,

I think it's really quite magnificent that I can laugh about so many things that used to make me cry and feel like doom.

I've been telling too many lies lately, but now I'm swinging back to mend the seams and before I know it it will be as though I had never lied at all.

I have a twitter!

And a fever. And a pulling desire to listen to songs that will depress the shit out of me, but I'm not going to.

I wrote a song and put it to guitar and if you want to hear it, it's here:

http://www.myspace.com/thebarrenwombrebellion

It's some acoustic song shit, but maybe you'll like it?

I am happier lately.

I am the hourglass formed by your shoulderblades. I am the Gulf of Mexico. I am youth and brittle bones. I am okay. I am okay. I'm.

I am so angry with my fiction writing workshop. There is nothing to enjoy, we barely write, and we have to read a bunch of stories and analyze every single fucking thing about them.

Plus there's a girl who has the same name as me, is prettier than me, and has won a bunch of awards for her writing. I hate her, too.

I'm crabby and have a head cold and I started my period today and I saw two cockroaches and I'm tired of not enjoying this writing workshop and plus I don't have any sugar in my apartment. I want to was dishes but I sprayed a cockroach with raid and now he is in the sink and I'm going to wait for my roommate to see it and take care of it because I am angry that he never warned me about them.

Plus it's hot everywhere.

Ho hum, ho hum.

"The purpose of not including a plot and making the story super incredibly lame is to deter the reader from wanting to read the story at all unless it is assigned to be read thoroughly in which case I wish it weren't too late to get a refund. Take that, professor."

I'm so whiny today. Get bent.

I broke my camera today. I don't know how to use a warranty because I've never done it before.

Just like last month, when I filled a prescription for the first time and had to call 3 people to ask them how to do it.

Just like how I didn't know how to set up internet a few weeks ago and had to research it.

And then there was a year ago when I didn't know how to take a plane somewhere or figure out an airport.

And that's why I don't drink Starbucks, because I don't know how to order it. And it's why I don't go into deli's because I'll feel obligated to buy something even if there's nothing I want. And how I don't shop at Whole Foods but that's only because all of the people there make me feel anxious, and that is also why I don't shop at grocery stores in general but have things delivered to me.

Also, I don't know how to use my insurance so I haven't been to the dentist in a long long time, or to the eye doctor even though when I look at something far away people think I am angry.

No matter how much book-smarts I collect, it's getting through life that will always make me feel like a dumb-ass.

I had a dream about a sky filled with balloons. The dream dictionary says it means that I'm losing hope in ever finding somebody who will love me. I don't think any person in the world is capable of loving me the way that I require. A friend told me once that I will never be anybody's because I have become too much myself. I like the thought. I hate the thought.

I can't stop clenching my teeth together tightly. It makes my jaw ache all day. What am I stressed about?

I have a new apartment. I thought the sunshine would bolster my mood. Instead, I am considering asking a friend to call me once a week in the winter so that my lonliness coupled with winter-sadness doesn't push me over the edge. There are cockroaches in the bathroom. I need somebody to sit with me sometimes.

I also dreamed about a young, beautiful girl. She had blonde curls and big blue eyes and I fell in love with her. She stared at me, and then followed me while talking in an adult voice. I have dreamt about her twice since. The entire day I think of her and am enamored. A symbol for how goddamned naive I am. A symbol for how in love with it I am. Perhaps.

I need to make love to something. An idea, a mind, a positive emotion.

You have no idea how heavy things can feel sometimes. It's like a ship that looks beautiful as it cuts through the ocean, often graceful. Nobody considers how sweaty the captain is from muscling the heavy wheel.

Name one way for somebody to learn to love herself.

I was told last week that the man who molested me when I was 4 years old, died.
The worst part is that another little girl accused him of the same thing, and it was my own mother who went to court to say he would never do such a thing, that he was a decent man.

I don't know if I should feel rage. I don't know if I should feel pleased.

I mostly just feel like finally telling my father that his best friend touched me inappropriately 18 years ago, as if it were some punchline to a joke. As if I would tell him and then he would laugh.

I guess I'll just let it fall into the category of "Things We Can Do Nothing About, Now."

I am reading a book, I've chewed up 300 pages in two days and have 20 left and it is sitting on my blankets. Just sitting there. I don't want to finish it, I've loved it so much.

Also, yesterday, the man that I've been loosely dating moved to Japan. He cried and said I'd be the thing he missed the most in New York.

I never talk about men with my friends, because I like things when they are secret. It's like if you have a box of candy that you're excited about and then you show it to somebody and let them take a piece and then other people and eventually the box is empty. Or, like, if you were to catch a bug in an opaque jar and then people had to keep punching bigger holes in the top so it could breathe and they could see it better, but then it just escapes.

I need to stop looking at men I've just met as dating prospects. I'm insatiable, I swear. I have male friends that I've never considered dating and won't ever. Why am I doing this now? This city is too big and filled with too many men.

I can't tell if I am sunburned or if all of the heat is just making my blood pool under my skin so that the blood can cool.

I bought a new vibrator since my last one broke months ago. I was so excited to try it out, only to open it and discover it needs triple A batteries. TRIPLE A?! WHO THE FUCK USES TRIPLE A BATTERIES?! Apparently, I will.

