I think they charged me too much yesterday for that ice cream. I'd call and ask Lisa, but I don't have my phone. My stomach hurts. I'm excited. School makes me sick. My stomach really hurts. I'm reading Pride & Prejudice. When I think of ASU and this coming semester and the other coming semesters . . . I think about escape. I think about Bruce Wayne. I think that someday my restlessness and my fiction-induced want for adventure will succeed against better judgment and capitalism. I think that someday I might cut the lines and venture to the unknown! - which, in my limited vision, is easily vast. I think too often of the humidity in South America and the dust in Mexico. I think of my passport and its blank stamp boxes. I'd like to be buried with my passport - if I am buried. I think about swarthy old men leaning back in American lawn chairs. I think I look too old. I think I might die. I think it would probably better than whatever awaits. I think and think and think and can't sleep. I sleep only after I've pushed back the things I am fighting against and promise that I'll get 'em in the morning, I WILL survive. I wake up and feel time ticking, knocking on my door and turning on my alarm. Damn whoever it was that established months and the length of a year, the man who invented the clock - anyone who made time measurable and something we might count and lose. I can't think, I can't think. What is "the future"?! Does it start after I've graduated college? After I have a bachelors? My masters?! What do we do until then? Piss away our youth to part-time jobs and rent and phone bills and student loans? Drink? Party? I never knew what I wanted. Perhaps you all have less time to wait until your "future" is earned. When I have mine I'll be twenty six. I'll be mistaken for a thirty year old women, but I should just as well be. The future. The future. I don't want to be twenty and the more I wish against my age the faster it seems to arrive. There is no where to hide. I don't want someone to say "You're exactly where you're supposed to be." In no time, I'll be thirty years old, then fourty, then fifty.

Hello All,





Big, BIG smiley face.
Hope Easter was lovely - I was sick, but it was well deserved.

-Love, Love, YOU
Ali

I haven’t written anything real in a while, meaning of course that I‘ve written something real before. Isn’t it so weird the way meeting someone and loving someone is like two paths crashing and running parallel for a while until the course changes, so you run on your tracks while they run on theirs, they go on existing - even when you’re not there to witness it? It’s so hard to grasp that we’re lonely beings, well I guess everything is. It’s not set up so that we might visit each other’s minds or see through one another’s eyes. Everything we see is so different from someone else’s, everyone else’s view. Even how we are seen is different depending on so many things. I might see red, but perhaps the red you see is more orange or maybe more blue, whatever it is, it’s not the same red I’m seeing. It’s just weird that there are people I used to know who are still running along their lines, they still exist even though I can’t see them. The older I get, the more my mind and my path start to veer away from the people I know or used to know and they from me. It’s slow and barely noticeable, but even a gradual three degree change every three months will lead us to completely different places when we’re forty. Where will we be in five years. Five years ago I was fourteen and I think I was learning to smoke pot in a cheap apartment. Perhaps, that happened when I was fifteen? It’s better that I’ve forgotten. I actually wrote something! I haven't written in so long. I'm going to keep working on this one as if it has somewhere to go:


Stupid, however exciting , riddles and accidents
However deliberate and inconsiderate,
Become, so quickly, an uncomfortable turn of events
Apologies through teeth and a smile
Mean so little now, but will mean more in a while

We’re watching what we say depending on the payout tomorrow
Crying from laughter over others mistakes and eyes rolling in their sockets
We’re grinning like children cause we have secrets in our pockets
We’re spinning in chairs with masks on our faces
Colored white for clean records, but checkered for races

I know you love it vague, so you’re never the first to say what you really mean
So when they ask what it’s about then it’s not what I meant,
But if you say that’s how it is, then you the one who painted it so rude a sheen
We set things up so we’re not there when they walk into them
But laughing behind the cute eyes and even sweeter smiles because we mean for that to happen

I'm in the Hi-Tech building, skipping CAD again. Wait. Didn't I already skip out this week? I don't remember. Well, I was helping my dad with his resume thing and was late anyways. i'm supposed to be doing my resume. Fucking ridiculous.

