i think.

i think it's time that i write about you.

i don't think you read this anymore, so i don't really care.

and if you do, i think it's time you understand.

--

i don't remember how the weather was, or the dates, or anything about the drives we had together. i remember my heart skipping beats when my phone blinked with a new text. i remember going into work the day after you kissed me. i remember you telling me it was a mistake.

i remember kissing you. sitting in your lap. it was almost two-am. i remember you leaning over the door, kissing me goodnight, like you didn't want to stop kissing me. i didn't want to stop kissing you. i just wish i would've never gone home.

and i still have some cute pictures of us at the eagle's on my phone. i set one as my wallpaper that night. i didn't even change it when johnathon told me what hamy said. before i asked you. i cried when you told me you couldn't date me. i still have the text saved. "i mean i'd love to get with you, but i just can't do that to my friend." what a load of shit. (sorry, but it was.)

and if you asked me yesterday how i felt about you, i'd probably use some defense mechanism about how you're an asshole and i feel like i was fucked. and make up some shit about something to hate about her. but the truth is, one, i think you're cute together. and two, this is what i get.

it was shortly after the horrible things that have overcome your life overcame your life. you know what i mean, but i'm not in the mood to be blunt. i prayed every morning for you to be happy and for your family. everyone i knew prayed for you. and i remember, i wrote my prayers on post-it notes then. i prayed for you to be happy, no matter what it took. even if it wasn't with me.

and even until a couple weeks ago, i wished for you on 11:11. eleven times.

i remember the late night drives and stupid adventures. the talks on chucks front porch. we got along so well, i just didn't get it. i thought maybe things would be better on my birthday, but then again, you thought i was a whore. i assume that was the night you met her, so by the time you came home and i explained that what you thought was wrong, it was too late.

maybe there are better things in store for me, and maybe you weren't just what i wanted. i mean, bob johnson is evidence to that. if i was really devoted to getting you i really should've stayed away from him.

i just feel like i've been jipped. and i know that i haven't. but it feels like i never got a fair chance.

well, in all truth, i do hope you're happy. i hope you're thrilled. secretly, i think sometimes i'm a negative bitch, and i'll secretly hope it fails, but i'll stop this now. this is kindof closure.

(and when i think of you in a shade of light, i think of the darkness in a car, the glow from a streetlight and a stereo. i think of the fluorescent light in corey's basement the first night we shared drinks. and i think of the cloudy days i went bike riding and texted you. i think of a lot of things. oh well.)


maybe this is too genuine for a blog. oh well.

goodnight.

now you don't even bother

to ride that commuter train,
west to chicago.
to stroll through the greenery,
in the park past the statues.

--

these are excerpts from my myspace blog over the last years, i really like the way they were written. just catching up on myself. i read one of the blogs about scott, and i forgot how all of that happened. haha.



it's october second, and why isn't october over yet.

and every time the wind blows, i think of you. and every time i listen to this song, i wonder why i'm not with you. and no, i don't miss you, but i can't seem to live my life without you.

--

there are some things you can’t fake.

(i guess that it's typical to cling to memories you'll never get back again.)

wind rustling leaves around my feet, a cape flying behind me, and you told me you loved me. swedish fish and snickers bars, this is halloween. skateboarding in a backyard, breaking your wrist. breaking my heart. it's all the same; it's all the same.

it's september and i'm thinking of you again. and no, i don't miss you, not in that way. not in the want-you-back-way. not in the going-to-start-talking-to-you-again way. but this weather is getting colder, and as the wind blows through my hair and the leaves start to turn, i am reminded of your face, and the selfish things i did.

and no, i can't call it regret, because i'm happy. i think. i'll believe.
but i can't call it completion. i can't call this closure, i never could. and i wonder if you think of me on the breezy nights, when you feel like going to coffee. i know you don't go anymore.

and whoever you're with, i hope she's good to you. i really do. better than i was.

and he says i'm a wonderful girlfriend, but i'm not. and i know this. and you know this. and the ex knows this. if i was so wonderful, how come no one i dated wants to talk to me? if i was so wonderful, why does everyone leave me?


--

that's all you get. but i like those because they are two excerpts where i truly identified myself and realized the truth. i don't even know what i meant by that, and i'm not sure why i'm awake.

