been here forever

with the holidays ending I’m feeling very… you know, whatever. Simple enough. Says a lot, really.

I haven’t written but, truth be told, I received a large, hard covered, journal for christmas and was experimenting a bit with the pen. a real pen, you know. Yet I feel my entries are shortened because my hand gets fucking tired.

I went home and saw the family. they are well, happy, laughing, talking shit. maybe thee brother will marry someday soon and they will shoot out little babies for me to play with and everything will be so fucking wholesome you can’t hardly see.

but whatever, I’m down with anything these days including the horrible, yet endearing, flavors of my family’s traditional, suburban ways. at least they don’t drive SUVs and watch prime time tv.

tuition for school is falling short and with the option plated that perhaps I won’t be attending school for a semester I start thinking to myself

what the fucking fuck am I even doing with my life.

and with that question comes plenty of drinking. not to mention a bottle of vicodin provided by a gayboy friend. and with that, though I fear you might call me scummy but remembering I don’t really care, can say, I sort of grew a little attatched to them. Took them plenty at work, at home, morings, evenings, midays, workdays… and have dwindled the supply down to, not that I’m counting, four in the box on my nightstand, one in my bathroom drawer, and two in my drawer at work.

been eating less and dropping weight. substituting two vicodin for a healthy meal and completely stopping consumption of soda. though, I never really drank soda before unless it was ginger ale and vodka. my boobs got smaller and the other day I bought a 36 A.

friends started a band. Maybe I should feel hip but mostly I feel inadequate.

I got a cell phone for christmas. I finally fell into the hype, what a cellout.

new years eve I ate a pot brownie and then I sipped rumplemanns staight out of a plastic cup and also indulged in my usual two and a half pills. I’m not bragging, more documenting my fucking stupidity. we were in an apartment complex club house. there were a lot of stairs. people were dancing. some girl had a heart condition and might die. sacha drove home. she shouldn’t have.

made a friend at work. Her name is Madison. she has bright, bright unnaturally pink hair. she is as short as me. we smoked pot in the grooming salon, in the back buy the washer and dryer. she talks a lot and has a cool laugh. She’s smart and down to earth. she gave me a ride home in her bad ass old school car. she said after she started the car, “oh shit, oh shit, if I let out the throttle now we’re going to go about forty miles per hour straight ahead”

and she wasnt kidding. she missed the 51 exit twice because she was talking. in the car, she looked at her cell phone and noticed a number she didn’t recognize. she called it right away and left a message…

“yeah, um, hi, this is madison. I don’t know who this is but your numbers on my phone and I was like ‘what’s that about?’ and I’m curious. once again, hi, I’m madison, who are you?”

then, on 32nd street, the car began to putter, it was running out of gas. we managed to exit and pull into a circle K. she sifted through her pink, fur, purse equipped with a giant BATMAN button, and found a few bucks in change. I offered her gas money, but she refused it.

She hung out, met the wife, we smoked a lot of pot and she tells good stories. It’s nice to have a buddy at work. she likes dogs the same way I do, not purebredcrazyakcdogbreedergroomer, more like “I want to wrestle with my dog”… as she put it. I dig Madison. She’s one of the ballsiest chicks I’ve ever met. Outgoing and different and confident and smart. and my age. and into the same music.

soooooooo, hopefully she’ll be my friend back.

other than that. I’ve been here.