I have anger issues. As do many women my age.

I'm twenty.

wow.

I remember being seventeen, having sex with people and getting off on the idea that they could go to jail for it. Ha ha. I've always been a sick bitch.

Though. How long can I keep debasing myself? How much longer can I keep up this psuedo smile.... pretending everything is alright, and will be alright? I know it WILL be ALRIGHT... but I gotta change some shtuff.... a lotta shtuff.

I'm not joking when I say that money is the bane of my existance. and you know what, pot really isn't that great.  They "say" you can't get addicted to it, but for a while, I think I was. I'm glad I'm not anymore. I feel my personality creeping back, along with the guilt of the wrong that I have done to other people. Like lead in my belly.

Down to just a few smokes a day. Hopefully I can kick that in the ass as well. Wouldn't that be great?
My sweater fits looser... my jeans fall off my hips. So far, the best thing about being here in NY is that I'm away from Momma's cookin'. HAHA. (not to mention too poor to buy groceries)
And its nice being with Tanya... I just can't deal though sometimes. That's another paragraph, another story, for another day entirely. I need to sit and think before I sploooge it out and get people all anxious with their underwears up their butts.. . 

Don't lose faith. Take it as it comes. Roll with the flow. Learn to love yourself. Learn to live without the love of others. Try to not let what other people say, get you down. Try not to let MONEY get you down.

That should be my morning mantra or something. haha. hm.

wow- another to do---- REGAIN YOUR SPIRITUALITY! WHERE DID IT GO? WHERE'S YOUR INTUITION?!

A little diddy I wrote today. Not finished--

She knew that presentation and punctuality was everything.






Tea-tray of white porcelain was balanced perfectly on her right palm, with Master's favorite leather-bound journal held in the opposite, free hand. Everything was immaculate, and placed just so; items included a single, dainty cup, a mound of sugar cubes, and a piping hot, miniature pot of tea. This was all that was commanded, yet the girl couldn't help but to embellish the arrangement with a few, freshly cut roses. The deepest of red they were, like the rouge on her bruised lip, and the hue of her long, curly locks.

There was no time for mishaps. She could hear the tap of his boot on the cherry hardwood floor; the sound resonating within the high vaulted ceilings of the timely abode. It was Victorian in frame, from the pointed roof-tops on the many turrets, to deep within the hidden bowels of the home itself.

Tap.

Tap.

The rhythm of hardened sole meeting polished floor had begun to quicken in pace, even if it were minutely so. The girl had been trained to listen and watch her master, even as far as to try and calculate his next whim or desire. Aye, Now was the time, especially if she did not want to displease him. It didn't take long for her to learn that his punishments were even more cruel and unrelenting than those she had first received in her training.

But that happened to be another memory entirely.

She slowly dipped down onto her knees in a practiced movement so fluidly graceful, it would have put any curtsying courtier of the sixteenth century to shame. Creamy-skinned body had been ordered naked for all the time, save for the leather collar clasped about her neck, and so that was how she entered the Master's study. Silver tags and a single bell announced not only to whom she belonged to, but also gave warning of her progression; jingling and jangling all the while in audible protest.

He sat, fully clothed, with his long stemmed pipe lipped and lit. Sweet smelling smoke gave a delectable haze to the room, and the girl found herself gripped by gooseflesh; the back of her neck, and tender skin on her arms prickled at once. He always brought this response from her, even by the simple notion of being in the same room with the man. Their gaze locked, Master and slave, immediately breaking her momentary trance.

She waited there in the doorframe, cerulean eyes drawn with black liner now held downcast- the universal sign of submission. She hoped that this slip would be overlooked... for wouldn't one need to make sure that Master was indeed in the room?
Thoughts were punctured by His throaty, baritone voice.

"Come, at once. And keep those pretty eyes on my feet, Luna."

There was no malice in that tone, but for the fact that he even had to mention where her gaze should fall... He could forgive this. The girl was still new to his manor, and he found her lack of memory to the formality of things to be a bit... adorable.

Shuffling slowly, carefully on bare knees, she came to him indeed at once. Not even a "Yes, Master" escaped her. It wasn't necessary.
Upon having reached him, she placed the tea-tray down onto the rich, oak coffee table. The worn leather journal she offered with both hands, arms outstretched and visage forever pointed downward.

Master, dressed still in lavish business attire, had set his pipe down once Luna begun to come toward him. Even after a fortnight, he still enjoyed seeing that innocent blush playing high about her cheekbones. She no doubt still felt shy of her nudity in his presence, but nothing a little more play and a long, desired night in his chambers could fix. He had yet to take her to his bed, full on. No, he'd rather torment her vulnerable body night after night, denying her a climax of any sort, and leave her craving his touch more and more.
Thoughts of nights past alone quickened his lust, which ultimately brought him back to the breathing flesh before him.
Journal ---- (tired now... I've been typing for a while. I finish later and ... yeah. mhm.)

My agenda is this:

Work my ass off, and save for a reliable vehicle.

Once I attain the automobile...

Look Out, World!  Because I ain't stayin' here. Fuck this place and its oppressive heat.

I get my test results this week. I don't remember the last time I had to worry about whether my knowledge will fail me or not. Ah well. If I did poorly, I'll study the second time around. haha.

So, where should I go? New Mexico, with Joey? Or is it time that I Let Him Go? I feel as if I corrupt the relationship that he has with his Matt... with my constant negitivity flowing, and undeniable dislike for that man. Maybe I should trust Joe and his ability to grow... but at times I can't deny my misgivings. Yet... we share something unearthly and ground-shaking. He Is My Soulmate. ...and the god of this place fucking blows with his constant ironies. (if that's eeeeeven a word. fuck it, I don't give a damn right now.)

Have Faith.

Georgia. I could go there and no doubt have a roof over my head. But could I actually live with, and handle Taylor? And if I do go there, could I force myself to fall in love with him again? If it wasn't right the first time around, what makes me think that I could make it work on a second go?

Tanya. My fears of the city would need to be swallowed... but in doing so, am I again only sacrificing my Own Happiness? Fuck. I don't even know... I don't know anything. I question whether it'd be worth it. I mean, I feel like I'd only get in the way of her relationship... Just as I feel I did with Joey.

I've never been to Oregon, but with the studies I did, I think I would absolutely fall in love with the lush state. I'd have my quirky Aunt Dorothy, whom I've always admired, within close traveling distance as well.

I'm throwing out all my stuff. Starting anew. I'm tired of hauling all this worthless shit with me everytime I fucking move. Do I really need all this nostalgia weighing me down? I know my memory sucks... but fuck, man. I just want to be a nomad with a few changes of clothes, and my art.

Heh. So let me know if you want to rummage through my shit before I give it all to Goodwill.  (NO ONE goes to yard sales in Anthem, so I'm not even going to try.)

Bah. I think this is all I need to say.  I've decided I really should keep this going... for all the old friends who communicate with me in no other way.

I miss you. So much... that I'm crying in a public library. ha. haha. and laughing. fucking crazy ass.