--

johnny told me that i need to figure out who i am. in turn with me being a stubborn asshole, i told him that i don't care who i am and i am okay with having flaws and to fuck himself. or something to that effect. and now i realized that i fucking hate who i am. everything about myself. but i am not the type to change myself intentionally. so what now?

it's eight-am, my heart's beating too loud.

(don't be so amazing, or i'll miss you too much.)

--

a goofy smile and a conversation. something about writing. i love writing, and i tend to like people that like writing too. i always fall too fast in these situations. i know why now, fucking geminis. man, three in a row. good job, jes.

my hair is soft, and when i look in the mirror i still feel beautiful, but i am just bored with all of this stuff. this is discouraging.


life is mostly discouraging. i am rambling and tired and just forcing myself to write, and nothing good ever comes from that.

--

in other news, my phone is fucked up bad. meh.

see also, i suck at school. or at least mornings.

goodnight, blog.

shortsleeves in the winter

it's a thursday and i'm late for class again.

i woke up at seven forty five-am, for my seven thirty-five class. the sun isn't shining. my bedroom window's open and it smells like rain. there's a chill in the room that probably led to me sleeping in.

--

i let things get me down. that's just the way i am. right now. everything gets me down.

--

something has been nagging at me, well, you have been nagging at me. subconsciously. for you. i mean, like you haven't done anything that causes you to nag at me, but i just keep thinking about you. i want to message you, to see how you are doing. but i do not want to get hurt.

--

life has been such a protective act for me. and it has just occurred to me that everything i'm writing is bullshit. i just can't write this morning. i guess it's time to go to class.

--

have a good day, blog.

love,
jes.

it was about four days after my twentieth birthday. i was sitting in my room, in the clearing i had left for myself amongst the books, dirty towels and clothes, pop cans, nametags, and anything else that ended up scattered within the belongings of my embarrassingly trashed room.

i had a bright red lamp on a black table with a glass top. underneath the glass top were ticket stubs from assorted concerts that i thought i was cool for going to. i had a picture of me and my mom at my seventh birthday party, or something close to it. she had a smile with a gap in her teeth. it's still there. i always used to look at the gap in her two front teeth and wonder if she put her cigarettes there while she smoked them.

right now, she was somewhere in her room. the bedroom door was open across the hall, and for some reason my bedroom door was open as well, which never happens. the white wall against the bed was flashing different colors and brightnesses with the changes in the television scenes. i kept seeing her walk back, as if she were walking back and forth between her closet and her bathroom. she seemed like someone who was boarding a plane in the morning for a weeklong trip, who had just remembered to start packing. that or she had lost something very important, or was trying to hide something very important.

my grandma was in the room next door to mine. probably playing one of those goofy slot games on pogo.com, that stupid subscription gaming site. we had always joked about winning the jackpots, but i don't think anyone actually ever wins those. grandma and i used to stay up 'til three in the morning playing those stupid games. and the windows xp space cadet pinball. and i would watch dexter's laboratory at her house because we never had cartoon network at mine. i had the goofiest crush on dexter. i can't even explain it.

i looked at the horrible alarm clock on my nightstand. ten twenty-two. that clock is always horrifically wrong. and it glows red, when i much prefer alarm clocks with green led displays. the nightstand was probably the only thing in the room that had been cleaned recently. i had kicked over a can of soda onto it and had to wipe it all off. right now it had two diet pepsi cans, a shitty alarm clock, an atrocious lamp,and a picture of my parents' wedding. i don't know why i always kept that up there, but it just belonged.

ten twenty-five. i feel like i'm droning, but i feel that my descriptive skills are getting better.

------


i had something to write about, but i feel it is too personal. maybe some other time, i just can't think of the words to make it sound not as creepy. i'm glad i'm writing more. the more i read the more i write though. currently reading possible side effects by augusten burroughs. <3 love it.

tonight we're the sea and the salty breeze.

i'm tempted to start all my stories with 'and.' and occasionally 'sometimes.'

and i always use single quotations when i should be using doubles. maybe i was meant for the UK, i mean i think they do that there. at least that's what all the fanfic written by actual UK kids on hpff tells me.


--

sometimes i feel that if i start a story with a really stupid boring description of the setting, no one will be interested in it. i feel that if i am not interested in writing it, no one will be interested in reading it. however, this is clouded by the misconception that anyone is interested in reading what i have to write anyways.