I called Patrick.
"THIS IS PATRICK!" (LOTS OF NOISE IN THE BACKGROUND)
"Hi, this is Allyssa Williams, um . . ."
"ALLYSSA? HI! I CAN BARELY HEAR YOU. DID WE HAVE AN APPOINTMENT TODAY?" (EVEN MORE NOISE)
Yes.
"Nope, you told me to call on Monday or Tuesday!" (I'm yelling a little.)
"OH, OKAY. HEY CAN YOU CALL ME BACK? I'M AT A JOB SITE RIGHT NOW."
"SURE!"
"ALRIGHT, THANKS! SEE YOU LATER!"
"BYE!"

A job site! AKSKAKLSJD! A JOB SITE! :D

So there is lots of retarded stuff going on and really exciting stuff going on. The exciting stuff is this new internship type thing. I'll be working with Mr. Patrick Lewis ( Director of Community Design and Development) for Habitat for Humanity. Two birds with one stone. You have no idea . . . all the opportunities this leads to. I don't expect anyone else to understand or be as stoked excited, but holy shit! So, if I can do as much as I hope I can then this would be like having two part time jobs, minus the pay. It's definitely going to pay out in the long run. I miss challenge. I feel like I've been waiting, resting. This is the start of the race now. Gunshot. Sometimes I don't think I really like things, I just like the challenge. Once it's conquered, I don't see the point in hanging around.

Detachment is a messy business, but it cleans up nice. You can't even tell on the outside, this is all behind the curtain. I don't like games and I won't play in someone else's. My game or none at all.

ya knaw it, braaa.

I have someone's keys in my purse. I think their Lisa's. Poohbear brought Lisa and I flowers last night then we went to dinner. Our waitress didn't know how to count and thought there were six of us. Me and Jasmine shared five pancakes with lots of blueberries and lots of whipcream. I'm so tired, it's not fun. I have an economics test tomorrow and a quiz in communications, finally. I'm going to fucking rule like always. Our new iMac is the best. It's 8:46 and I'm going to bed.

I'm so glad school will be starting. Things will start feeling more like college. It is so odd that people don't change. I don't know how other people measure their growth, but too many people are worse off than before. What is getting older if it isn't personal growth. What is it that separates adults from children, besides financial aspect. Are you an adult or a child. I know I am still a child in many ways, but recognizing the need for growth and wanting growth is something I think adults should do, so in that way I think that I am an adult. My grandmother had a stroke. I thought about this time when I was younger, about when my grandparent's generation would begin to pass on, the last generation in my family whose first language is Navajo. What will my world be like after they've left. What will happen to my people. There is so much uncertainty and too few people care. I regret my expensive taste. I feel like I never have enough and it makes me sick to know I think this way. Relationships and friendships have become difficult for me to swallow. There is so much feeling involved and I invest as much feeling into them as I would a sandwich. I feel like relationships are necessary, or should I say strongly encouraged, so I treat them empirically, I act not on feeling, but on study. There is no feeling invested. I feel like the people and things people claim to love isn't really love, so I don't take them seriously. I take nothing seriously, it's all too comical and irrational. I've become increasingly pragmatic and don't care about what it will do to my personal relationships because they don't want authenticity, they want taste and care not for its preparation. What do they care if everything is really reheated and comes in plastic? They would never have the guts to really examine the situation and does it really matter? They like the taste of processed meat and giggle over the dinosaur shaped chicken. I save my fresh vegetables and real sugar for the deserving, those who can tell if what I serve them is newly prepared or just the sweet result of a nine year thaw. Things have never been so plastic. I don't even feel their heat on my skin. I don't feel anything from the outside anymore. I feel like we're bumper cars, but despite their perceivable durability, the only reason their strong is because they're callused and proud of their scars! Scars mean they've survived, but with the way they live their lives, only just. The point is that though we're all bouncing off of each others' rubber exterior, I don't even feel the car shake. No one can just go straight, they insistently drive and don't care what they run over. Avoid visibly damaged or defective cars. A history of accidents indicates that the owner has poor driving skills. I love my family.