On Friday, June 29, 2007 at 11:06 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
This page has officially fallen apart, images are shot that I don't care to fix, I never post anymore and I just basically really need a change. I'll have a new url for a new blog site up very soon. I'm just finishing some art for it and pondering layouts.
On Monday, June 25, 2007 at 11:21 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Since I never find an enormous amount of time to update on here as of late, I figured I would post the URL to where I currently AM updating. I'm actually having A LOT of fun with it. If you don't have an account through them already, get one! Then add me and stuff...so I can read your sparatic posts that contain a few sentences.
You can post through IM Clients, Text Messaging, Web...whatever. Post what you are doing at the moment in 140 characters or less. It's quite addictive.
On Monday, May 21, 2007 at 02:39 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
All my Spring flowers are covered in snow.
On Sunday, April 8, 2007 at 09:09 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Things that are devastating...
When you are watching the new episode of Heroes and your DVR decides you didn't really need to see the last 5 seconds of a rather important ending.
On Tuesday, March 6, 2007 at 07:45 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I hate hotels.
Gah! It's full of things other people touched. I hate construction as well, because that's the reason we are here for two nights. I miss my bed, I miss my DVR, I miss the steady temperature of my house, I miss my cats, most of all I miss my semi-stable mentality that unfamiliarity is trouncing upon. I'm not even sure trouncing is a word...if it's not it should be. This place is ok, don't get me wrong. Its just how am I going to trust other peoples cleaning. I don't know what scary people have stayed here. It's borderline disturbing. What if the cleaning people decided not to scrub a spot of floor and my foot is touching where some other strange foot has been. I don't know which is worse. That or my hatred toward shoes and socks for making me spend my time thinking about stupid shit like this. There is no win-win situation here. I've only been here a little over four hours and I can't stop watching the clock.
At least Heroes and 24 come on tonight. Which I can only watch one or the other of BECAUSE I HAVE NO DVR. Oh yes, I could mention that more often. I need a Pocket Dish. No one tell me what happens on 24. Heroes has won me out.
On Monday, February 26, 2007 at 03:10 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
On Sunday, February 25, 2007 at 08:10 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
what is wrong here
There are two Xbox 360's in this home, both connected to Xbox Live. Nintendo DS systems, an original Xbox, a PSP, and almost every older system from Atari 2600 on up. What do I do? I play Collapse on my cell phone for hours.
I hate Collapse.
On Friday, February 2, 2007 at 11:10 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
new phone post #348
On Thursday, February 1, 2007 at 03:27 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
It is shortly after midnight, everything here is a very rare moment of perfectly quiet. I'm laying here with my curtains drawn open staring out my window at a very beautiful snowfall. I can see the silhouette of a mountainside against an almost black sky. The streetlight across the main road lighting up thousands of delicate snowflakes making them almost glitter. At this time of night it is actually beautiful. It makes me feel comfortable...it makes me feel comforted.
On Wednesday, January 31, 2007 at 12:09 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Things have been beyond busy. I made this "mistake" of downloading a daily planner application for my blackberry to keep everything in order. Now this is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I would never remember all that is going on, between meetings with construction people that are going to be starting here on the house, to eye appointments, taking one of the many cats to the vets office, cable people, dish people, phone people...it never ends. It SUCKS because I open up the planner and see that I have something to do every SINGLE DAY. Even the days I think I can get away with doing nothing, i'll get a phone call or something will pop up and it's quickly foiled. It's starting to take a toll on me.
- mental note: do not pluck eyebrows while typing a blog. Some things should not be multitasked. -
This brings me to other points. Every fucking time someone is scheduled to come to this house, I hurry up and try to get ready before they arrive, only to have them show up early, when I just got out of a bath and have a towel on my head. Now I don't need to look pretty for these people by any stretch of the imagination. But is NOT HAVING a towel on my head a priority....hmmm...YES DAMN IT. This usually leads to me saying something stupid and redundant such as, "Hm, your early and I have a towel on my head, come on in."
There is also a new game in my life. It's called, Will Kristie get to take a nap today? I've not won yet. Logically, there should be a success rate to this. I should prevail occasionally, even if it were just 5% of the time. BUT NO. I've tried attempting this at different times of the day even. It never matters. I always lose. I think there is a universal clock out there that keeps tabs on me, the moment I start to fall asleep it sounds a silent subconcious alarm for my phone to ring, not once...but several times. Now when I give up sleep, and start stumbling around irritated and defeated, it won't ring again. Clever phone, just know i'm onto you.
Bah, I have things to do.
On Friday, August 25, 2006 at 10:34 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Ah, not a terrible amount of time ago, I spent a good week not being able to see out of my contact lenses properly. I spent this time with raging, uncontrollable headaches. Not being able to function in any sort of fashion. Work was shit, driving was awful, curling up with a good book...that was not fucking happening. I call the eye doctor and naturally they don't have my lenses on hand. But, they will call me when they get them in. (And I watch hell slowly freeze over). They somehow sucker me into another appointment, which I believe I need due to the fact that I CAN'T FUCKING SEE, but they can't get me in until the end of this month. (Alot of good this is all doing me right now). I try wearing my glasses, and they make me just as miserable. I do not like things touching my face, it tends to give me a headache just as horrid.
At work one night I have some sort of deranged ephiphany. What if I put them in the wrong eyes? I couldn't believe it took me so long to think of that, OR that I could be so absolutely fucking STUPID to ever pull a moronic stunt like that off. But, I figure i'll check when I get home anyway, no harm in that.
I get home, run in my bathroom and stand in front of the mirror to swap them around. Open one eye slowly, half hoping I still can't see, so I don't have to admit that I am a fucking idiot. But, the thing is...I can see. I think it's a fluke and open my other eye. Again...my vision is perfect. Right, I know i've been busy, not to mention having more things on my mind than I ever possibly had. But that...is...very...VERY...fucking...sad.
