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Here we go fingers it's your turn.

I desperately want to go to the Great Lawn at Purchase in July, and climb that tree with the ditch around it again. I want to lay in and not think, but think too much. When I was little, my mother never let me wear red nail polish. She said it was for grown women. This weekend, I bought myself a bottle. My hands are those of a woman. I suppose.

I'm on this wave of elated emotions. But I'm due for a good cry. I think we're all overdue for a good cry every once in a while. I'm going home tonight to have mine. Or maybe not. Maybe I'm going home to be solemn. All I can think about is a night sky, a field and me in it. The kids are talking about having a fire tonight; I want to see it and nothing else.

my daddy raised me a runner, 'cause he didn't raise me at all.


i think, therefore.

There you are, miniature breakdown. I've been waiting for you; it's been a few months. Oh no, I'm just at work- don't worry about it, come on over. So what do you want to talk about? Ahh the "What the fuck am I doing with my life" conversation again?

my brain is a candle still lit, and it's burning at both ends.

my barely nimble fingers are too tired to type, but the Against Me! i'm blasting is helping me fade in and out of the consciousness necessary to talk to you. I'm laying on the couch of a boy I like writing a movie that might be something great. I wish I had that focus and determination. I could be happy. That might be a definitive emotion. I try not to think about it, but the thought is steady looming. My journal is filling itself quickly. When I started this one, I said that it would be the one about Me. It would be the one, unlike the others, that is full of pages of me- not these tales of boys. But when it comes down to it I buy my pens for them. Relationships with other people are all I have; relationships with boys are the ones I write about.

I've hit my 3 months mark. It's like clockwork- whenever I get cozy with something, someone, somewhere- I want out. But this time, I don't want to run away again. I just want newness. My life seems to change with the seasons. Like the shrubbery, flowers and weeds I want to grow, infest, irritate and beautify. I want to make it beautiful... just have to figure out what it is. Is it strange that all I want to do right now is organize people's closets to make finding clothing and coordinating as simple as possible? My entire existence might revolves around clothes. I'm not upset about that at all.

I should sleep. I have to be at work in 5.5 hours. I sleep for either 3 hours or 12-15. I'm an extremist at heart. (Sometimes) I would rather stay up all night on someone else's couch, than sleep on mine. Speaking of which, my bed is arriving on Saturday- this could change everything in my life.

I miss Fairfax Ave. and walking up the Melrose strip. Ha. Jamie <3.