"Ever get the feeling that you're living at the mall?" says the kid who works at Journeys, the shoe store with those rad converse high-tops in the window that I check out every time I pass by.

"Yes! Oh, god, yes," I say, because that is my life: seven days a week, forty hours a week, thirty-one days a month and I am at the mall. I see kids who ( Read more... )

I so should have been writing my history paper instead of hanging out with the Israeli kid until five in the morning.

Maybe if I did more coke and turned into a bigger whore, time would move backwards again. Because my life lately has been watching TV, eating pizza, and missing the months of June and July.

(And this is just my fucked up way of thinking about how I miss having you around.)

The thing about being crazy is that you feel this unecessary desire to keep checking back, just to see if it's still there. It's a little bit like summer in Arizona; you know the thermometer is topping 100 by noon, but you still visit the weather channel before you walk out that front door. Dear god, it is so hot out today. 113! It was 113 by ( Read more... )

So, it's around twelve in the afternoon, and I would just like to say that I AM STILL DRUNK. This is because I'm taking full and complete advantage of being a completely legal adult, and I'm secretly going for a week straight of drunken nights and hangover mornings ( Read more... )

Night always seems to drop like a lead anvil into a pile of feather pillows around these parts: fast, hard, and without a sound. Or maybe it falls like a homeless person on a winter day: cold, lonely and invisible. A genocide in Africa? Deadly, violent, and virtually ignored by the UN ( Read more... )

When I was young, I met Mercer Mayer ( Read more... )

Q: What's round and just absolutely horrible for everyone involved ( Read more... )

I have really missed me.

And at the end of conversations like that, what am I supposed to say? We spent the whole night re-hashing, re-bonding, re-wishing we were together. But we're not. What do I say to that?

I bloody forgave you two years ago. I understand. Stop it. The lack of apology competes with your inability to apologize, and it just kills me. I get it. ( Read more... )