On Tuesday, August 15, 2006 at 09:10 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Ok. It's another new phone post. Right, I couldn't pass this one up. The LG Fusic 550 from Sprint. I have never been so astounded by a phones features, or as irritated by...well, i'll get to that.
First off, this phone does everything. Built in FM transmitter, animated wallpaper, mp3 playback, bluetooth capability, micro sd card slot, power vision capable, downloadable themes, changable faceplates, 1.3mp camera, not to mention the keypad lights up like a interplanetary ufo control panel, and I can make my own professional sounding ringtones off of my mp3 collection. Besides it looks sooooooooo damn ipodish I want to squeal. Look at IT...it's beautiful.
Now onto things that PISS ME OFF.
Fusic #1: I had you less than 24 hours and the glue loosened on your external LCD display. MmmHmm it was falling off. Dust immediately gathered under it, making it look like grade A fuck. I paid over 300 dollars for a phone to come apart without ever having any kind of physical abuse. If you know me personally, you know that if I even get a scratch on a phone my life is pretty much ruined, I baby the damn things. Anyway, all is fixable though...seeing as it was defective I had a new one on the way to swap it out with.
Fusic #2: It's almost been a day with it, the LCD is still secure. However, the software is excessively glitchy. You wouldn't think really that phones would develop a personality of their own, as they are new out of the box and loaded with the same fucking software. Ohhh but they doooo! I can deal with some of it's lesser issues, but the one that really bothers me is that I CANNOT set my own ringer to messaging services. That's right...I have to use what it WANTS ME TO USE. Now, I am very phone literate. I've done two system resets on the phone and it won't correct the problem, toggled every relevant setting, and I sure as FUCK know how to set it up right in the first place. My other one worked just peachy, minus the fact of the poor construction. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM PHONE?! WHY ARE YOU STUPID!? I'm not fucking returning another one to the store I work at, unless it's buttons fly off and try to choke me in my sleep. Instead I will be a patient monkey...and wait for the first firmware upgrade to be released. Hell may freeze over first, but I remain vigilant. If it continues to do it after it's updated, then i'll drive to a damn sprint store, which is of course over an hour and a half away, and utilize my insurance for a replacement.
All in all I recommend this phone, I'm certainly not about to give it up... even if it is possessed by some sort of fucking gremlin plague.
On Friday, July 21, 2006 at 07:31 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I miss 24.
Since I haven't written anything in awhile, I would like to discuss something fairly important. Really ugly lawn ornaments. Please for the love of fuck spare my eyes this monstrosity every day to and from work. I try to NOT look, but it's often so horrific that I don't have much of a real choice in the matter. I generally pay an absorbant amount of attention to my surroundings while i'm driving. So you see, this is where the no choice factor weighs in...
House number 1: Two story wooden home. Fairly maintained, absolutely gigantic wooden porch. WITH TWO FUCKING WOODEN GIRAFFES STUCK TO EITHER SIDE OF IT. OMFG WHAT ARE YOU THINKING! I'm betting money that they never even left Pennsylvania, let alone went to Africa. Maybe if they were tasteful giraffes I could say..hmmm..ok I can understand THAT. But these things look like they had been horded in a basement for 30 some odd years...hell they don't even really look exceptionally LIKE giraffes anymore, for all I know they could be some ill painted long necked horse. You live in the woods, if a polar shift should happen and giraffes become a native animal to our country, let's fucking consider it then.
House number 2: A beautiful brick home that is situated next to the house I grew up in. I used to visit my neighbor there, and even though I was very young...I can still remember she had taste. Well whoever the new home owner is, keeps everything tidy and has this adorable little garden in the front of the home...lined with pink flamingos. FUCKING HELL, they are not even a light pink...these BLIND me. It's not like one or two either, my guess would be around 27. 27 small flourescent pink flamigos performing some sort of dancing ritualistic MIND FUCK around a pretty little garden. Let me not forget the two life size pink flamigos offset to the side of them. I can almost feel my stomach begin to twitch. I want to call up and make sure this family has a television, that way they can hopefully catch a show where people make fun... OF people with pink flamingos.
House number 3: I am certain if anyone stared at this one full in the face, sooner or later their eyes would start to bleed. I'm scared of this house. Trailerish, bright blue - the color of berries in Runts candy. I can live with that though. However, this next part I can't. Three five foot cactus made of wood stand in this yard, crammed...OH YES, CRAMMED I say, with a smattering of FUCKING garden gnomes and cheap PLASTIC flowers in between them. ONE, THEY HAVE NO FUCKING GARDEN, so WHY do you have those ugly fucking gnomes?? FUCK, WHY DO YOU HAVE WOODEN CACTUS!? AND WHY THE FUCK CAN'T YOU GET REAL FLOWERS, I'd even like to see ones that remotely look real, instead of lime green, pink and yellow plastic petals, on that beautiful metal fucking STEM. If anyone should ever find a direct corelation between cactus, gnomes and fake flowers, please help me understand, as my brain is trying to jump out of my skull. You actually spent money on this. Your life should hopefully contain a major evaluation in the near future. Your poor neighbors, dear god what they must endure. Be ashamed.
On Tuesday, May 30, 2006 at 09:09 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
What is this?!
An actual post? In just nearly a three month timespan! I could actually write alot at the moment. I don't think my mind will let me go into that though. So instead, I post new toys, NOW.
Ah, but this time I actually sold some of my -slightly used for a brief time- "old" phones to get them. Goodbye my beautiful Samsung A900 Blade and Sanyo mm-8300, you will be missed. However that first image posted was so expensive that my brain wants to go into a consistant state of shock. SOOOoooo, if you know anyone who needs a flawless 3 month old Blackberry 7290, or a T-mobile Sidekick II in mint condition...help me.
On Wednesday, May 3, 2006 at 08:24 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Today I got coffee in my eye. Yes I know how impressive that seems, don't hide your jealousy. However, no matter how impressive it truly is, I have come to the conclusion that...
it really hurts when that happens.
