I'm hungry.

This is all I remember about you.

Ride Shares

I thought maybe I'd try to do something useful with my time today so I finally brought my car to a garage. On my last day off, I thought I'd try a couple recipes I know that Luke would have wanted to make with me. They were too adventurous for Tim's dad though. I wish he would talk to me.

I hate this apartment. Its like putting flowers on Algernon's grave: looking around this room, at the mess, at the things that used to mean something to me. I hardly ever put on my old clothes anymore. I hardly touch the things in my closet. I'm thinking about selling my records for money to get back home. My futon folds in the middle.

Niacin.

This is what it means to be unhealthy. I hardly want to look at anyone else. I cannot even plaster on a reassuring smile for them. They look at me like they're worried. They thought they'd help me and set me free but I've done nothing to prove that any of it was worth the trouble. That two mile bike ride back from the auto mechanic's kicked my ass. I am cold...all the time, but especially at night because I only own three blankets.

There is one major difference between South Carolina and Massachusetts. Our state and local governments in Massachusetts have huge deficits, while people continue to live comfortably in culdesacs and two story homes. South Carolina's government can't figure out what do with the extra money, while their residents suffer in poverty. I don't get it....in a liberal state, we pay higher taxes, and support public programs that benefit the state as a whole. In South Carolina, the cost of living is kept low, government money goes into grounds keeping on state property, and city revitalization. How is the weight shifted like that? And why is it so freaking cold in this house?

I need a plane ticket at a busy time of year. I want to sit on the end of Nick's bed and listen to him play guitar. I'm a wrecking ball, and I leave a mess wherever I go.

I hate that you have to go to work while I don't

Hear the same song twice,
Polaroids of faces smile.
I always miss you.

You Know That He Came All the Way Down?

I wish I had more insight into my younger self. I have some pictures of me next to my brother, or on the train. I wonder how many hours of my life have been spent traveling by rail? It's not really about what you have done, or about what your resume looks like (They were wrong). It's about who you are: If you are true to your word, appreciative of those you love, cautious about who you trust, genuine, and humble.

I hit an up today (finally). Or was it last night? Anyways a girl in a skirt jumped the fence onto the patio and reminded me of a time when I wasn't afraid. She talked to us like old friends. I was wearing a brown sweater and grey sweat-shorts, a 27 hanging out of my mouth, watching a daddy long leg crawl up the fence post. It's not that we were scared to give ourselves away, she sure wasn't. It's a matter of being honest about wasting what you've been given, or burning through what isn't yours to burn.

It's true that you're not alone.

He wrote me a letter. It will be in my new mailbox in a few days. I wish I was a better daughter.

I Want to Be at a Punk Rock Show but I'm Outside the Grocery Store I Work For Instead

It got bad today as I was counting money in the back office. You never know when it's gonna get bad. I'm usually doing something innocent, thinking about something trivial: Futon mattress', work politics....

I like to think that I've learned something from all of this. That maybe, if I knew who I used to know now, they wouldn't be a figure of the past-tense.

I want to be on Pendelton Street seeing friends from Kentucky and Georgia. I'm not. Back in Lowell? On the green couch with Nick? My body aches.

I like to think that I've learned something from all this. But for now I'm just waiting.

Accepting blame

Sometimes, I don't even recognize my hands. I'm scared to write such unhappy things. I'm like a lion in my empty apartment bedroom, wearing two sweatshirts, on the hardwood floor. In my head, I don't even want to go there. I just want my car back, and even that seems like a long stretch. My legs don't want to carry me from Spartanburg to Greer, and it's scary to see smoke escaping your engine, but I have no choice.