--

there's a commercial on abc every day while i take my lunch. it airs at least once, if not twice or three times. it's a commercial with a little blond girl and her mother. the entire scene is filmed in black and white and the box of rice krispies is the only object in colour. this commercial is fucking adorable, and there is no other way to put it. the mom pours the rice krispies into the bowl of milk (who does that in that order, i mean, unless you're refilling your bowl, you always pour the cereal first, or am i just a dufus?) and says, 'shhh.' the little girl listens and says, in quite possibly the most innocent voice ever given to anything ever, 'they're popping!?!' she practically yells it. i swear to god you could bottle the innocence coming off this toddler.

this commercial reminds me of three things. it reminds me of me as a child, for some wierd reason. it just seems like something that something like that would have happened between me and my mother. this commercial also reminds me of the fact that i strongly miss the innocence that comes with childhood, where things can be wonderous and mind blowing without being expensive, and anything can blow your mind. lastly, it makes me want kids. which is neither here nor there. but it's fucking adorable.

--

i wrote that whole thing because i was trying to avoid starting a story with the word and, or sometimes.

--

carol collects pigs. seriously collects pigs. i don't know if she does it at home, but all around her office, or rather, when she had an office, it was covered in pigs. a painting of pigs. stuffed pigs. pig everything. i don't understand it. in some wierd way, she kindof resembles a pig, but i highly doubt that is a connection she would turn into a hobby.
now she works in the middle of a wierd loft-y area that confuses me. across from her desk are two pictures of old 60s cars. when i first saw them, i thought they were nice. then i was walking through bed, bath, and beyond one day and i saw them there too. they were like thirty five bucks a piece. i mean, i wouldn't pay thirty-five dollars for them, mainly because it's nothing that interests me, but i think it was just the fact that they were at what i will call the triple b, it just makes me disinterested in them.

however, straight across from this, as to completely ruin the vibe of the classy cars, she has a big picture of a pig. it is pink and laying on its back in the grass in the middle of the night. the sky has stars in it, and the pig is laughing.

i used to sit at the chair in front of her desk when her office was downstairs. it was full of crap that had no other place to be. the office and the desk, that is. she would give me money to go upstairs and get her a root beer. she liked mug root beer the most. i liked barq's but she would have none of that.

i say that like i was six, but in reality, it was about a year ago.

but behind her computer on her desk she had littler pigs. one was a really bright flashlight. one was one of those really gross keychains that you squeeze, and you get the point. and one was a fake piggy bank someone had stuffed a quarter into.

i don't know a lot about carol, honestly. but goddamn, that woman loves her pigs.

--

i don't know where i was going with that, it was just something different. i think i may have met my writing quota for the day, and if not, i don't care because rice krispies sound goddamn amazing right now, and the dishwasher is done so we have clean little spoons to eat them with. yes yes yes.


love you, blog,
jes

i started to write about you, but it makes me something between sad and angry, so fuck you.

--

i promised myself in order to prepare for getting a novel done i would make myself write every night, but i am just far too exhausted to do that tonight. you don't even understand, blog.

--

i wish kyle would stop asking me to hang out. he is a good guy and all, but i just don't trust guys, and i just don't trust him. mainly because he just doesn't seem to understand that i'm not interested. i hope erik doesn't turn out to be like that, because it'd just be wierd, y'know. i fucking work with him. i ran into him today for a while in media, luckily, he was getting off work and i was going to pc. and he left and got some drugs out of nick's car, i assume, because when i asked him what it was he smiled foolishly and said, "don't worry about it." i just scoffed and walked away.

i hate drugs, and i hate most people that do drugs.

goddamn, well, in order to not be so negative, i'm going to call johnathon and vent about this crazy ass bitch that came in today that drove me insane, and i'm going to sleep because i have to work tomorrow, in pension, with terri. fuck.


everything sucks today. in better news, i had rice krispies for dinner. i was looking forward to that all night. and that boy worked today, so that was good. especially because i was working pc and kept having to bring up computers i was selling to him. idk, goofy work crush, lulz.


well, blog, it's been short but fun,

love,
jes<3

happy birthday to me.

dear blog,
why does life hate me? like, trying to stay positive about these things, trying to be happy, but when people make promises to make sure i have a good birthday and fucking blow me off, i'm a little upset. also, today, johnathon PROMISED to take me out to lunch and completely forgot and scheduled an appt. to look at an apartment, and then was going to play frisbee golf. i cried so much today. it sucked.

erik made a good birthday, but still. it shouldn't take someone i just met.

i'm really glad i hung out with alisa tonight, i've missed her, but i just don't know about anything right now. i am just so bummed and tired and angry.


does life always have to suck this much?

the hottest state.

dear blog,

so i just finished this book by ethan hawke called the hottest state and i don't know how to feel about it. it's very sad. it's very brokenhearted. but it was decent and his writing style was wierd. there are a couple of paragraphs that i loved about it, and when i remember where i put it, i will definitely write them in this entry.

