I'm. Cold.

My heater is broken. I have on two pairs of warm fuzzy socks, a sweatshirt and a jacket and my warmest pair of sweatpants, under two blankets. 80 degrees is cool to me, so freaking 63 is killing me.

The good news is that I can play out two scenarios:

1. I'm Jane Austen in England in the winter of 1793(ish) and I'm writing all my good stuff.

2. It's 2013, the Mayans were so totally right and my survival depends on me using my stuffed animal (Mr. Whale) as my only source of warmth, and I have to survive the night in order to live (makes sense). Oh and I'm in Antarctica, and the penguins are afraid of Mr. Whale because, let's face it, he's a whale, and the real ones eat them/play with them.

If you don't understand why drunk driving is as serious as life or death, love or hate for me, then you don't really get me.

If you don't understand that I don't think your friend's joke - that I'm either lacking morals or stupid - isn't funny to me, then you don't really get me.

If you don't understand why those two things are big things - really big things - to me, then you won't understand why my tears are staining your sweatshirt.

And if you can't get that, and just dismiss my reaction as either drunken induced or as me being me, then you don't understand many of the significant moments of my life, you don't understand that things like this have made me who I am. And that truly terrifies me, considering I spent the drive over practicing my ecstatic face and demeanor I would put on when/if we get engaged. I don't want to be another failed couple, another angry person.

And yet, here I am, writing angrily in my blog instead of talking to you, because you'll just insist it's a joke, or that I've had one too many drinks, or that I'm just misunderstanding the situation. But maybe that's what I'm destine to become - another statistic. The good news is I may survive.

I'm watching "Scary Movie 4" while taking a break from making my Halloween costume. I'm going to be an Easy Bake Oven. :) I considered it fitting, considering my nickname around the office is Easy Bake.

I'm also on Day 2 of my headache. I'll probably just crash early and hope it's gone by the time I wake up. Again.

I don't think there's anything quite as awesome and confusing and depressing and surprising as knowing that this could possibly be the best time of my life...and actually enjoying it.

Many, many things have happened since my last post. Probably none of which I will actually get to. But lets just say I saw a best selling author speak, spoke of a possible engagement and may have found a purpose in life.

But the best thing that's happened is I found out a coworker used to be a criminal defense lawyer, and was a clerk for a judge for a serial killer's trial - and actually met the guy. This is like meeting an A-list celebrity to me - seriously. So I've slowly been asking the coworker questions, and it's freaking awesome.

That's about all I'll get to now. I'm slightly toasted and I have to pee.

The end.

Things Just Got Complicated

I got a coaching position - 14 year old girls. I'm excited. But...it's also complicated. And I don't think J can understand. If he can't behave, and if he can't promise, I can't have him there. And I know that's something he really wants.

Sigh.

Now I wish I didn't tell him about coaching. Stubborn J sucks.

thisissand.com

Holy. Jesus. Christ. Hell. I'm in it.

Well J's ex-girl never showed. But I got to watch a Bosox win over beer pong. It's 3:33 am and I don't quite know how I got to this point, but I do know I had some text messages with two good friends that I miss much.

Sigh. I almost ran away from J screaming that it was over, but I'm glad I didn't. It's good to have security in someone I love. And it's good to have photo documentations of what exactly I did tonight - but I was good, no ciggies (except now) and no flirting with other guys or leaving J.

What am I scared of? Maybe the beers will speak for themeslves. I'm scared of being alone and of having to fight my own fights, of being completely helpless in a world where being helpless is a matter of life or death.

I"m on my balcony now. I'm hopin gmy neighbors don't see me, or at least the bad ones don't see me, and get some ideas. I'm hoping that no matter what I'll be strong enogh to puruse my dreams.

A friend of me and J's (his initals are JW) lives in DC, actually just oustside of it. I was looking at hotels for next weekend, and JW said I can always crash on his couch, which soudl be good. I just want to be there, just want to feel it in my bones, just want to feel my cit inside of me. I want to leave all of this shit behind and live the life I want to. Even if it means working for a compnay I don't belive in - how would that change from now?

Maybe someday I'll be brilliant and love my life and everyone in it. I'm tired of being tired. But here I am - tired and wishing for something better. Maybe someday.

On a happier note - I get to go out agian tomorro,w, but in a lim. Ona weirder note - what the fuck is that noise oustide fo my apartment? I think it's a cow. Again.

And I think I lost my phone. Sigh.

Who's Going To Watch That?

Going out tonight. So tired. But it's J's high school reunion and his ex will be there. She's amazingly smart, and apparently super nice. I know nothing to worry about. But they would have been together if her parents had approved of J (she's Indian). I'd like to know what kind of person he loves.

In part inspired by this, and in part inspired by my professor, I think I may start crime blogging again.

I saw the movie "American Beauty" for the first time recently. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. It's hard not to relate to every one of the characters in it. There's something about being ordinary and simple that's terrifying.

Two years ago, my friend killed himself, and one of my old friends accidentally ODed and died. At the time, my professor said, "Tell me who your friends are, and I'll tell you who you are. The point isn't that you should abandon or repudiate your friends. You have no reason to, and doing so might be disloyal. But you should analyze what happened to them and find a way to keep them --yourself-- from coming to the same end."