On Friday, February 17, 2006 at 09:28 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I made this!
Seriously, this led sign is on some Canadian guys wall, updated in real time. You want to check it out, oh yes you do.
Here is the URL for his site:
(It's early, I can't be bothered to make it a link.) I hope it wastes as much of your time as it has mine.
On Tuesday, February 14, 2006 at 10:08 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
On Wednesday, February 8, 2006 at 10:18 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Why.....must groundhog day be approaching.
Tomorrow morning, not more than a short drive away from my home, thousands of people will be freezing their asses off, standing in the cold, shivering after traveling many miles, some flying across the ocean........to watch.......a groundhog. Ahhhh, yes. Now I know you are thinking, "I am so jealous that you are so close to that amazing event! That splendid day when that EXTRAORDINARY GROUNDHOG PREDICTS if there will be six more weeks of winter!!!!" I hope it pee's on the guy holding it again this year. We do not own a psychic groundhog, give up any dillusions you may have. In fact it's ugly, and I don't like it much. Thank god I have the day off from work in that town. I don't expect that I will be free from torture, every damn person in town will be talking about if the groundhog seen it's shadow or not. This will lead me to extreme voilence, my body cringing from the inside out when those cursed words leave their lips. Much swearing will ensue, and it will get rather iffy on whether they will leave my presence without having bodily harm inflicted on them.
Have I ever been there you ask? To the festival of an oversized rat? Well I have lived in this area most of my life. Know how many times I went? One. That was one time too fucking much. I didn't want to be there, was forced to go, and ohhhh yes I was very, very mean. Then everyone gave up because I ruined their night and we left, 35 minutes after we got there. Ahhh yes, I smile...now ;) So, in all reality...i've never had to spend enough time there to bear witness to it's idiocy. I am certainly proud.
On Wednesday, February 1, 2006 at 11:34 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I have these presumptions that I can change almost anything.
In a way it could be considered a dillusion.
In another way, I like the dillusion better than reality.
On Sunday, January 29, 2006 at 10:12 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
On another note...
I've been meaning to add this on here. I've had a photo/video blog for about a month now. Visit it at:
On Saturday, January 28, 2006 at 11:36 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I do believe I need...
- a longer spoon to stir coffee with
- a less violent personality
- every episode of The Tick
On Friday, January 20, 2006 at 10:58 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
We're going to eat a dolphin!
I turn thirty in about a half hour. How the hell did that sneak up on me? Damn you age whores! Damn you to the merciless depths of hell!!! I feel like that is what I should be saying. But, really though... I don't care. It's another year. I've been telling people i'm thirty anyway for the past year or so. Just examining the way it rolled off of my tounge, seeing if it changed any sort of subliminal mentally lurking somewhere in my mind. It didn't, in fact I think it only made me more compliant with the fact that hellooooo, I have no choice so who gives a shit. Kind of makes me feel all fuzzy.
On Tuesday, January 17, 2006 at 11:26 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
This is not strength. It is survival.
I hate Christmas. I hate that this is the second one I have had to go through since I lost my parents. I hate that sometimes I block it out, that I want to come home and tell them about who I bumped into, share my day with them and hear about theirs. In that split second of thought I feel peace, thinking that I actually can. And a split second later I drive my fist into anything next to me, tears welling up in my eyes, fighting to regain a normal breathing pattern. How can my mind fool me like that? How can my subconcious provide such a whole-hearted attack on what is real, and what can never be again.
I had a dream last week, where I was sitting at my dining room table paging through a photo album. I turned the page and my father's picture was there. In the dream I cried for forever, and when I woke up...I was still crying. It's like this every day. There hasn't been one day that has gone by where I haven't cried. No, I never miss a beat. And no, no one will ever see it.
People look at me different when they find out who I am. The way they look at me makes me sick inside. I hear them fine tune their tone and whisper, "I am so sorry." Well you know what? I am fucking sorry too. Because I didn't ask for any of this. And I sure as fuck didn't want it to happen. So they move on and whisper to other people who knew my parents that they seen me. They talk about how horrible what happened is. They say that they don't know if they could be as strong. Don't look back. Go to hell.
On Wednesday, December 14, 2005 at 08:06 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
When The Winter Comes.
I hate winter. I hate spending a little over an hour driving when it should only take me fifteen minutes to get home. I hate not being able to see 15 feet in front of me. And, I hate the way my entire body tenses up and shakes from the inside out...I should be focusing...I should not panic...
Then the eerie calm sets in, where I accept that I have to be on the roads. In a split second my body relaxes as I pour myself into seeing only what I need to see. It makes me feel confident. It makes me forget.
That never lasts long.
On Thursday, December 8, 2005 at 11:11 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
And I wish.
A single light still shines at night to speak your name,
and the miles go by like years on this old road.
And though i'm tired I cannot stop to rest my eyes,
for the wheels that turn like time.
In my mind you're always somewhere just ahead,
looking back to all the words I left unsaid,
as the miles go by in silence,
all the while, I feel your presence at my side.
No need for words.
Time moves on.
If in the end there is something more.
All this will seem strange and small.
Hope in the end there is something more.
bella morte - many miles
On Sunday, December 4, 2005 at 09:34 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Things that are on my mind.
I want my new phone. I want my new phone. I want my new phone. I want my new phone. I want my new phone. I want to fall asleep right now and sleep in tomorrow just because it will be just another step closer to having my new phone. I better get it Monday you bastards. Why am I so obsessed? I don't know, and don't really care. I need it, like air or something. It's shiny...high end...and overall a major necessity. 2.0 megapixel camera and camcorder, swivel head display, bluetooth capable, mini sd card slot, power vision capable, stereo speakers, and it has outer buttons. I have read so much about it that I know how to use every feature even before i've had it in my destructive little hands. I will be stalking delivery drivers everywhere. I doubt if i'm off work and one shows up that he will even make it to my door without me running across the street screaming. Please. Samsung MM-A940. Mine. Now.
