I know I am hardly ever on here. Just when I think that I am going to truly commit to my xanga account, I become wrapped up in other things and forget that my first love is writing. It's the best therapist, something that gives me the feeling of gratification, something that helps me to better see the situation for what it is. I can be honest in my writing, I never have to hide a certain aspect of my life. I can just write. Sometimes it helps for others to read what I write because writer to writer, there is not comparison. Two writers can come together and understand each other, sometimes better than your best friend can.

"Outside, nothing seemed to matter. Our world consisted of a mixture between shared silence, the smoke floating off our cigarettes, and the words that occasionally fell off our lips.

This night, like many other summer nights, was about us. With Dean, I never felt that I had to act a certain way or say the perfect things. I could be me; all the emotional, weird, and sensitive thoughts and feelings that somehow shaped the person I was.

Music was the center of our universe and Dean talked of how he wasn't just a hardcore, metal fan. Loud guitars and screaming voices weren't the only things he liked. We sat huddled together on the picnic table, smoking the Newport cigarettes that I had bought before I came to Memmel's house.

Everyone else was inside and every time he leaned in close to me, I felt my heart skip a beat and I let myself lean into him, my head resting on his shoulder. He just kept talking as if nothing had happened."


"I feel like you can see right through me, my thoughts, my actions, my responses to your kind of humor that keeps me smiling even when I don't want to. I am always awkward and insecure in your presence, as if I am not the kind of girl who belongs in the position you have put me in. When you talk to me, I indirectly and unknowingly put a wall between the two of us, afraid that if I open up my heart and soul to you, you won't see me the same. Secretly, I think I am falling in love with you when I don't want to be. You're beautiful and maybe you know it, maybe you don't. I feel that I can only really look into your eyes when I am staring at a photograph, which brilliantly captures their blue intensity. I am trying to figure you out and I have continually failed in the few short months I have known you. When I'm with you, though, I feel a strange combination of anxiety, insecurity, and utter familiarity - like I've known you for my entire life.
From your tousled brown hair to the freckles on your shoulders, I find you perfect in every physical way. Glancing at my reflection makes me feel inadequate, as if I would even have the chance to call you my own."

"Megan walked into her class ten minutes before it began and took a seat at the back table in the chair closest to the back corner of the room. To many others, including her professor, this looked like she was either anti-social, or very insecure and shy. By seating herself in the back corner of the room, she could easily blend into the background and go unnoticed. However, this was not why Megan took a seat at the back table in the back corner of the room. To her, it provided her a way to feel secure about herself and her surroundings. Placing herself in the back corner enabled her to watch her surroundings; not only could she watch the interactions and expressions of her classmates, but it also enabled her to pay better attention to her instructor.
Megan, almost desperately, wanted to impress her professor. She had made an embarrassing mistake and had attended this particular course on the wrong day. She didn't realize it until the class was almost over, and the feeling of having to go and tell this professor her mistake, still caused her stomach to tie itself into knots, bringing the feeling of embarrassment up into her cheeks again.
So you can understand why it was crucial for her to sit in an area where she could really just focus. When she sat down in the spot she had chosen she looked next to her and saw an older man who was balding severely. He was wearing a beat up gray t-shirt and a pair of navy blue sweat pants with a white pair of New Balance tennis shoes. For a split second, Megan wondered if she should move, just in case it ruined her chances for good partners, who might look at whose table she sat at and assume what kind of a person she was. Not even a split second had gone by before she erased the thought from her mind.
Class started precisely at eight in the morning and she realized only three people were at her table: the old, balding man, a guy with dirty blonde hair and a scruffy beard who carried a Bob Marley bag to hold his books, and of course, herself. When she saw him she made a mental note to remember him by his similarity to Shaggy in Scooby Doo.
She had her notebook out and her pen ready for serious note taking when there was a knock on the door. Her professor paused the beginning of his lecture, formed an annoyed look on his face, and slowly walked to open the door for whoever had the nerve to interrupt his class.
Megan had to look around the professor to catch a glimpse of the man who walked through the door. She felt her heart skip a beat when she caught his face, and she felt her heart begin to pound when he walked to her table and took a seat in the chair opposite her.
She lost herself for a moment studying his face and reading his body language, so that when he looked into her eyes and whispered how tired he was, she felt the blood rush to her cheeks in a rush of the continual embarrassment that seemed to have been plaguing her for the past week.
Megan caught herself, however, and offered the remark of "I'm Sorry. Didn't you sleep?" soon after the words left his mouth. He told her that he was up until three in the morning writing the report for the class, and then looked at her, waiting for her to reply in agreement to how hard writing the book reports for this particular class were. Megan didn't know what to say, though, because she had not written the report for the class."


