Trusting/Thrusting

I guess you could say I'm a mild disaster, you know, the whirlwind of American Crew hair gel, Aveda exfoliant, Parliaments, Orbit Sweet Mint, Neutrogena oil-absorbing sheets, scuffed cell phone, Tiffany key chain, cheap-ass blue bic lighter. My pockets are always so fucking full, but, like Shane says, I feel naked without all of my things to comfort me. I can't downsize all of my clothing and I can't pay my visa bill and I can't flinch when I make someone else cry. "It's so easy to hurt others when you can't feel pain."

I'm feeling so indie today in my obnoxious green and white sunglasses from Nick and Abercrombie cutoffs (I'm praying you're laughing at how accidentally ironic I am, listening to Ashanti and Kellie Pickler and pretending to be a critic). I'm still sore from this weekend's antics and Kara ripped her Taverniti Sos and had to scratch away crusted blood on her toenails. I haven't cried in months but you can't say that means I'm happy. James picked up these stupid sheets from TJ Maxx and they're ridiculously soft (like so many boys have said about my ever-thinning, in-need-of-plugs hair) and I would torch them if they didn't match my room so well. I would light up all of these remnants of people and places and past adventures because I'm working really hard on focusing on the now. Or maybe what's ahead. John in the future tense is a successful doctor with a few vaguely ethnic children. Snore.

AH! I'm terribly disjointed but I suppose I wouldn't have it another way. Put-together people with good credit histories and perfect skin and clothes they can afford bore me. Give me a depressed, blonde, Jimmy Choo-wearing alcoholic with mounds of debt and emotional baggage and the tendency to skip class to smoke a few cigarettes any day.

This whole trust/honesty thing comes up a lot in my life, at least in the last year. Let me in let me in people shout at me, or maybe whimper, but that's not my nature. I'm sarcastic and mean when I'm upset, which is often. The issue is that I don't usually know what's wrong and how can I tell everyone something I don't know. My child-like enthusiasm for novelties and new people gets me in trouble all the time. It takes me too long to decide anything (especially those important things everyone needs to know right away, apparently). I need a real fortune cookie with a real fortune and not some bushlit that says "you are creative and action-oriented."

Here's the thing: there are a lot of bad things about me, but I'm ever-unapologetic. I binge on M&Ms and get too drunk whenever I have the time and look in every semi-reflective surface so often that I know where and when pimples are going to show three weeks in advance. Kiss-and-tell, run-around, arrogant, caffeinated disaster. I can't buy anything I really want and I don't need anything for this birthday but a really fucking big hug, a $250 waffle iron, $335 jeans, a black iPod shuffle that I don't deserve after breaking three apple products and a platinum AmEx card with 0% interest and crazy fucking rewards. I'm too busy and I don't have time for mental breakdowns or sex and I suppose that's the way I function best. I haven't been smilely and optimistic for a couple of years. I don't mean to say I'm unhappy. Jenna says that she always knows I'm coming home because she can hear me singing outside of her window (bless her for leaving out any adjectives describing what I call singing). That song from singing in the rain wakes me up to 39 seconds every morning and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Here's something good about me: I don't remember heartache or sore muscles or people that don't matter when they leave. My past is idealized; I can wake up everyday content with all of my flaws and misgivings and smile.