On Saturday, December 3, 2005 at 11:20 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I feel so less stressed lately. Not to say that I don't have stress, but compared to how I have been it's quite a change. I can't say it will last, and don't get me wrong, i'm still the same miserable ass I have been. But there is this slight weight that has lifted off my shoulders, and that has made things a little easier. It has turned me away from being the tense rioting bitch, whose neck always felt as if it were going to break from the pressure...who would grab anything in sight and throw it across the room, screaming and swearing. Voilence, I always have been used to feeling it, but showing it...now that was crossing the line.
Anyway, I need to go and ponder why my one kitten sounds like a raptor from jurassic park and then i'm going to go shoot things in video games...because oh yes....I have fucking dsl back.
On Friday, December 2, 2005 at 07:33 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Time has gone by so quickly. I'm in the new house and I love it here. The house I lived in before scared me, to the point where I would cry myself to sleep at night with my head tucked under a blanket. I feel comfortable here. Relaxed. Well, as relaxed as I can humanly let myself be. I love everything, even the work that needs to be put into it. Just because I know what it will be, and that is beautiful.
No more rent, no more $700 heating bills every month in the winter. No more not being able to keep up with the heating bills in that drafty bastard house because I am a stubborn ass who would rather tough it out rather than live comfortably. Looking back...what the fuck was I thinking? A few people out there know what I did to make the no heat aspect work for me. I'm still convinced it gave me more character.
So i'm back online, sort of. Using dial-up until my dsl is hooked up on the second. I miss Xbox Live. I miss actually loading up web pages. I miss not sitting here with clenched fists, squinting at my screen in determination wanting to strangle the living fuck out of the pathetic connection wavering to and from my modem.
Well I need to get ready for work.
On Monday, November 28, 2005 at 09:18 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
1 Reason Why...
There are probably a million reasons why I can't stand myself. And I don't have the time or patience to list them all. I am non-functional. That's the big reason, the one that pops into my mind first and foremost and doesn't really leave...ever. There are a multitude of reasons that put me in that state. List after list of things that need accomplished, run through my mind on a consistant basis. The lists keep growing, and nothing is getting done. It's the pressure of doing said things that leaves me curled up and hiding on my couch for a 12 hour stretch. Then the next morning when I realize I could have gotten something actually done, I attack myself mentally, physically..anyway possible over it. I am tired. Tired of my mind running in so many directions, tired of the way I live my life, of the little hang-ups that aren't so little anymore. I look worn down, I don't feel like myself...everything is just wrong. Every night I have been waking up at 3 am like clockwork. I need a good night's sleep. I need help, but help is just one more thing I feel pressured by.
On Friday, September 2, 2005 at 11:03 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
It will not be the 400 dollar fleeting toy of the moment, the ones that sit on my shelf, barely used and insignificant. The ones that only matter in my mind until I have them. After that they are meaningless, only interesting at periodic moments. That is, until the guilt sets in that make me feel like a fuck-up for even buying these things in the first place.
This however is the shelf, the room, and the walls. The dreams of floor to ceiling bookshelves and polished hardwood floors. A home to call my own that I won't have to move from...it is finally happening, and it will be beautiful. I won't have to move. Just saying that changes everything. All my life I have been moving from one place to another. Never wanting to fix a place up and make it 100% my own, because I knew I would never own it. I will do things right. I will do them because is this my last chance...my only chance. I almost feel changed inside because of it. That shocking realization, that this is really happening brings absolute tears to my eyes.
I needed something to change. I haven't been doing well at all lately. And while I still may not be fully functional, this brought me closer toward stability. The amount of problems I usually have going on in my mind always outweigh the good. Before I got that phone call from my uncle, the one where I heard him say, "Kristie, you got the house." I was teetering on the edge, flying off the handle. Stress making my neck so tense it felt like snapping, my body recoiling as memories hit me over and over again.
I need to finish this some other time, two hours of sleep last night is making the screen dance in front of my eyes.
On Monday, August 29, 2005 at 11:02 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
On Thursday, August 11, 2005 at 10:19 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Before I leave...
And because I really have no time to be posting this...
This is to haunt anyone who has already received it. It will never go away. Yes, yes...I know you are thinking, wow that is amazingly creative! Thank you in advance.
On Thursday, July 21, 2005 at 10:13 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Stress levels go away? NO. Though I do feel a touch less melodramatic this morning...um, yes...just a touch. A little less tension in my neck, insane outbursts have faded. Why? I'll be damned if I know, but i'll take it. Maybe it's because I am eating well. Maybe it's because I got a shiny new car that four hours off the lot someone ass ended me in. BUT I WON'T THINK ABOUT THAT, because it will be re-painted next week out of his pocket. Maybe I had some sudden realization in a dream that made my life a little easier, which I can't seem to recall happening...you never know though.
Other things that have been going on that I haven't talked about on here...that little baby kitten I wanted to keep didn't make it, which entirely broke my heart. There are two left, I am currently offering the little black and white one. Please take it when it's old enough...it's special and likes to spit at you and give you shitty looks when you pick it up. Quite a brilliant personality! In fact it kind of has a personality like me. Which isn't always a good thing, but i'll pretend it is. They have had their eyes open for awhile now, it has to be the cutest thing in the world.
Ok, I have to go do stuff now...i'll finish this at some point.
