I am accidental

Think about this one.

Maybe I'd like a sonnet, too. Or flowers. Or even a night out, to be invited out, to actually be involved in your life again, instead of just slotted in around other people. Mingling is not a bad thing. When I only see you once a week, of course I want you to myself. Maybe I do NOT want to hear about all the nice things you did for your ex's. Or how you just found the phone number of the girl you were supposed to call before your first date, then lost. It's been like, three years since that now, so I guess that hope is lost, but it still stings to hear about. So many variables. I feel accidental.

My hair is all gone, I feel like a less hot Sinead O'Connor, with a man-face and I just fucking hate it. Now maybe it will grow back in not fried, and I'll have a chance in Hell of not having a mohawk for once in the last four years.

sljdfsdsflkjdoiewrnlkdsjf. Stupid, stupid, stupid boys.

Spirit island

I grew up on this island. My grandfather witched for water with a forked hazel stick, and sometimes found unmarked graves off of unkown trails in the woods with no names.

There aren't words for this place, other than 'home'. The mere thought of the island evokes emotions in me left unstirred by any other place, any person, any time.


When I die, I want my bones to lie beneath the fields that enchanted me for a lifetime, where my bare feet knew the soil like a lover. When I die, I want my bones to lie beneath the forests where dying summer light will fall for another thousand years. When I die, I want my bones to lie beneath the dunes that my children will become intrepid explorers of. Until my bones become a part of the earth that bore and shaped me, because an islander always returns to where she came from. And I will bear the footsteps of my children on my soul, and give to them the wonders of the North.

---

'I am the last of the open spaces.
The frontiers of my heart are greater than the West,
The fields and the forests and the plains,
The islands, the oceans and the lakes.
Be kind to me,
For I am an aging earth,
Who bears the weight of generations.'

Bra shopping and nude shots

Since when are beer bellies hot?
Since never.
>.<
But skinheads, pirates, and alcoholics are all in the same bucket?
Odd.

I succumbed the other day to spending my hard won money on stupid fucking bras. Actually got fitted for once in my life, and had to buy... *drum roll* 34D. Ouch. I've put on way too much weight. 40 pounds since I got home from England. Gross.

(Apparently, I'm not compassionate or emotional. I know I'm not good at consolation, but do not accuse me of not feeling emotion. THAT, my darling boy, is YOU. You're often robotic. I'm sick of these head-games. Can't you feel my love in my fingertips on your shoulders at three o clock a.m, slight smile on my face, joy coursing through my veins? Why do you have to ruin everything?)