In the dungeon.

I know that it's
INCREDIBLY PATHETIC
to feel at all disheartened
if a FOUR YEAR OLD
shakes her head "no"
when asked if she thinks
that you're pretty.

EVEN IF YOU DID
try pretty hard that day to look decent.

BECAUSE SHE IS JUST A CHILD-

AND SHE KNOWS NOTHING,

right?



People tell me-
"You should think better of yourself".
What the fuck does that mean?



Two nights ago-
I think I had a mid-life crisis.
Or, rather, as I termed it-
A "mid-youth" crisis.
Even though, I am past childhood,
by far.

I was driving on the highway with my arm out the window,
quarter to midnight,
Looking at all the buildings
I had seen a hundred times before
but in my head,
they were different
And I was in a new city.

So then,
I started freaking out.
Telling Crystal and Jenni
that we should take a month out of our lives,
and just drive with no destination.

What is one month?

I don't know what it would accomplish.
Probably nothing.
But, how can I know for sure?

I want the feeling of hot air on my arm
looking at a city I know nothing about...

I want it night after night.

I didn't fall asleep until 3.

The last things I see before I go to sleep
are three small ships
I have hanging from my celing.

I blame them.

All your friends are on the stereo now.

I am secretly
a little dissappointed
when someone comes into the coffee shop.

Then,
I can't sing.

Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia

Two months ago,
to the day,
I donated peripheral blood stem cells
to a 29-year old boy
from Texas
with Leukemia.

I don't know if he's even alive anymore
And it's beginning to haunt me every day.

I've been googling the phrases-

29 year old
Texas
Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia
Blood Stem Cell
Recipient
Donor
20 year old
Wisconsin
April 2009

in dozens of searches, in dozens of orders.
Hoping to find a facebook page, a blog, anything
telling me that this boy is still alive.

Maybe,
he will search some of those words,
that will lead him to this post.
And he can tell me that he is OK.

I don't need praise
or even a thank you.

I just need to know that you're OK.

IwritethingsIthinkpeoplewillread.

Christ!-
(in the same context one would utter "Fuck!")

Every attempt I begin at "blogging" or "journaling" ends up being an excercise in futility.
I had a livejournal for about 7 years. If I look at any entry earlier than 2007, I gag myself at my own pathetic tripe. I know in another few years, I'll be saying the same about this. My father found my livejournal online one day about 2 years ago, which despite my astoundingly dull life, apparently contained enough black-mail worthy material to bookmark my page under the subtle keyword "NOSE."

Today is father's day.

Sorry.

Two nights ago I woke up at four in the morning.
Outside was a white minature horse on my porch.
I'm not lying.
Her name was Misty (I found out later).
I swore for a few semi-conscious moments that there was a fucking unicorn staring at me.