The monotony is torture. I hate it when I realize how sad I actually am. The emotions suddenly rising to the top because of a song or a book...a memory. And then I am faced with the reality of my seemingly endless dance with pain. We rock slowly back and forth together, while I reminisce about the things I thought about when I was ten. Pain sweeps around my body and holds me. and hides me. Pain comes and rescues me from my obscene hope that I could ever accomplish my dreams. "silly girl," pain whispers in my ear, "haven't we already been through this. You can run, but eventually you'll run out of breath."

Is it ok to have thoughts of beating one of your teachers down? I hope so...

I feel like I might just buy a plane ticket out of this crazy place. This place with all of its arrogant academics and people who think they are intellectually superior in comparison with..."the blue collars."

I'm so sick of defining myself by the papers I turn in. I'm tired of constantly trying to defend my intelligence. Trying to get up to par with the superiors who think that becoming like them is the right thing to do.

I'm so over it. I'm over APA and MLA and cover pages. Running heads haunt my dreams and the smug looks other students get when they are doing better than their friends. This is not a healthy environment. I am feeling just about as good as the dirt on my shoe and I'm tired.

Fuzzy, hazy, confusion. I want to understand everything...but nothing is true. Sleep deprived fog feels like ghostly howls. In and out of normal...hair spinning out of control. Feisty buzz of endless words. Lit review...Pointless...Point shoes.

I think it's time for a positive blog...I got the high score in psychology on the midterm...Happiness...I'm not as bad as I think. Seems like it's time to own my good qualities, and let them be important to me. More important than that silent scuffling in the back of my brain that wears me down.

I love my friends. I love my not friends. I love the possibilities.

I am invisible. If you need a definition, read invisible man by Ralph Ellison and you to will be invisible. Outside of time.

My friend Christina's father was murdered and then her brother and sister's dad raped her. She knows suffering.

She's hilarious.
She understands my mom.
She's much older then her years.

I love her light. I love her cheeks and the way they crease in the middle when she smiles. I miss her way down deep like dreams.

I dreamt about Wuyuki last night. And I missed him from my stomach.

His dad was also murdered and he is invisible like in my book. Or at least he's tried his hardest to be. But he's much to beautiful for that, and people are drawn to him like they're drawn to fatty foods or good books. He's complicated. There's this network of lies inside his head that he's been constantly telling himself to make him appear to others the way he feels. And I've tried and tried to wade through the lies and see the real inside, but It's been a losing battle. But I miss him way down deep, like thirst.

My dad's father beat his mother and my dad feels the pain deeper then thirst. He feels the pain throughout time and universal truth. And I miss him way down deep like love.

Missing the real.
Missing the truth.
Way down deep I'm missing messed up human beings.
Way down deep I'm missing how it was OK to be messed up
How it was worn on the sleeve like a badge and the people wearing the pain didn't even notice it waving there like death in the breeze...

She circles the tray with her finger and waits for the exact right moment to stand. If she stands now she's sure her knees will buckle beneath her and the hip that has been waiting to crack in three places finally will. When she does get up the air becomes dense and she inhales sharply wishing the light she sees would make it's way in. She picks up the tray, which seems to weigh 100 pounds. She steadies her hand and hopes the people in the Cafeteria can't see it shaking. 'I'm to old for this. Much to old.' But then the voice in her head cries out, 'don't be stupid! You're only as old as you feel.

She makes her way to the tray caddy and sighs with relief when she can finally slip the tray off her fingers, the unbearable weight of it all. Her friend makes her way over with her own tray. 'Are we really that wrinkly,' she thinks looking into her friends face. Shrugging in her head, she backs away from the caddy and hikes her purse higher on her shoulder. "Let's go." Her friend starts walking and she follows...and she follows and has no idea where she's going except down, way down.

Should write something, 'cause I feel like I'm going to implode. All of the outside sucked in to the dark middle that's waiting for the beak down.

Empty
Empty

Waiting for something to fill me up.

Empty
Empty

White

He smelled like pez, when he should have smelled like sweat and tears.

The driver has a red haired boy and knows all about fishing.

I really am a character in a play. And I'm playing my part too well. And I'm ready to jump off the page into a new script, the one I write for myself.

the wind

streams

through

the speakers

illuminated the sun

shines

i'm brighter

then most

of

my thoughts

you translate

and i'll lay

here

i'm confused

by

myself

all alone

with

your hand in

her pocket

speaking

words

of poetry

infused with

I love him

because

isn't it

always

about

my

closet

i'm in it

but not like

i

want a

woman

wants

a man

hidden behind the clothes

i'm in it

sobbing about

mis amigos

mi espanol

sucks

so

it

will never

end

this dream

translated

into

tongues

touching

across oceans

our fingertips

won't meet

but we

are so close

the electricity

sparks

hot yellow

blue

green

endless fields

trees

of eternity

and

I

remember

someone once

said

it'll be

OK.

I clicked the light on ten times...

Walked outside...

and I was lost.

Oh he swept down on me and he took me away... to places I had always dreamed.

And I cried just a little and laughed just a little...

And I'm OK.

Andy can speak French. Sorry I underestimated his ability. I think I'm just jealous.

It's days like these that leave me feeling a little empty, like what's it all about, and why do I keep on trying.

