so what do I do? Sit around while everyone is asleep and drink myself dizzy with beer, rum, and merlot.

It still hurts, but I'm not sure why, anymore.

I wanna dream about little lights, colors glowing against darkness, tinkly and shiney and distracting.

I wanna dream about the sound shells make when jossled together, of cigarettes that don't burn when inhaled too deeply, of gold waterslides slick with champaugne.

I wanna dream about oil paints that stain fingers like blackberries, dream of laying on a bed of sprinkles in jeweltoned intertubes and water wings, dream of toes always painted perfect whore-red, toes that aren't missing pieces.

Dream of Marilyn, squirming and whispering nursery rhymes in that little white dress, of fire escapes with the window open, just warm enough for white cotton panties and knit socks, of sleeping in just a thin t-shirt yet feet stay warm.

Dream of never seeing the sun come up when sleep doesn't show up, of having enough pills to pass around, enough to ride an airplane, of drinking alone to entice sleep.

But what do I know, I don't dream anymore.

He came into my crib,

and started to rap

So Into his ass,

I busted a cap.

If anyone hasn't heard of the Battle of Aspen, you severely disappoint me as human. I have to go be pretentious now, bye.

My most favorite website ever. http://www.dooku.net

EXPERIENCE IT NOW.