allergies, ahoy

thats a stupid title. this morning was a horrible disgusting experience i wish never to relive. but i won't share. i should be getting ready for class, reading those things i didn't read last night, brushing my hair, putting on my face, eating something...but i'm not. instead i'm on blogger. and burning a cd. and on facebook. and on myspace. and checking my email...no emails. i didn't think there would be. what professor in their right mind would send out an email after 2 am on a monday morning? none. but how many of them are in their right mind? exactly. they're all nuts. on friday Stenger was complaining about those stupid disney kids who get all the attention and how miley cyrus "makes [him] want to puke!!! bleechhh!". haha. the other day he was talking about countries who speak dutch (which is different from deutsch?) and he said "amsterdam" and "prostitutes" and a kid fell out of his chair. it was really hilarious. perfect timing. i have a production meeting tonight and i'm already not looking forward to it because its not until 530 but my classes end at 2:15, so i guess i could come home. i'm probably going to make myself late for history this morning. i really don't care.

i made macaroni and cheese last night. the good kind. the home made with swirly noodles kind.
back story:
earlier this week i really wanted some macaroni and cheese, and my mom had purchased "marcaroni and chreeze" weeks ago, so i decided to try it. it was a vegan cheese substitute kind of thing with whole wheat pasta and stuff. when it came time to add "milk product", i realized all i had was vanilla soy milk. so i used it. worst. idea. ever. so i wanted some real macaroni and cheese that didn't taste like fermented vanilla ass.

end story.

dessert

I feel like baking something. Maybe Peach Cobbler. I ought to do homework so I'm prepared for class tomorrow and don't feel like an idiot.

But I won't. Oh well. I think I might delete yesterday's post. It was stupid and whiny.

its really fucking hard

to make decisions about someone when they're 9 hours ahead and 7000 miles away. maybe i'm worrying about it too much. maybe i need to let go of my shit and trust someone. finally. i wanted to before he left. i wanted to put my heart in a little velvet lined box and say "take this with you and don't leave it behind when you come home". maybe i wanted him because i knew once he left i wouldn't have to give him anything but emails and a phone call or two, no commitment, no rescheduling my life. just someone to talk to, someone to tell about things. its easy, being half a world away, not to be too attatched. but his time is half way up, in the same time again that he's been gone he'll be here and i'll have to figure out how to deal with that. how to juggle school and plays and production meetings and exams and papers and a boy who i've known for years but never really knew. i'm having to figure out how to manage my time just for myself right now and its driving me insane. but i told him i would be here when he gets back, i would give him what he wanted to wait for. i didn't mean to want him. i went into this like i've gone into the last few. i tried to keep my hands on skin and my mind on the weather. i didn't want to give him anything more than a good time, don't all soldiers just want a good time before they ship out? but my mind wandered, and so did my hands. and they met up in the middle and it went downhill from there. i gave up more of my mind and less of my body than i wanted to, than i ever intended to do again. i let him get under my skin instead of just on it. and now i'm wondering if i only did that because i knew i couldn't have him the way i wanted so i might as well go head over heels. tumbling down the stairs and i hit my head and i fucked up. i was looking for a good time. i figured he was as good a candidate as any. but he wanted a woman to come home to. apparently some guys want that. that sure is news to me. and while i'm thinking "he wants me to be here when he comes back, he wants to call me, he wants he wants he wants" i can't help but wonder if he only wanted because he needed someone to miss. like i needed someone to miss. because missing is easier than having and dealing. and when he gets back maybe i'll give him what the other guys wanted, and he'll say "gee it was nice thinking about you while i was gone and now i'm back so i don't need you to think about anymore" and i'll be so crushed because i invested all this time in avoiding other guys when i could have been fucking around like i'm so good at doing. commitment scares the ever living shit out of me. i know they can say "i love you i love you i love you" until the second they wake up and decide they never want to seeheartouchsmellfuck you again. and then you're left alone saying i love you to a dial tone and crying into the pillow that still smells like his shampoo and trying to remember what you did before you were in love and failing to find anything thats normal. because nothing is normal. it all gets fucked up. pussy amnesia. i don't want pussy amnesia again. i don't want to talk to dial tones. i don't want to cry in my sleep. and i look into the future of this and i see it blowing up in my face like the other ones blew up in my face. and i don't want to hurt him, but i don't want to hurt me either. maybe i'll just fuck him and when he goes back to the base and i go back to my life we'll realize that we only wanted each other because we needed something to want--a newly single army man and a lonely college girl with a knack for writing letters and a penchant for exaggeration. he needed letters and i needed someone to write to. and that will be it. short sweet and to the point.

i need to stop thinking about this now.

stop

i hit snooze 15 times this morning

apparently my father is still convinced i smoke pot. i don't know why. i've never touched it. maybe i should start. i have to keep it together today. shit.

clusterfucktacular

that is my new favorite word. it describes my day so perfectly. i'm probably not going to get anything at all done tonight. i wish i had a cigarette. but i don't. fuck. fuckity fuck. the best thing that happened to me today was getting to scream at someone during auditions. i got more into it than i probably should have. i think i scared the person reading with me. ooops. i'm freaking the fuck out right now. i hope i've calmed down by tomorrow because i've got to work tomorrow night and i don't want to scare customers. scared customers don't tip. i think its really uncool of my costume prof to 1) not know how to sew, and 2) require 50 hours of us for a 1 credit hour class, the same amout of time he required of us for a 3 credit hour class. crazy fuck.

i'm just going to curl up in a corner and whimper for a bit. maybe rock a little, too.

poetry homework

last night i had to read poems by ts elliot and all I could think the whole time was "wow, andrew lloyd webber really ripped this guy off"

wankfest

i've been thinking about this for a while, but i don't really have anybody to tell because bothering someone with it would seem like a total self-centered wankfest and i dont want to do that. no. this feels like something i should keep to myself, but as i can anonymously write whatever i want and as long as nobody recognizes me i'll be totally fine. i have a problem. but i don't see this problem as a problem worth therapy, or wasting a friends time to talk about, nothing anyone can fix, its just in here and i don't quite know what to do with it or how i would do with it if i could figure out the what. i was in therapy. i was when i was really young, 6 or 7, and again a couple of years ago. in my opinion, it was a couple years too late, when everything was festering and already ingraned and too deep for me to feel like it was worthy of conversation. it felt like asking for help would be a waste of time. i went voluntarily. but i never talked about what was going on with me, why i cried all the time, what was wrong. i kept the topics of conversation very safe, school this and theatre that, nothing really important. but had i spoken about what i was really feeling, why i really thuoght i needed to be there, i would have been embarrassed. i would have opened my mouth and immediately felt like i was wasting $60 an hour whining about the sorry state of my mind. because its silly. its a very silly thing, my mind. i can worry myself into a depression that looks like it'll never end, and the next morning i'll be completely happy and chipper and ready to Face the World. i stopped going because i felt like my shit isn't worthy of help, its just my pathetic attempt at saying "look at me i'm crazy" which happened on its own and i immediately wished it would just go away. it was like my heart wanted me to be nuts but my brain didn't want anyone to know about it.

that doesn't make any sense. sorry.