--

so i'm pourin' some whiskey,
i'm gonna get drunk.

yeah, i'm pourin' myself some whiskey,
i'm gonna get real fuckin' drunk.

i'm pourin' some whiskey right now,
i'm gonna get so, so drunk

that i pass out, forget your face
by the time i wake up.

--

that line had nothing to do with anything, minus the fact that i forgot that song existed and it is my favourite part of the song.

i suppose i should write something.
i feel like writing a book. i mean i know i could write two hundred pages of anything. i just have no idea what to write about and what people would care about. like i had an idea, but i really want to road trip it and make it real.

inconsistency.

this was before i rearranged my room, the last time, and the time before that.


i had a mattress lying on the floor in the middle of the room. songs from the album leaf's album in a safe place were playing. i was reading choke by chuck palahniuk. it was two-am and i couldn't sleep.

if my memory serves me right, this was days before we broke up. i remember driving, i had just gotten off work at mcdonalds. you were supposed to sleep over, and i sent you a text. you were high with kd. you promised you had quit. you were always lying. so was i.

in turn with mine, i headed to my nearest comfort zone. i cried on the stairs, in a ball, helpless. the lights were off, i couldn't see anything. i was just following him up the stairs. his house still smelled like him, it was supposed to be comforting, but it just felt wrong. i sobbed. i did the swift breaths that come with crying, the ones that squeak when you inhale. i don't remember if i was wearing makeup, but probably not.

i sat on his bed, the light of the tv covering the room. this used to be homey. then it was just a reminder of everything i was still craving to have back.

--

i called your best friend to tell him i missed you. it was christmas eve and i had no idea what to do. you texted me after i called him to tell me that we needed to talk.

--

i went to kyle's to pass time until you told me it was okay to come over. taylor was there and it was odd that we were just hanging out like normal even though it was christmas day.

when i got to your house, your family was drunk, playing rock band. your sister sang bon jovi and made you play with her.

i gave your mom a christmas card. i knew she hated me from the first time i slept over at your house. i remember sitting at the top of the stairs watching your dog bandit eat when you told me i would have to go home, which at that time, was sam's.

your mom read it and gave me a hug and said thank you. i thought i may have changed her mind.

after a while, we went to your room. you were drunk on heineken and whiskey or vodka, i don't remember. we laid in your bed and talked for an hour. you played me a song with your new guitar and i was glad to know that finally we were working things out.

i remembered that i was getting a tattoo in two days, my mother had planned it. i had no idea what i wanted. i was wearing my shirt with birds on it, and it came to me. i had to get a bird. i wanted many birds. i wanted them to be free, because at that moment, i knew i was free and had let go of everything that was holding me back. and after i did it, i knew the bird was you.

we got some of your stuff and came to my house. you spent the night then instead.

--

i remember taking cake decorating classes when we were together. my drive to go to them vanished when we broke up. who was i going to make all these cakes for anymore? you were the only one who i could consistently bring a cake to who didn't care. even if it was a pink strawberry cake covered in hearts.

i remember showing up at your house with kd was there, walking in while it was snowing, the snowflakes thick and heavy, sticking to my thin coat.

--

i remember coming to your house right before school to pick you up, all the days we would call off to spend the day together instead. i remember coming over the monday morning before we broke up for good. i had spent the weekend at my dad's.

when i got there, you seemed disinterested in me. we went back to sleep for a while, and i took you to school. i was baking a cake for mary at mcdonalds and it was time to go pick you up. i drove there and you weren't around at all.

i texted you and you didn't reply. i called your house and you answered.

"kd picked me up."

"why?"

"i just don't want to see you." or something to that effect.

i went to your house, i sat on the stool in the kitchen. you were smoking cigarettes again. we were talking about how it just needed to be over. kd was out at the store, he would be back soon. he walked in, and stared at me with utter disbelief. he sat down and said sorry. i said it was fine and grabbed a pen.

i wrote everything i ever needed to say to you on two notebook pages. i tore them out and folded them up and gave them to you. i cried the whole time. i kissed you on the cheek and walked out, hoping to hear you say "wait!" or "let's just go for a walk and talk about this." but it never came.

