New  »   Sunshine Jen  ·  Robot Journal  ·  Post-Modern Drunkard  ·  Poop Beetle  ·  Gator Country

«« past   |   future »»


all comments

post #374
bio: kristen

first post
that week

Category List
The ones about love
The ones about men

Previous Posts
Dutch Ultimatum
The Ludditette
Friday Party #347
The Wizard of Uz
Taking One 4 the Team
Leap and the Net Will Appear

Happy Birthday to My Sister Meredith and deos concedes a Healthy Baby Pony.
Lovely people.

As I write this on Monday, January 29th, 2007 - dreading the time whence from I shall have to depart to my Monday Women's Group... in fifteen minutes.


On another note...

My cat - Padz - is on the fridge as I type.


Call it what you will, I'm feeling awakened and a bit fit in my psyche again. Anti-depressents? Sure, I'll say. I don't care if George W. Bush does it or Dennis Kucinich, if peace, legal abortion, social rights, and ENVIRONMENTAL reverance was done and shown - I would kiss Cheney if he did it. Get it?

I was recently asked why I feel the need to write this.

this column.
all the abuse. all the trouble with exposing lovers and friends and fear of my rapier wit? or something. the taunts. the lack of reward.
He wants to know WHY I DO IT? (he suspects I do it to torment him it seems).

I write this because I fucking want to.

This is old news to me - this thing of friends being shocked at what I said in transparent print instead of to their face and their face alone. This point has been received, and I take it with ardor.

I truly believe that people who have met me read this differently than one who has never met me. Someone who knows me would read it very differently. To some they are my postcards - my bullitans on my journey. To some, they are fodder. To some they read it as a further revealment to who i really am - a cliff's notes.

I don't know. I'm sorry if I hurt people or shock them by things I write.
I'm sorry specifically to those I have met and consider family.

I want to cry in a room with "people" when I cry sometimes. I want to send this message in a bottle.

You know this.

I wear my heart on my sleeve.

I wear my mind on my sleeve.

I wear dark energy on my sleeve.

I lay my cards - the ones I think I'm playing with for chissakes - on the table.

I take my clothes off.

I am transparent.


Or at least, that's what my crazy head thinks.

One more fag and breather afore 'work'.


«« past   |   future »»