On Thursday, July 21, 2005 at 08:57 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I have been projecting an enormous amount of outrage. It is uncontrollable. One moment I will be fine, the next I am cracking, breaking into tears...moments later, I will laugh again. Everything is tedious, from waking up in the morning, to communication. It's not getting any easier. As each day goes by, it gets worse. It becomes increasingly difficult to bite my tounge. If someone even looks at me wrong, they are blatently fucked. I have acted ways I never thought I would let anyone see me act in. I always have had a grasp on suppression of my emotions when I am around others. That is generally why people at first always think I am happy. It is because I want them to think it, because I want to BELIEVE that I am. When I walk into a room full of lesser known people I am an act, I am compliant and carefree. When I am around those who truly know and care about me, I am real to a fault. I have ended up truly driving people mad, pushing people away, freaking people out, because they couldn't understand where I come from on anything. And when I say anything, I mean ANYTHING. I suppose that is how you know when you have monumental people in your life, because through years of bullshit and frightening conversation, they have always been there.
My head is pounding, my neck screams with tension, I feel like I am going to explode...well fuck, it looks like my day is just beginning.
On Sunday, July 17, 2005 at 09:43 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Some days are so fucking overwhelming, that it even shocks me how frequent my mental breakdowns can become. Lately I am so fed up with numerous things, that I become an irrational disaster. My mood fluctuations are so staggering that I cannot even determine how I will feel one minute to the next. Things need to change in my life, and they need to change fast. The state my mind has been in is becoming constant. I am becoming destructive to myself both mentally and physically. Today was one of those times where I couldn't hide it, I could not keep my emotions in check. And now I lay here feeling exhausted, humiliated because of it. All I want to say is, thank you. To everyone who is there for me and brings me back a part of myself. I see everything you do. Hear every word you say, and it all touches me deeply. Everything is appreciated, even if I cannot find the words to express how much, from the most subtle of things, truly do help.
On Friday, July 15, 2005 at 11:29 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
On the ninth of this month it was exactly one year since my mother passed away. I didn't cope with it well, in fact I didn't cope at all. I was a disaster, I couldn't make it through work because I couldn't concentrate, I couldn't concentrate because I was having a mental breakdown. I have wanted to write about it but really couldn't bring myself to, it was getting to the point where it was causing me excessive amounts of pain even to try and explain how I felt.
But this morning I had the most amazing dream. My dreams are always vivid, but this one put me in a place that felt real in both my mind and my heart...it touched my soul. The dream literally took me back in time. I could hear her voice again, I could see her face. I could feel her touch my hand. The things I miss most of all, the things I wished for in the past year, all came to me...and they came true.
On Tuesday, July 12, 2005 at 11:18 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Things that came out of my cat.
My poor, poor cat. She gave me these presents just a matter of days ago. Note the runt of the litter that is half the size of the other two, and also shown in the first picture. She is soooo mine! The other two, when they are old enough, are going to be given away to good homes, PLEASE TAKE ONE IF I KNOW YOU AND YOU LIVE CLOSE TO ME. I will beg until I get results. It will not cease. I promise I will even name it something greek. Please, I don't want to be a cat lady. Thank you.
On Tuesday, July 12, 2005 at 10:12 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I found this today online. I am quite surprised that I never came across it before, even heard mention about it. I can't stop staring at it, I can't stop thinking about it. It has enveloped me on an entirely new level, put everything into a perspective that I had vividly imagined before, but never could see with my own eyes.
This is the Earth, four billion miles away in a picture taken by Voyager.
"The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors, so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light." - Carl Sagan
On Sunday, July 10, 2005 at 09:45 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Things I Will Do Today.
- Carefully avoid the place on my living room floor that I killed a mosquito. Even if I cleaned it up I can't step there again until I am sure all remnants of it are gone.
- Carefully avoid the place on my living room floor that I beat the hell out of a spider with a broom. He actually stuck on the broom and I tossed him into the garbage. Not that it matters, that was two weeks ago...
- Realize that I have a severe phobia of stepping anywhere I ever have killed a bug.
- Get a haircut and have my hair professionally dyed. Do I want me some bright red with black streaks in it. Oh Yesssssss I dooooooooo! Can I afford bright red with black streaks in it? Fuck. Probably not. Will I do it anyway? It's quite possible. Meaning of course....yes.
- Trade some of the Nintendo DS games that I never play in order to get Goldeneye: Rogue Agent for said system. I MUST HAVE YOU GAME!
- Play Goldeneye while getting my hair done while trying not to make gaming combat noises, or worse trying not to scream, "Fuck YOU WHORES QUIT SHOOTING ME IN THE FUCKING HEAD!" That will scare the hairstylist. That will be bad.
- End up scaring the hairstylist anyway. I don't have to be psychic. I know myself well.
- Clean my house. The horror.
- Pace around uncontrollably for hours on end in anticipation.
- Get a call from Ted...not answer it and feel bad.
- Screammmmmmmmmm because I am going on an exciting trip!
Things I have done so far today
- Played video games.
- Swore alot at them.
- Watched a few episodes of 24.
- Stared in awe at their gadgetry.
- Cleaned my downstairs bathroom and kitchen. :|
- Got my freezing cold shower of the morning.
- Swore alot.
- Ate some cereal out of a box.
I feel so productive.
On Friday, July 1, 2005 at 10:47 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Last week I walked into my morning coffee stop. As I stood there separating sugar packets into six and pouring them in my coffee, a man stood next to me making his own. I looked over and gave the complimentary smile. But I don't know what made me look over again. I never do a double take on a person, he was worn down wearing a dirty flannel, at least three days unshaven, you could tell he was on his way to a job where he knew he would get dirty so it didn't matter. What does matter, when I did look over again, he did too. And what he said truly impacted me. He said, "Joyce was your mother wasn't she?" Before I even said yes, he told me how much I looked like her. It turns out this man knew both my mother and father, the last time he seen me was when I was about seven, blonde hair flying as I ran through his father's house playing with his little brother. His little brother died, he shot himself and left behind a beautiful wife and son. I know this because I still talk to his dad. He owns a gun shop that I pass on my way to work, he stops in to see me where I work, he is about the age of my dad, and has the most amazing kind eyes, and is always trying to get me to go for a ride on his motorcycle, I always listen to him talk about all of the good times he and my father shared.