--

a few days later, kd texted me. "he told me to tell you to bring his shit back."

"tell him if he wants it, he can man up and tell me himself."

you called me to tell me that you wanted me to bring your stuff back. i grabbed what i could and folded your shirts neatly. i hoped we could talk. i cried the whole way there.

kd's car was outside your house and i knew this was going to end badly. i walked up and there was a bag on the porch, sarah, the triceratops, inside it, and a scarf of mine. maybe some other stuff i had left, but i wasn't sure.

there was a note on the door. "just leave it on the porch" and i'm pretty sure something mean and hurtful to the effect of "and never talk to me again" or "you fucking bitch."

i grabbed everything and left.

we didn't talk again until i received a myspace message from you telling me to "stop biking by your house."

--
this is really all i have to say about this. i'm over it, don't let this fool you.

however, i wholeheartedly believe in you to quit doing drugs and move on from all of that. you had big dreams before, it's stupid to let something get in your way. i hope you can dream like you used to, and i hope you can wake up and meet a girl and love like you used to too. i'm clad we are still friends and that i have been able to help you as much as i can, through all the family bullshit. and i feel extremely flattered and honoured that you will vouch for me and stand up to your family to make sure that i can talk to you again, above your best friends. don't let them down, or me, for that matter. i have fully believed in you every time you said you'd quit, and one of these times, goddamnit, it will happen.


and well, i know you won't read this because one: where you are i doubt you have a computer, and two: i'm not sure that you would read through all of that bullshit. but if you ever do, let me know and tell me how you feel. you always liked my writing. but when we broke up, i stopped writing as sarah. i wrote as claire. well, now, mostly, i write as me. i think i'm just content with who i am. finally. so thanks for all the lessons.

well, i know i don't know you

and you're probably not what you seem.


and so it seems that these blogs are just reflections into my childhood, which is okay because my childhood was, for the first word that comes to mind, solid. yeah, sure, bruises and bangs and boxes and moving and fights and bullshit later, but it was all solid, and i've become a decent person from it. or at least i'd like to think so.

--

and when i listen to this song, i see myself. once again, i'm serious when i say i remember things and people as shades of light. and when i want to remember my dad in the best light, i either see a soft glow from a dusty table lamp, a lamp that was never clean because he was always cutting up walls, replacing windows, doing something destructive/constructive around the house. or i see the sunshine. as in bright, merciless sunshine that surrounds you inescapably, as though it permeates through every gap in the leaves on the trees, or ducks underneath the awning of a porch swing. but in my memories i feel no heat. maybe a cool breeze from the days when he taught me to fly a kite.

but more specifically, i think of that dusty lamp. this was before he had ripped out the carpets in the living room, because i knew those were there when derek was around. and this was before derek and diane. before i told him how much i hated them, enough to leave him out of my life forever. i wrote that letter and i gave it to him and packed all of my stuff and told my sister and told my mom and he drove me home the next morning.

most specifically i packed a stupid little blanket and i could not let it go. where it is now, i am sure it has been destroyed by the many dogs that my father has had since he has met diane. but this blanket, it was white and ripped to shreds on the inside, maybe three feet wide. the outside was this goofy very light tan colour, with little fleur de lis in brown scattered in a pattern across it.

i'm pretty sure it used to be a fairly large comforter that belonged on a bed in my grandma's old house. and i think she just cut it in half and sewed it shut. i had one for momma's and one for dad's. and i got rid of the one at momma's years before this, but the one at dad's stayed until i was about eleven.


i have lost interest in this. i might pick it up later, but honestly, we both know i won't.

the things i could say about things.

and when i think about you now, i don't know how i'm supposed to feel.

it just doesn't make any sense. and this whole time, i swear i've said that phrase fifty different times to four different people. i don't understand. i just don't understand.

but i remember sleeping in your cold bed, the sheets were striped and now that i think of it, remind me of sheets in the cabinets at my dad's house.

and i remember the bottles on your dresser, and the really old hairties. they always fell out when i slept next to you, and only you. you had a hairbrush that belonged to a girl i probably never met. i still used it in the mornings.

and when i remember people, in general, i remember shades of light. i remember the brightness that filled up a room, or the dim smoky light that you squint your eyes through. and when i think of you, it's always sunrise. not like five-am, sun-just-came-up, sunrise. just like seven-am,when-the-dew-is-still-on-the-grass sunrise. like sun piercing the curtains and your eyelids. the perfect waking up. almost as good as waking up to the smell of bacon or french toast.