The howls are lonesome and isn't that the way it used to be. Out there, all alone, with just a few friends and the seemingly endless black dotted night falling on your skin.

I want to write beautiful prose the words coming together to explain the human condition...it's complexities. Why don't we just do what we feel? What is it that's stopping us?

I'm going to have to dance for my heart and forget that the steps are all about memory. Big chunks, concepts, not small pieces of somebody else's soul.

He was beautiful in that hat, sweating down his back, feeling love through his body and wanting so badly to transmit it to us.

I'm wondering when I'm going to wake up from this crazy, loveless life. One, two, three I'm squinting through the sun. Is it almost time. Is it almost time to wake up. I can't live in fear of never being loved anymore. So maybe that means me making mistakes. A good lot of them. Maybe that means giving up my ideal and settling for ok if not only for the exprience. I have got to stop judging through my virginess. Yes that exsists, virginess. It's white and clean and smells a little like rotting lilacs. It knows nothing of how to let go. It knows nothing of loving the imperfect. It knows nothing of my body and the ache there. It is oblivious and cold and careful.

Knives slicing through chilly winter air. Water choking the air out of lungs because of its cold. Unfortunate happenstance.

I don't know why his smile has been getting under my skin...he keeps looking at me like he would if he didn't have the memoies to remind him of what used to be. I'm sure she haunts his dreams and the rim of his beer bottles. But I just want someone familiar and someone I love even if it's not in "that way." And he's it. He's all that's left. And he's right here on this side of the Pacific. So it's tempting to let go with him. I could just walk to his room and ask him if he wants to talk. and then things could happen and I could get what I so desprately need. Just to be held, just to be wanted if only for a short time. But I don't know if I want it to go down like that.

And then there's him, does he really look at me like he's interested to know what it would be like to slip me out of my clothes or am I just completely streching.

This campus is dark depite the daylight and there are monsters lurking behind every corner. Oh wait, that's just me being crazy (or is it)

Yeah I know that eaten up, shredded, hallow heart feeling you're talking about. I've felt like that only a few times. When my grandma died, the two times my best friends hated me for being different and not wanting to hurt others anymore, and everytime I could smell the drug smell wafting up from my dads bedroom door. It hurts and feels like it will never go away, but it does. I have every confidence that your life will bloom into the brightest flower and your parents will see you for who you are: the cutest boy in the world. But rummble the tummy changes take time.

Hurry up. That's what my brain keeps screaming in my ear and I'm falling apart at the seams like a well used stuffed toy. I can't break again, I don't want to do this. At the Ramen place I left and went to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and cried...she embarressed me so bad and I was light headed and it really got to me. I don't know how many more times I can do that.

I've really got to go wash my hair...

I'm sick of being part of the group. I want to know and love each person in the group, but I don't want to be bound to them anymore and I don't want to do things because they told me to.

I will get some work done. I will think for myself. I have to start thinking for myself. I have to forge "the Elizabeth Way." 'Cause I'm done being laughed at because I'm different. I want to be proud of that. And I want to be cheesy and sappy and that's OK. I had gotten so good at being myself the two years before I came to SUA. But that person is slowly being erased. And I'm dull and lifeless and I'm sick of sitting in a big circle and wallowing in the pain because that's easier. It seems all we do is build these impenatratable walls with our self doubt and our circles of inside jokes. I'm going to start doing things the hard way.

Ya know what I hate the most? I hate the fear of seperating from them and the fear of being alone and the judgements I know they would make on me and they would feel betrayed. And I hate that they would all sit in a big circle and talk about me and why I'm changing and anylize it to death, and I hate even more that I would do the same thing...That's the poison of a group.

They broke up. And he's waiting for her to mature. And it just made me pause for a second and think how it should have been me, instead of his ideal. I wouldn't have let go, and he's wrong, the distance didn't make them stronger and it never does..not unless there is love. More then your everyday average. no more cold sheets. I dream of different demensions and am happy.

I'm going to miss your selfless love...but have a good time: and don't just survive, have fun ;)

My goodness how did I get back to SOKA? On the plane silly. But it's weird to be back...it's weird to put an emphasis on the number three, and he looked the same but more like a little boy in the message. I'm kinda scared. I want to do Like 2000 hours of diamoku. I need it. Not very practical. Just getting started...how come it feels like the middle?

It's funny how things don't matter very much until they're almost gone. It's that tip of the finger feeling...that... it's almost over stress. I'm going to miss SUA. I'll only be gone for three months but alot of us will be seperated for the seemingly endless length of a year. I want to get everyone together for a group hug. For a group "I love you." I want to remeber the way these last days feel so I don't forget why I love SOKA so much. Boundless hope.

He has a relationship now. And it's tearing me apart. I don't know why I sat there and let him tell me that thier distance would only make thier bond stronger. Why do I keep talking to him about my life. It will never be entangled with his, engulfed in his eyes. He cares about someone else and I am screming ten thousand screams inside minute after second. And it seems like the screams will reach to the end of eternity, because that's how deep the oceans are. The past has known us before and I've known this pain before. It's called disapointment. It's called endless love unreturned. I always thought I would be a piece of his puzzle, but I'm not even a crack in the finished product. And I'm dying minute after second. And I'm sorry I Iost something that was never mine.