I still don't want to write, but I will anyway. Sometimes things need to be forced to work.

Jacque had her baby the other day. I believe on the sixth, 10:59 AM? She's home now, cradled in my grandmother's arms. She has a full head of hair and fingers that curl. She is soft, too.

Her name is Lillian. I don't really know how to feel about her, but I'm like that around babies.


Last week, the untouchable, pro-abortion boy from work was terminated for cursing off a customer. It's funny how things turn out: he was there for six years, and not one of our many managers stood up for him, even though two of them were with him when it happened. Six years of a clean record, and giving irrational twats what they deserve once was all he needed. I hope he has better management wherever he chooses to work next.


I've been selling books. In under two weeks I've sold over twenty books. I definitely love Amazon.


I don't think I've ever mentioned then before in this journal, but I have been interested in Asian Ball-Jointed Dolls (BJD) for years, searching for the right one to create my muses. After three years of constant searching and mind changing and money issues, I'm finally creating Jonas Michael, my writing muse. I bought his head and eyes recently, and by next week I will have his hair. Ironically, I don't have a body yet; his head is originally a female sculpt, so I'm looking for a body that will fit his neck hole properly.

I'm looking forward to completing him. I will have him done by the end of this year. When I finally get him, I'll get started on making him clothing, and if I like him enough, I'll start saving up for the rest of his family (I might explain them later).


I've been wiped out this week, covering for him, opening after closing, but that ends today. I work at five, then nothing until Wednesday. While the paycheck won't be as awesome, I need this a bit.


Going to Connecticut for a graduation party on Sunday. I hope its entertaining. I'll be bring a journal with me, just in case. I always want to write when I'm up there.


I've been neglecting some friends. I need to start contacting people. I need to try to get a loan again (rejected last time; it makes me nervous).


Now I feel better.

So much has happened in these last few weeks. I was going to write about it tonight. I think I'll finish my cigarette instead.

I am sitting at the kitchen table, drinking an incredibly sweet iced coffee loaded with peppermint extract, reading. Suddenly, I stop and just look up for a second. I wanted to scream until someone comes through the back door. I can feel it in my mouth, rolling around like a piece of candy I desperately want to spit out.


Having a good time, working and going into the city when I can. Getting ready to jump into something that could lead to nothing.


Why can't I go into Greenwich Village without thinking of you, you bastard? I only think of you when I pass boys in corduroy and scruff. I need to get back to Central Park, on the East side.


If I decided to just up and leave, where would I go?


I always wanted to go to the mid-west.

He's emotionless and distant. He hates children and parents; he wishes abortions occurred more often. He's quiet because he thinks people are complete idiots and don't understand that no matter how much schooling you participate in, you still wind up in your shit job. He's mordant and keeps to himself.

He hides someone breathtaking simply by wearing a pair of glasses.

-

Tonight I went to a gas station, a Quick Check and a couple of WaWas searching for a particular brand of cigarettes. Never found them. Went to IHOP right after with a group of my sister's friends, who had just returned from the prom. There's nothing like watching a girl eat pancakes in a gold-shimmering dress, her corsage next to the plate. The bus boys and waitresses found a kitten stuffed into an exhaust pipe. It was fine, and a friend took her home.

Feeling a bit old, and now I wonder if I missed out on more than I thought I did?

Being home has lost its wet-ash atmosphere. Feeling better about being here now.

I'm worried about my mother, but she's getting better. It's a slow process, but now she puts her book down and listens to me rambling while sewing doll clothing and subtly getting her used to the idea of me buying an obscenely overpriced doll for myself.

Life here in New Jersey is so... quiet. I feel myself age here. Right now, however, I don't mind it.

I miss my friends in New York. I need to text them.

I'm not sure what it was I wanted to say tonight.

I decided the other day, talking to an old friend, that I need a boyfriend. I don't think I've ever said that out loud to someone. There is no reason to say it, either. I just have that feeling.

I need to find myself a guy who reads literature and wants to talk about it. Who can tell me that though no one in the vicinity enjoys The Wasteland, he does and wants to ask me my opinion on the pointless notes Eliot wrote at the end of the poem. Who can say that yes, he does enjoy Virginia Woolf and no, Keats isn't as great as people say, just so I can argue with him.

I'm sure he's around somewhere. I just need to start looking.


Definitely going to have another cigarette in a minute.

It's disheartening, being home.

To think, only a few days ago I was sitting in my friend's house, watching Trigun and smoking, packing books and pieces of life into boxes used to send Raisin Bran to Shop Rite. Going back to the dorms was daunting, because everyone had moved out with the exception of my RA and myself. Now I'm here, having completely cleaned out my room and sitting comfortably in an old, painted chair by my window with a cigarette perched between my lips and listening to Natalie Merchant while updating to all of you out there reading about my life.

Had a couple of hours of talk with a close friend here. She's one of the few reasons why I would miss New Jersey if I decided to leave. I walked back to a dark house, everyone asleep within. I stood outside for a while, looking up at the stars and wondering, are they at war right now? I place my burning cigarette onto a ceramic piece I made in high school, curious now if the people there are awake and thinking about our star in the same way. Probably not.

I need to write more. I need to sleep. Going to work early tomorrow for a little money.

I'm not thinking about anyone right now.

Just a little thing that I happened to see today:

I'm sitting on my bench, a huge pile of clean clothes beside me, and across the way I see this androgynous man who stepped out of a video game created by Tetsuya Nomura.


I swear.

I've been wanting to write since the beginning of May. It wasn't until now that I finally have the actual will.

Just finished reading Little Children by Tom Perrotta. Everyone should go read it now or at least watch the movie. It let in some light on the world.


I went to 80's night on Thursday. Exciting times, went with friends who actually liked dancing, sipping rum-and-cokes and smoking Camel Crushes, biting on the ball in the filter. A lot of people came this time, a lot of straight men were there, all dancing and touching and flirting. I had the attention of quite a few of them, some hot and smelling like peppermint and some not and creeping every female out. I wish I could write down exactly how I felt when one guy took my hand and started to dance with me. Every time I start to, a feeling of odd detachment falls over me. Hm.


I'm afraid that I am going to have a horrible marriage life when I finally pass that milestone. I'm going to marry a man that I don't love and have beautiful children that I don't want.

Finals are coming up this week. My walls are empty, my desk is empty, my bookcase is empty. Am I ready to go home?

It's morning. I woke up on a friend's laid-out futon, my hip sore and eyes staring out of the parted curtains.

Had a good time last night. Rum and coke, those six damned double shot coffees, dancing and homework and cigarettes.

I went outside about an hour ago, and it was delightfully warm outside. In here, it's freezing.

I love her backyard; there's a stream and a huge forest. I wanted to walk out into it, but I don't have the proper footwear.


Today is going to be a great day.


( _ )