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I watched that movie tonight.

Remember, Kiki’s Delivery Service? I loved it so much when we were little, and it came on Disney Channel pretty much every time we turned it on. I never knew Kirsten Dunst played the main character!

I didn’t even take the time to part my hair after I took a shower. For me, that’s the routine. Instead, tonight, I laid down next to Troy without even brushing my fingers through it (everyone knows I don’t use a brush) and just let it air dry with no ruling whatsoever.

My night was wonderful.


Writer's Block: Little White Lies

Do you think it's okay to tell little lies about small things to avoid hurting someone's feelings? Or is there no such thing as a harmless lie?

I'm definitely one of those people that believes in telling those "little white lies."

Of course, like anything else in this world, there are both good and bad points to that - on the one hand, telling the lie can keep from stirring up a raging storm between friends and family. It can keep things level, stable, it can keep from hurting everyone involved.

On the other hand, if it comes out that you were lying, the problem becomes so much larger than it would have been had you just told the truth. Not to mention the fact that having to keep up maintenance on a lie that has gotten too far out of hand really takes a toll on your life.

Even though I end up getting walked all over most of the time, and I end up having to deal with so much more than I ever wanted to (i.e. maintaining a friendship that I never actually wanted, cough), I'm usually the one telling lies here and there to protect others' feelings.

Sometimes I wish I didn't care about hurting people so damn much. I wish I could just be a bitch like every other girl on the damn planet and tell my (air quotes) friends (/air quotes) that they fucking suck, so I could distance myself from the people I've attached myself to in this world.

Letter I'll never send (though mostly because you deleted me).

Just for the record, you had no right to say the things you said to me. It was not your place, and I'm not entirely sure where you ever could have gotten the impression that it was.

On that note, how dare you say that I 'overreacted' to a comment you made? What gave you the right to make a comment, especially about my relationship? You don't know me, and you damn well don't know anything about what goes on when you're not around. Fuck you and your 'balls' (which, considering I've always been under the impression that you're female, comes as a shock). Not even you being transsexual would give you the freedom to treat your so-called friends that way, and I'm definitely not going to be the one to lie down and take your shit.

I'm tired of being a doormat, not only to you, but to every friend I've ever had. I'm not taking anything more from your loud, controlling, manipulative, drug-addicted mouth.

You had no right to tell me I was "ungrateful and immature." As if you would know what maturity is - what do you do on a daily basis? You sit around in your apartment that's paid for by the government, smoke worse than any chimney I've ever seen, fail school because you're too busy either spanning the town with friends, or partying in hotel rooms. You were too high to show up to your job on time (ever) and eventually, finally, got yourself fired. Now go ahead and tell me I'm irresponsible. That's totally your place.

I feel you deserved everything I said to you. I wasn't that fucking hard-ass about it, I didn't throw every piece of your shallow little life in your face. I could have, but I didn't. What makes you think you can return fire saying that I've done this all to myself? Quitting smoking and drinking turned you all against me? That was my only change, honestly. You all stopped talking to me because I spent time with him and stopped the harmful shit I was always willing to do in your presence. Oh, that's fucked.

In case you didn't know, every bitch uses the line, "I'm not a bitch. I'm just honest." It somehow makes them feel better about themselves, because they know deep inside that they really are a bitch. This rule doesn't just dissipate when applied to you, in case you didn't know. You're just as loud-mouthed and asshole-ish as anyone else out there. You're bossy, immature, and you don't even have anything good to say, so please stop opening your mouth in the first place.

And by the way, sitting around on the porch with friends and talking is okay. Asking me numerous (extremely detailed) questions about my sex life is not. That's just fucking creepy. If we were close friends, hanging out alone, it might be halfway decent. We, however, are not close friends. In fact, I've never liked you, and I haven't exactly been shy about that fact - did you not take the hint? My 'obligations' to do other things weren't a reality with all of my friends, merely you. Maybe that's where you got the impression that I had done this to myself.

Anyway, it doesn't matter. You're seriously not worth the time of day to me. I don't even feel sorry about the fact that I'm so disgusted by you - you have other friends that are stupid enough to like you, so you'll be just fine. You're a "big girl," and maybe someday you'll act like it.

I'm going to end with this - you have the lowest fucking self-esteem I've ever seen. Otherwise, you wouldn't wear clothes that are seriously way too fucking small for you (how could you NOT notice?!) and you wouldn't have sex with every male that came into your apartment. Grow the fuck up.

As an afterthought, if you're allegedly going to be an English major, you'd better learn to spell. Also, the pot still isn't making you sound smarter. And no, you're not more fun when you're on it, merely a lot more squeaky and fucking irritating.

12:34:56 7/8/9

Just sayin'.


Or is it just me?

Who else associates a chapel's scent with the idea of death? Attending a wedding or some other ceremony held within one, to me, just doesn't fit.

I'm fairly certain that as of now, I've decided I'm getting married elsewhere, should I choose to marry at all. Perhaps the outdoors?

Down to business.

I've been writing since the fifth grade, when a very pushy teacher forced us to sit down for an hour every few days and describe something that had happened to us in our lifetimes. Rough draft, final draft, that one draft I threw out because the handwriting was so bad; to a large group of eleven-year-olds, it felt like a punishment.

At school, I complained right alongside everyone else. At home, however, I would write just because I felt like it - about everything you can imagine. I had my story ideas set aside before she had even told us that it was time for a new one.

Nowadays, I've noticed that I haven't been writing as much as I usually would. I've lost nearly all of my work due to computer reboots and demolished papers, and I suppose I've lost a little bit of my morale right along with all of it. During my senior year of high school, I was a part of the school newspaper (recruited by the teacher), and I didn't exactly get my work in on time (or...practically ever). In fact, I'm fairly certain the editors hated me. The few things that I did do, though, I appreciated a lot. I'm certain I wasn't a terrible writer, merely a terrible worker. Don't tell my parents.

I've always began stories and never gotten anywhere with them. I'm not a planner, and I suppose that's a big part of my problem. I need to map out brainstorms and decide where I want to go with what I'm creating, but I either lack the patience or the attention span (probably both). I tend to just sit down and let a random thought flow into something larger, never going beyond a few pages.

Anyway, I'm not sure exactly where I'm heading (thought-wise) tonight. I'm just acting as my usual self - allowing things to flow, to end where they may. My thoughts aren't very controlled, are they? I'm certain I've gone in a million different directions here.

Maybe I haven't. A lot of times, I'll feel this way, but when I go back to re-read, it flows much better than I ever would have thought. Hopefully this is one of those situations. (End?)