"Sitting on the dryer, I couldn't help but watch him as he leaned casually against the freezer along the opposite wall. He looked so relaxed standing there, watching me without hesitation. I jumped to my feet and slowly walked over to him, careful not to fall into things considering how much I had drank already. Stopping a foot or two away from him, I could only just whisper his name. My heart was pounding and I was sure he could hear it, as he reached out to grab my hand and slowly pull me into him. He wrapped his arms around me, and placed his face to mine, nose to nose, he turned his face ever so slightly and his lips fell softly onto mine. The feeling of his tongue against mine made me dizzy and I lost my balance, falling into him even more. He wrapped his arms tighter around me, holding me like he never wanted to let go. I reached up and ran my fingers through his hair, along his neck and down his cheeks as we kissed and kissed. I was breathless and I felt so safe, praying to God to let this moment last, don't let it slip away.
He pulled his lips away from mine and softly kissed my forehead before pulling me closer to him. I rested my head against his chest and felt the pounding of his heart against me, wrapping my arms around his waist, I savored the moment I knew I would never forget. The smell of his cologne seeping into my memory.
"Where are they?" we heard someone say, and we let go at the same time, taking a moment to look into each other's eyes for one last moment before I walked backwards towards the other room."

These are all based off of real emotions, moments, and thoughts. This is a part of me, what I feel and think, what I hear and observe. These writings are things I rarely show to other people because it exposes so much of who I am. Please, don't judge upon reading.

Once again, I am laying alone in my bed, wrapped comfortably in my rainbow blanket, while I happily listen to my cat purring. My cat is my best friend. She is here with me all the time. She listens to me when I talk to her, tilting her little head to the side and nuzzling my hands when I am sad. As I pet her behind her ears - her favorite spot - I begin to wonder if there are other people out there like me. People who are content to sit at home all night and watch a movie with their cats or dogs. She is sitting here next to me watching me type away on the never fading keys of my beloved MacBook. I can tell she is happy. She only purrs when she's happy or when she feels safe. There isn't a safer place in this lonely house than my room.

My room... my safe haven. Everything is colorful and happy. I am surrounded by all the things that I love. There is a picture of my mom on my bookshelf next to my queen size futon with the blue and purple pillows, the purple, crush velvet and the rainbow throw pillows, the purple comforter I am sitting on, the blue and green polka dot blanket, the rainbow blanket, and finally the Chinese throw blanket that Stephanie left here in July. Christmas lights are strung about my room in a sort of organized manner. My walls are all different colors, purple, red, blue and two shades of green. One shade is bright green because it's the wall that I look at most and my ceiling is dark green so that when you look up, you feel like you are in some colorful world beneath the seaweed in the ocean.

I have never been to the ocean. I have ideas on what it would be like, sandy beaches and bright blue water with a bright blue sky. Even better, though, are the images of me and a friend walking along an empty beach right before a summer thunderstorm. The skies are a dark, dark grey; so grey that the clouds almost look black. You can hear thunder further out to sea and the beach breezes are warm and soft.

Will I ever make it to the beach? Or will I be stuck forever in Wisconsin, the land of Booze and Dairy? I often think of how my mother must have felt. Helpless, maybe. I wonder what it would be like to have an addiction so strong to something that it eventually leads to your demise. I never want to be there, but I still wonder. What do you think? What are your dreams about? Do you remember your dreams? Do you remember your day?

Do you find beauty in the flowers and the grass as others sometimes do? Or is it that your addiction is so bad that everything else is secondary?

I think about my stepdad. He's an alcoholic. He's only happy when it rains. I hardly see him drink when it rains. If only it could rain everyday in his world.

I have been up all night and for 7 and a half hours of this day. I got to see the sky light up this morning. I don't know if I like it. All I can see from my slightly opened curtains is my neighbors house. It's white, and it blends in with the snow that covers every piece of green in this place for months.

I miss the warm weather. I miss watching the sunrise. I miss a lot of things.

2009 is so close.

Will it be better? Will the pieces finally be put back together?

Or will more soap opera drama creep its way into my life and crumble the fragments of sanity that I still have left?

What am I talking about? My life may be fragments of what it used to be and what it could have been, but I make lemons into lemonade all the time.

It could always be worse...

And now, I've met a guy who is seemingly amazing. I like him alot. I like the way he makes me feel. He told me about 6 hours ago before I went to bed that I was amazing with a smiley face.

That made me smile.

It made Ben and Chris smile.

And somewhere, it probably made my mom smile.

I have a hangover.

I was drinking and whatnot last night with a couple friends and I just got really wasted and really baked.

I called a few people last night and I can't remember half of what I said.

I know I called Nick.

I barely remember talking to him.

I remember throwing up though. While I was on the phone with him.

Geez, it was awful!

I was talking to Ben, but I can't remember anything i said to him.

I texted a lot of crazy shit.

Speaking of Ben, him and Chris are back together.

It's what they really wanted and so I'm happy for them.
My friend, Lupe, is engaged! I cannot believe that.

I can't get married. I don't want to.
There are just too many things to worry about when it comes to a wedding. blahhh.

Well, I am going to go now.