But when he said that to me, standing there in the middle of a swarm of people, it melted my heart. It made me proud, it made me shake from the inside out because I miss them so much. How someone who hasn't seen me for 11 years, just knew. When I got to my car I cried.
On Thursday, June 30, 2005 at 08:24 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Strange dreams last night, yet kind of liberating...in a sick, twisted parody of the television show 24 kind of way. I am enveloped in an unending marathon of it. It's impossible to tear myself away, more powerful than that craving for a large coffee in the morning, than the nicotene rush of the first cigarrette of the day. I just plainly need it. And if it infiltrates my dreams, hell, I always wanted to be more tactical anyway. Maybe i'll learn something new and exciting.
I hate this time of year. All of the bugs, huge moths...each one makes me cringe as it becomes scattered powder and blood on my windshield. This is the reason I drive with my windows up, and also the reason I will never, ever, own a fucking convertable.
A few nights ago I stopped at my uncle's house on the way home from work. He invited me into a neighbors house to look at it. She passed away almost a month ago, he is the one who found her. It amazed me when I walked in, how everything was still perfectly in place. You could almost feel her there. The air even felt sweet and kind, you could breathe her in with every breath. Everything was so delicate, with religious symbols perfectly positioned on every wall. You could tell she had such an unflawed profound belief. Maybe I found it beautiful just because it showed me someone out there still had belief in something...or maybe I know people still have belief, i'm just not used to seeing it, accepting it. He told me about her as we walked through the house. How she never drove a day in her life, how she liked her lawn teeming with perfection. Alot of the rest of her life I could just know by looking around. An avid reader, first editions stacked on shelves in the living room. The bathroom, it shook my mind, reminded me of vintage 30's. Even the look of her hairbrush and make-up sitting scattered in front of her large oval mirror seemed perfectly placed to take me back in a time I could never see with my own eyes. That small intricately molded metal stool in front of it, pulled slightly out from the last time she sat there...
...her home just felt like magic.
On Friday, June 24, 2005 at 10:23 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
An Inundation of Stress.
The past couple of days have taken their toll on me. I cannot handle stress, though that being said...it seems I am the one who creates at least 99.8 percent of it in my own life. I ended up sleeping most of yesterday, just to pacify the thoughts in my head, those thoughts have turned caustic, they twist around until my body literally trembles. Don't get me wrong, I really am happy. It is just when I am forced to deal with numerous unpleasant things in the span of 48 hours, I tend to loose myself.
In the past 48 hours my gas got turned off in my home, I hate my gas company, I also hate that I forget to pay it. How is it that I can remember all those other bills and not that fucking one. I wouldn't even care about the gas if it didn't heat my WATER. I can deal with not cooking, I live out of a microwave and fast food restaurants anyway. I can't deal with my refridgerator not working anymore however, it just needs recharged probably, simple to fix...but I refuse to do it. Instead, I beat the ever loving shit out of it yesterday. Anyway, I rely on a hot bath at the end of the night, and a steaming hot shower when I wake up in the morning. Not having that makes me unbearable. Washing my hair under cold water in a sink because I am much to proud to go 2 minutes up the street and shower at one of my family members homes because I can't afford to pay my gas bill seeing as I just spent $500 on a new cell phone, well that...just makes me livid. Fuck you priority, and fuck the fact that I have no concept of you.
I have had to deal with sending out death certificates to insurance claims. There is nothing quite worse to me than holding two sheets of delicate ridged paper in my hands, looking at the names of my mother and father, seeing their lives and deaths summed up in simple shortworded phrases. And when I hold them in my hands I feel like I am holding a life, a death...and everything becomes different, I become just a tad fucking fragile. And I ask myself, why did I analyze them? I could have folded them neatly into an envelope and sealed it without blinking an eye. But instead, I sat legs bent underneath me on the floor...performing a high end analyzaton by reading them over and over again. It was more than frightening. It was resounding fucking terror.
Not to mention the other things, which of course i'm not going to mention. Time to finish getting ready for work.
On Wednesday, June 22, 2005 at 11:32 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
No, I haven't died.
It's been too long since I have written on here. I am at that point where there is just so much to say that it gets tangled. I can find a million ways to express myself, and a million ways not to. Trouble being, I stand at the middle ground, the place where it is seemingly impossible to express something that shows such perfection. Something that is so life changing, often doesn't have words.
On Monday, June 20, 2005 at 03:14 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I don't know what inspired writing what i'm about to write, but what the hell. I do however know that there are more than a fair share of people that I, in one of my many infamous ways pissed off, that still read this. So you still read my babble and we still don't talk. I'm kind of bored with the not talking and I miss quite a few of you. So write to me and let me know i'm not pulling strange IP addresses out of my ass.
You were my friends, and while I never even met mostly all of you...that is beside the damn point. The hours of conversation was delightful, maniacal...often lunatic. And I appreciated every word.
I leave this post with more dots....
and my email address...firstname.lastname@example.org
you know...in case you threw it away :)
and you also know this is my way of apologizing.
On Wednesday, May 4, 2005 at 11:02 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I have waited alot of years for that sparkling green bottle of Chartruese. The yellow is perfection, it left me sticky sweet with the taste of a hundred herbs on my lips. It made me believe that magic, really does have a taste.
The green, a hint of the same, only much stronger. It sears my throat as it goes down, a peppery blend that burns raw. Inside that bottle, it is a maddened scream, unexpected and forceful. Everything you have ever wished for and never wanted, all at the same time.
On Saturday, April 30, 2005 at 06:17 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
An angel through music.
Sometimes there is something I hear that is so beautiful, it leaves me crying, it leaves my heart aching. He can carry me to anyplace but here. Thank you.
Where I can't post the infliction and meaning in the voice itself, I can post the words. Read them slowly, they wouldn't be here if they didn't matter.
