The All-Dreaded MALL

I’ve discovered that there’s a reason I don’t enjoy going to the mall with my friends.

It’s not so bad when it’s just me and my boyfriend.  But when we go to the mall in a big mixed group of kids, they have this tendency to play with the women’s underwear in Aeropostale and Charlotte Russe.

And imagining your sixteen-year-old boyfriend in the kind of thong he’s holding isn’t the most fun or enjoyable thing in the world.

That, and the fact that my sister and I were the only ones who didn’t get kicked out of Bath and Body Works, would be the reason I don’t enjoy the mall.

I mean, even going into Hot Topic wasn’t fun when 1) I had only $20 and 2) virtually nothing was on sale.  Sigh.  Trevor did buy me a “Rock the Arts” guitar pick while we were in there, though.  It was pretty awesome.  Mine is red.  His is black.  Hey, while you’re at it, check out Rock the Arts.

Glutton for Pain?

I’m going to try another query letter.  I’m not sure if this is good and shows my determination, or bad and shows that I don’t know when to stop.  But either way, isn’t it a good thing?  I hope so.

I’m feeling a little bit desperate about it.  It’s so scary.  And disappointing, when I get a form letter in return.

Surprisingly, though, I got an offer to submit to an up-and-coming e-zine.  From a guy who really liked a story I wrote.  That felt good.

Well, off to work.

Well Then…

I think I might just have an awesome boyfriend.

Just maybe.

I’m not sure.

But after today, hearing stories from other people, and from thinking back… maybe.  Just maybe.

Nine Months

Today means nine months for me and my darling.

=]

I was quite happy.  I dressed up all pretty, and put on makeup.  I looked quite nice, really.

Monday-Thursday-Sunday

Making People Happy

I’m not used to making people happy. Honestly, I’m used to pissing people off to high hell to the point of them running in the opposite direction. It happens a lot. Or they tell me off/go off on me. Which also happens a lot.

…which is what I wrote to my friend.  She was talking about me and my boyfriend, who apparently likes me very much.  (He’s kept me around for almost nine months, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything; my previous and only other relationship lasted nine months, but the last few months meant nothing to him, apparently.)

 I suppose you could say that I have low self-esteem or something like that.  Maybe.  Possibly.

Dead!

…is how I’m feeling recently.  Let’s go over the reasons:

Classes.

1. Japanese – a.k.a. The only thing worth LIVING FOR at school.
2. Chemistry – a.k.a. What will be my undoing.
3. Reading Drama – a.k.a. Eye-Burning Squall.
4. Chem Lab – a.k.a. The Place I’ll Blow Things Up In
5. American Government – a.k.a. The place I’ll be eating a lot of Skittles.
6. Personal Conditioning – a.k.a. My personal Hell.

Stupid people.

That’s rather self-explanitory.

And that’s about it.  Too tired to explain in-depth.

My December

I was at the mall with my boyfriend and in need of a short bathroom break.  I looked up from the sink and saw my reflection in the mirror.  And, when I saw myself, I thought: Wow.  I look really good.

I’ve never thought that about myself before.  I never, ever thought I was pretty.  People tell me, but I never believed them.  Well, I did once, but that ended up being a mistake and a half.  So beyond that, I’ve never believed a word anybody said – whether it was Desiree, Jasmine, or Lacey, three of my friends, whether it was my mother, or even if it was my boyfriend.

And certainly my ex-boyfriend never made me feel attractive.

But my boyfriend isn’t the one who made me feel this way.  It was more… it felt like it came from me.  Those kinds of feelings have never come from me before, but I think it had to… and now I feel like I’m strong enough to face this new year that’s encroaching upon me.

Livelihood

I’ve been working on a short story lately titled “Golden”. If you’ve heard the song on the new Fall Out Boy CD, Infinity on High, you may understand how it inspired me to write a story about it.

My Confession

This is my confession: I hate you.

I hate you violently.  I hate you with passion.  I hate you, at this moment, with every fiber of my personal being.  I wish you would disappear.  I wish you never existed.  I wish everything between you and I had never existed.  Every phone call, lunch, everything we did, every word that was said, I want it gone, trashed, burned.

I wish your memories would just be blown away.

I hate all that you stand for in my mind: the backstabbing, the fact that trust is fragile as glass and can never be put back to its original perfection.  I hate that you destroyed my trust.  I hate that you lied to me.  In fact, I hate every word you said to me until the end, because everything you said to me in every conversation was a living lie.

You said you loved me.  You said “you are my only one”.  You said you wanted to marry me.  You said eleven more years, only eleven years, eleven years to be happy before the rest of our lives.  You told me I was the most important thing in your life.  You said you could never bring yourself to break up with me.  You LIED and you knew you were lying when you did it.

And you know what?  I hate you for lying.

It’s taken me forever to finally see that you are NOT worth more than me.  I’m a person, just the same as you!  Why couldn’t you recognize that?  Why didn’t you treat me like I was worthy of you?  Why didn’t you act like I was worth your friendship?

Why did you lie to me?

I don’t care about you.  I love you and I always will, but I just don’t care.  I hate your lies and I hate that you hurt me.

Do you know what you did to me?  Do you understand how much you hurt me?  Trevor told me tonight that he would never trade me for someone else.  He said that he loved me.  He said “you are my one and only”.  And you know what I did?  I couldn’t say anything.  But then I could.  And I said “Trevor?  You’re scaring me.”

I am so afraid now.  Afraid that if I trust him, he’ll turn on me just like you did.  I don’t want to be hurt again.  Do you know what the hell kind of therapy I’m going to need?  I mean, it’s not like I can just up and cut myself like rest of the nation!  I won’t chop off all my hair like some people do when they’re depressed.  I won’t beat anybody up.  I won’t go scream angry songs in front of raving, drug-ravaged crowds.  I can’t take boxing or martial arts or even go to a freaking therapist!  All I can do is write and try to figure out how the HELL I’m going to start trusting somebody I should because he is worth a hundred times what you are.

Pearl Harbor

December 7, 1941: the Japanese attack the base in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

The above is a short old video clip about the attack on Pearl Harbor that I found on YouTube this morning.

December 7, 1941. “A day that will live in infamy…”