I miss every one of them. Maybe I'll visit my professor soon.

Just Breathe

CP: Where's my content?
E: What content?
CP: For the website. The one launching tomorrow.
E: Oh, I didn't know it was launching tomorrow. When do you need the content?
CP: Now.
E: Okay. I don't have it, I didn't know you needed it so soon.
LH: See, you have to tell people things.
E: What kind of content do you need?
CP: That's up to you.
E: No I mean, I don't know what the target audience is or anything.
CP: You're the content manager, deal with it.


I love my life, I love my life...liar.

Theres An Old Man Sitting Next To Me Makin' Love To His Tonic And Gin

I had time to kill today, so I drove by my old University and stopped at the newspaper office (with snacks, of course - that's basically the price of admission). So I managed to escape into happier times for a bit.

One of the new writers, CD, is also executive director of the college republicans group at the university, and is so passionate it's hard not to love her. She spoke with me for at least 20 minutes about a debate that took place on campus the night before, and how frustrating it was to have incompetent students represent the republican side (because it was sponsored by the newspaper, she wasn't ethically allowed to do it because of her position with the newspaper). I just hope for her, more than anything, that she doesn't lose her passion when she graduates.

My one conversation with J tonight:

(11:00:01 PM) J:how was softball?
(11:04:04 PM) J: hmmm, my battery's dying, so I'm going to put my laptop upstairs, but hope you had fun
(11:04:06 PM) J: see you tomorrow!
(11:04:09 PM) E: k

I guess he forgot I didn't have softball tonight. That's okay. Maybe I'll forget to make dinner tomorrow.

Last Post For The Night, Promise (Right Now)

"Hi Professor R:

I had a dream last night that you and 99 other people read a book I wrote and all vowed never to speak to me again. I couldn't figure out why, because the book was about sunglasses. Hope you're doing well."

"If you write a book about sunglasses, I won't speak to you."

*****

I love my professor (I guess ex-professor). This is where some emotional issues come in. He's not someone I would ever love in the way that I love my boyfriend, though I've thought about it. But he's my best friend, mentor, and brutally-honest-go-to-guy. I'm honestly scared of what will happen when he dies.

You Can't Get Out Of This

I'm smoking again.

I secretly hope my friend's non-profit organization for kids in Africa fails because I can't do something brilliant like she can. I know that my feeling that is why I can't do something brilliant.

Every time I think I can like my sister, she does something, and I realize why we can't ever really be friends.

I have to clean out my car because I don't have room for my laptop in the mornings anymore.

I'm with my boyfriend because I can't be alone and because I love him, though I don't know if it's the right kind of love.

I think it's hilarious that my aunt honestly thinks Obama is the anti-Christ.

I don't follow up with friends because I don't want to be let down, and I don't feel guilty that I let them down.

I tried having an eating disorder a few years ago, but I love food too much, and failed after 7 hours.

When I pull my hair into a ponytail, the shorter hair in front frizzes out, and it looks like I licked an electrical socket.

When I'm honest, I feel that I can both breathe and live with myself.

So, the brother of the convicted murderer/murderer-helper was fired today. Here's to hoping I survive this.

Mondays

Sigh. I hate them.

Was That Your Plan? Was That A Test That I Didn't Pass?

Eh. Never mind.

Fucking Friday

#1: I don't care that you've lost 5 more pounds. I don't care that you dropped clothes sizes. I don't care that you're going to run a 5K tomorrow. And I really, really, really do not give a shit about your pathetic excuse for a fuck tested negative for STDs. Do you expect me to jump up and down and squeal and wave my hands around because your fuck may or may not be cheating on you? Guess what - he is, and I'm secretly excited for the day that you realize this.

#2: I hate you. You're not even worth being told off.

#3: I love you. You have pneumonia. Again. Your drugs aren't working. You're weak, can't stop coughing and can't catch your breath. Your x-rays will probably show what we all know - congestive heart failure. I want to give you the journal that I bought a few years ago and never gave to you. I bought it so you could write your story, because it is such a wonderful, wonderful story. But it's blank. Now you're too weak to write a letter. I've almost become numb, but not numb enough.

I Won't Live To See Another Day

"And I apologize for not being able to be more specific."

"It's okay, sir, you're fine."

"I'm not fine though, E. I wish I was fine."

* * * * *

"I've walked the path a million times trying to figure out why. The only thing I can figure out is she just wasn't paying attention - she was speeding. I was supposed to die. I wasn't supposed to make it. She's Christian so I figured they all got together and prayed."

* * * * *

"As to his resume, all I can say is WOW."

"Both websites are unattractive and one is defunct."

"Does that mean you're not interested?"

"It's up to you for writing. As an assistant to me? No."

"He knows Final Cut - he can do in-house stuff."

"I would only invite people to intern to us if they are willing and need to learn. If they need us to get experience. This guy looks like he already knows what we do. Again, it's up to you. I don't think he would make a good assistant to me and C though."

No sex equals no conversation.