Before me plays the endless film
Relentless splinters I recall
Each living thing breathes life
Only sentiment remains
To liquid born, from patterns formed
The sand descends with blind intent
Where the river takes me will in time be revealed
I cannot turn my feelings down
Beyond my means to turn my thoughts around
Expressed in every word I will ever speak
Brighter than all the stars combined
More than the waters, Earth, and sky
All that I wish and all that I dream
Above the waves with my hands raised
Dare the wind, lay claim to me
Knowing somehow none could take me
Watching the sun come up in vain
The only reason I can find why I remained
The need to leave the point I came to again and again
It didn't matter how hard I tried
It took so long to claim that I knew how
Or what it meant to let go of this
To ever say goodbye
Call it destiny, call it fate
Chose my direction: Running forward
Each life to learn anew, whatever may come
No creed on Earth can replace or provide
In my darkest hour, the comfort I'd feel
Leading me to see I can be more than I expect of me
My beginning and my end
The first and last air that I breathe
More than the sum of everything that I will ever be
VnV Nation "Arena"
On Tuesday, April 26, 2005 at 03:26 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
stories of the 30.
Yesterday was an interesting day. A day that starts out with the same stressful monotony I usually feel, which is to say...normal. I run out of the house in a hurry, after spending too much time getting ready, and not enough time paying attention to the clock on the wall...that is still set one hour behind the actual time. I figure by the time daylight savings time rolls around again the battery in it will die and then I won't have to worry about time at all.
I stop at my usual spot to get coffee, cookies, candy...my usual breakfast, chat with the one lady who works there. She tells me how she is going to bring in her artwork for me to see. Now this lady loves me, why I really can't tell. But fine, ok. She is pretty damn cool herself, and fun to talk to.
The day is going well, nothing is phasing me. I feel calm and collected, and very hyper because of the caffine. I get to work early and start with my usual business. As I am doing paperwork I finish off my coffee and 3 sugary cookies...open up and start the day. I am fine, yet feeling like running a marathon...all is well.
Standing there re-organizing a wall, making sure everything is right and proper....I start getting dizzy. Dizzy is an understatement. The world is spinning around me. My body starts shaking voilently, chills and aches pass their way from head to feet. I look over to my co-worker, tell him as best I can that I am not well. And he tells me to go into the back and rest, he has everything covered. I twist my way back there, and spend the next 10 minutes with my head over a toilet. So my question is...am I throwing up because I'm not as cool and collected as I think I am, did I just get sick from the food and coffee, or maybe it's one of those experimental flu's that last half an hour. Because after that, all was right again. Hopefully it was food poisioning.
On Monday, April 25, 2005 at 11:44 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I have been thinking alot lately, about who I am inside, my little quirks, my irrational need to create problem after problem. And since I have been thinking, I have determined that there is nothing I can do about it...it's just the way I am.
I will always wake up in the morning, go for that large coffee and spend the next five hours running around uncontrollably. Each and every time it will push panic through me, the caffine storming through my system making me short of breath, my mind shattered and clear at the same instant.
I will often for no explanation, just disappear. A moment triggers inside of me, and it will change my mind about things in an instant. I will not let anyone in on it, even if it involves them. Instead, I just hide.
I hate hearing a knock on my door from anyone unexpected. If someone shows up, they will not be let in, and I will not care who it was. I will sit in a room hidden with curtains and I will have an adrenaline rush because of this, listening to my heart pound, feeling it trying to escape my chest.
And sometimes I will have problems distinguishing between dreams and reality. I will swear upon conversations that never really happened. Actions that never existed. Like how right now, I am sure I wrote this before, but I couldn't have...could I? Is it a problem when your dreams become so vivid that they can mimic everyday occurance? I think it is, but I can't really say it bothers me. It just leads me into a mindfuck all in it's own, where I run myself in circles trying to figure out what is real...and what is not.
I've been happy lately, despite anything above. Happy in all of the ways I can be. I think I just had an abundance of shit thrown at me at once, and even though alot of that said "shit" is still happening...I feel like the eye of a storm, everything is just peaceful there.
I think I will start writing on here about the parts of my life that I never talk about. I always hold back alot of myself from this place. This seems like a good idea at the moment, but tomorrow may seize me back into how I always have been. Maybe i'll test the waters, maybe I won't...
On Sunday, April 24, 2005 at 08:55 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Curling up with Chaucer can take me to another world, and Whitman...you bring me to the most euphoric state that I have ever felt in my life, so beautiful it takes my breath away...leaves me awestruck and standing numb, like nothing I could ever say would compare. No thought I have, would be as radiating. It is like when you stop to think about infinity...a universe that is infinate. Compared to that, what do we really amount to? Positively, a fraction of nothing.
On Wednesday, April 13, 2005 at 01:43 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
It is strange to think, that to some people I am only a memory. Not one to ever be seen or heard from again. A flicker in time burnt out for any of the consistant reasons. But I am still here, invisible and left to the best of their imaginations.
On Wednesday, April 13, 2005 at 01:41 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
This has a story dealing with last week to go with it, which I am not going to write, because if I would write it, you would understand why i'm not going to. :)
I have met strangers that I know I will never leave my mind
If I would never see them again,
Their impression compromised my meaning.
On Wednesday, April 13, 2005 at 01:35 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
You just have to say fuck it, and let out what you have been writing and not posting...so here it goes.
On Wednesday, April 13, 2005 at 01:22 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I've got the tacos now all I need is...
I was going to write something awe inspiring. Instead I shall run out and purchase Doom 3 collector's edition. Yes, precious Doom you will be mine. I can only assume that my friends with Xbox Live will be doing the same...and with that said, in a note to you all...OMG OMG OMG PLAY MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, sleep is not important, neither is food or going outside...
Yes, I am dancing around like a little girl at Christmas, heart pounding with a crazy look in my eyes. All the delays in it's arrival only made me want it MORE. Right, I'm wasting PRECIOUS time...