Here is a tid-bit of advice: if you are going to buy a vibrator, invest in rechargeable batteries. You will fall in love with me for this bit of advice, trust me.

I'm going to try and pull myself through the last twenty pages. If you haven't read Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, I think you should. If you have, thoughts?

I finished reading "Man's Search for Meaning" and it aroused the idea that perhaps my entire life meaning is to give love and not to have it be reciprocated.

It's something I'm very good at, I care about things deeply, effortlessly. I feel all emotions with an intensity that would knock the common man down with incomprehensible force.

I think, perhaps, I am to love and not be loved, because I have been given a greater capacity for compassion than most people I have known. It is the gift that I am to bestow, that I came to the world baring, and it is entirely possible that my entire life purpose is to give it selflessly and without being hesitant.

There is purpose in all pain, meaning in suffering, and I am starting to believe that my intense feeling is a tunnel to self-betterment once I have learned to wield it without wanting anything in return.

On a side note, all of my body feels heavy with your weight. I wish you would stop tugging at me to feel pain for you, you know how things affect me.

He asks me things like, "do you ever feel lonely?" and "do you ever miss me?" but he interrupts while I am answering. I want to tell him that, yes, I feel lonely, and yes, sometimes it's for him, but he frustrates my efforts and I decide never to feel lonely for anybody ever again.

Today I allowed myself to have a cleansing crying session. I am so scared that I will never be able to relate to anybody, that nobody will ever want to know the very center of what makes me tick. They will hate it, I am sure, they will say it is ugly or useless or unimpressive. Not only am I scared that I will never be able to show my entire self to another person, but I am more terrified of making a connection and allowing somebody the power to run off with it.

They're all bandits, though, are they not? And that's why I am here, because I too am one, and maybe even worse than all of them.

When did I become so sensitive and insatiable?

I can't sleep because I can't hush my thoughts.

My head spins spins spins spins spins spins spins.

I just keep thinking of these three things:
1) I don't need Jesus in my life, he's just another man who will let me down.
2) about that time you kissed my ribs in your room when the air felt like ice.
3) my own isolation and inability to connect will be forever prevalent.

She scolded me for not letting all of the tension erupt, but it would be so ugly and destructive that I am afraid I could never go back to how things were before.

It's 5:30 in the morning and the birds have not yet began chirping.
I feel like giving up.

Edit:
and now I am also thinking about:
4) how love and sex ruin pretty much everything, and how I hope that I never feel romantic love for anybody every again. Seriously. I haven't the faintest desire.

My first ever number poem:
( The Necessary Scientific Knowledge to Understand Your Own Psychology )

Because my college is super lame and we haven't had our spring break yet, I've grown considerably restless and overwhelmed. However, this friday marks the first day of spring break, and since I have two jobs and can not get time off to leave this (goddamned) city, I decided to do the following things within my week without classes:

1. Dye my hair, I don't know what color yet though.
2. Buy a(nother) really really really wonderful spring dress.
3. Shop for a new laptop
4. Read Crime and Punishment from start to finish (about 110 pages a day)
5. Buy groceries (it's been 2 months)
6. Attend lesbian bar on karaoke night in Brooklyn on Wednesday
7. Hang out with people I haven't seen in forever (Nick, evening Umaar excursion?, Dillon, Josh, Hanna, Jordan, Krissy, Salah, Monica?!)
8. Take it easy on the writing, maybe finish the two started pieces for my workshop and begin/finish a short third.
9. Take a trip to my favorite central park cove with a notebook/snacks/book, wearing a dress if the weather allows.
10. Pay special attention to the singing of the birds, slowing my step and closing my eyes to fully take in their songs.
11. Lay in the grass during rainfall (this is circumstantial).
12. Return e-mails to step-mother, aunt, father, mother, Misty. Write a letter to great-grandmother Thorne.

13. Return call to detective about 911 incident
14. Get my fucking driving records from Michigan (again)
15. Fill out financial aid stuffs (iiiiiiiick.)

If I can knock out a couple of these each day, waking up early enough to do them before work, I think I will be satisfied with my spring break.

Tell me about your spring break if you've had yours already/are in school. If you haven't had yours yet, what do you plan to do?

I imagine things that I don't mean.

I am too sad lately to even put it into words.

I am alone and I have no one to blame.

I need to curl up into myself on a bed and be held by somebody who cares.

I wrote myself a note, in black marker it reads, "Everything is going to be okay" I thought that reading it each morning would help me believe it, but they are just words. My eyes scan them and acknowledge that they are only lies dressed in syllabication.

My tummy aches from eating more today in one meal than I have in the entirety of any of the days of the week. I need to stop punishing my body for the things I should not have done. Starving is not a viable means of punishment for wrong action, but it feels like the only invisible way to make myself hurt the way I want to.

Oh, shut your mouth, Jenifer. It's not so bad.

It's raining, it's raining, it's raining, it's raining. Outside, through the window, inside of my body, everywhere.

I need to sleep this cold haziness out of my head.

The sadness weighs down into my skeleton
it says, "come on, let's move forward anyway."
I shake my head "no" but whisper "okay."