i think writing this is as close as i'll ever get to closure, because i can't bring myself to believe that all the stupid cute shit was nothing more than lies to get what you wanted. the phone calls in the morning, and the crazy hours and hours and hours we spent together even though you weren't sleeping with me then. but when i ranted about this to johnathon, he said "well, that's what i thought i had to do to get you too."

and in a way, i want to believe that it's some crazy defense mechanism, that you're just doing this because it's easier and you're 1500 miles away now, but when hamy was rubbing it in my face yesterday ('i just can't stop crying' 'why?' 'bob. i've just never been that close to someone and lost them' or some bullshit like that), i realized that that's probably not true. see also, 'i taught that kid everything he knew. i raised him from a nerd to bob johnson.' well, no fucking wonder.

i might write about you later, like at a way later date, to tell of details of things that have been swimming around in my head, but instead i'd rather write of other, more meaningful things.



p.s. in regards to an earlier post, okay, god, you won. this is what i get for being a jackass, huh?

there are times that walk from you

like some passing afternoon.



and i think my favourite word is and.


when i listen to this song, i remember a time a couple days ago, with the seat all the way back in my car, the windows down, and the orange streetlights seeping in. a goofy hat over my head, it smelled like my hair, and i don't understand how people sleep with hats on their faces in the movies because they just smell goofy, and it's usually the men that have been traveling for days and sleeping in the fields, their scents of sweat and alcohol and cheap diner food. their shoes are always wearing through and you never understand how someone can travel so fast in a world so big without something so important as anything with wheels, or i suppose wings, but there aren't planes without wheels.

i would really really just like to take a cross country bike trip. i mean, it doesn't have to be all the way across the country. just to canada. i guess that would be across the country, huh? i almost said 'eh?' but considering i just mentioned canada, i decided against it.

--


and when i used to drive to free myself, i used to drive with him. he would sleep in the passenger seat, so quietly, i would put on kings of convenience, or iron & wine, or american analog set, something simple and melodic that wouldn't wake him annoyingly. i would stop and get a coffee at a gas station, specifically remembering a horrible "french vanilla cappuccino," the kind with the water and the powder that makes a creepy grinding noise when it dispenses from the machine, i remember getting one of those from the citgo, or was it a marathon? i think it was a citgo on rt. 47 in morris. i remember taking all the back roads, and finding a creepy "keep out" sign posted somewhere off hansel road. whenever we drove past this shady little brick shed(?) with a window and a streetlight above it, we would turn on the devotchka song "viens avec moi" because of the creepy intro with the sound of squeaking things that only sound like someone is getting snuck up on at a rusty old park. that song still creeps me out.


--

i had something i wanted to write about but i'm sure it's not important now.


thanks for listening, blog.

love,
jes

nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate.

i had an idea for a blog, but it sucked.

ive been meaning to write more based off of what i've written so far about him. but i can't bring myself to do it.

i have the words. i know what i want to say. i have the visions in my head that should be described in such delicate detail, but i just don't even know if it's worth writing down. three days, huh?


god, i accept your challenge, and expect you to understand defeat when it is handed to you point blank.

you can be mad in the morning.

dear blog,

how's life been treating you as of late?

i have been reading so much harry potter and harry potter fanfics. i read the entire sixth book yesterday.

they changed the method of which they distribute my remicade, so now it's two hours instead of four. it makes me so tired so fast.

right now i'm worn out because i went to the gym for the first time in a week. i really should get off my lazy butt and shower, but i'm....lazy.

my birthday is coming up. last saturday i went to a party at mary's, took a picture of bobbiesue and i kissing, with mary holding me, and sent it to chuck. needless to say, chuck is pissed and told me to die in a fire. no big deal. but i'm pretty sure mary is hosting my birthday party now, which will be delightful, really.

i might bake my own cake though.


johnathon and i fought last night about stupid shit, about him completely erasing me from his life which is infuriating because he is my best fucking friend. well, stephen too.<3. finally, today he texted me to ask me how he can make it up to me. i want og on my birfday.


well, i just felt like i should talk to you. i think i write in my prayer journal more.

and i feel like actually writing. so i might post something immediately after this is my fingers learn to fucking type.

love you dearly, blogface.

-jes<3