...transmission complete...gunning down scary brilliant shit in a video game....commences...
On Monday, April 4, 2005 at 10:02 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Driving the interstate I notice an increasing amount of televisions in vehicles. On an average drive I see a bare minimum of 3, maximum of 5. This is often very late, nearing midnight, when traffic is damn low. Now where most of these cars have NO children in them, it irritates the living piss out of me. I don't even have cable! Right, well that happens if you don't care, are never home anyway, and "forget" to pay your bill for months...besides the only withdrawl symptoms I have from it are not being able to watch The Office. A show I am addicted to, but never got to see yet. I live without TV, and I find it pleasant. I spend my time at home reading, watching an occasional movie, gaming, and most importantly, shopping online for robots. I sure as hell do not need to watch movies in my car, while I should BE DRIVING. Shit, I have ADD bad enough that I rarely look at the road anyway. I do understand that my vent is going nowhere, and I don't care.
I also want to thank someone. This is to Ted, who will never read this because he doesn't know it exists. He was a friend of my fathers for as far back as I can remember. I would also more than consider him my friend. He always helped me in any way he could. And I always noticed. When I was a little girl my dad brought me to his house. I never forgot that trip there. His fireplace created out of fossils, trilobites, birds, he travelled and collected these himself...I sat facing that fireplace for hours in awe while they talked, wanting to touch all of them in utter fascination, never getting up because I didn't want to seem rude. He is always in my mind like Indiana Jones, full of adventure, grand tales of travel, gold hunts, archaeology. I am fascinated by him, and I have loved him as a friend since that first day I met him over 22 years ago. He has helped me recently, both he and his wife. I feel emotionally uplifted, and legally triumphant. This has alot to do with a prior post I made, one about the executor of my father's will. The man ripped away all of my father's possessions, putting money into his pocket and a $3500 price tag on what was there. What is missing is more than I would make in 6 years, and I make pretty damn good money. Fuck the money, i'm not in it for that, i'm in it to stomp his betraying ass into the ground. The lawyer that Ted and his wife contacted, a friend of theirs, enlightened me. All possessions will be returned. And my executor is going to be hurting. I hope he spent what he pocketed. Because he WILL have to pay those people back :) A low $3500 is NOT what he will be worrying about. The man just opened up his worst fucking fear. Getting caught. I'll be rightfully amazed if he doesn't get a jail term. AND HERE is where I smile. Thank you again, both of you.
Ted called me out of the blue a week and a half ago, not because he wanted anything, he just wanted to know if I was ok, he wanted to talk, telling me he misses my father. When I told him what was going on he was outraged. He didn't even let me know he was contacting anyone, he just did it. That filled me up with alot of light, made my breath hitch because it was so beautiful. If I ran the Vatican, the man would be a saint.
On Friday, March 25, 2005 at 10:18 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
My eyes have always been open.
Some days when I wake up I feel so full of spirit. Everything becomes beautiful. The bitter chill to the air outside is a blessing. I appreciate everything I see, the world looks like magic, it can almost bring tears to my eyes...sometimes it does.
Other days I feel a pin-prickle sensation crawling it's way through my body. It makes the air around me turn electric, I taste copper. I wonder if a person standing next to me could feel it, before I even say a word.
Thankfully today is beautiful to me. I have a huge task to complete, and I should be feeling the latter. I have every right to it. But if I let it get to me, the calmness of questions turns into a shouting match. Nothing gets accomplished, and I chance loss. I will keep calm. By being both subtle and direct say what I need to say. I will have family by my side, and they will guide me. I will make my father proud. I have had loss in my life of the worst kind. Sometimes I wake up screaming because I can't feel their arms around me. Sometimes I wake up crying, because I swear that I can.
Today is for smiting with a smile, for retribution. For two who stole some things away, who thought they could get away with it...thought I would sit idly by and nod my head on cue like a good little girl (she'll never say a word). I have alot to say, and it WILL be said. Is it wrong right now that I feel a pang of guilt for what I am going to do? Because I do. I will be royaly fucking with lives today. It's a shame they didn't realise they shouldn't have fucked with mine first. My daddy didn't raise a fool. And by fucking with all that WAS him, that just pushes me more...and I will not let unjustified guilt stifle me. I will be stronger than they could ever dream.
On Thursday, March 17, 2005 at 09:32 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Now I realize what the hype was all about. Sometimes something is so brilliant you only wish that you came across it sooner, because it would have given you more time to twirl it around in your mind, think on it and push it deeper into your thoughts.
The Da Vinci Code, you are perfection. My father would have loved you as much as I do.
On Monday, March 14, 2005 at 08:50 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
- Jalapeno nacho cheese cannot be left out overnight, no matter how much you think it should preserve itself.
- I have become relatively calmer, more collected. I feel different inside and out. Different, of course...in many good ways.
- I miss writing actual letters. That final slip of the paper into an envelope, full of elaborate art encircling the edges. Never to be seen by my eyes again. Each one is like a sacrifice, sending away my creation. It's almost humbling.
- I have a stack of books sitting on a small table in my living room. It sits nine high, just a small portion of what I own. But each one, when I look at them makes me feel like crying, because they are everything I dream. It is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen.
- Smiling, isn't always painful anymore. And no matter how much I hate change, change itself can be a miracle.
On Sunday, March 6, 2005 at 11:53 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Things I never write.
There is no other freedom like that of saying things in secret. In a place where no one knows your face, no one knows your name. It is blissful. It is justification. It is amazing what you can actually write when no one is looking over your shoulder, no one you know can send you comments, only strangers. It is often brutal, full of condemnation. Equally it is a place to pour out what I love. It's something I have been doing for awhile now. And to me, it is a typewritten masterpiece. No holds barred, everything included. Moments frozen in time, that cannot be stifled by others. If anyone ever came across it, you would never even know it was me. It's written as an ugly place surrounded by beauty. It is 100% who I am, a treasure I keep locked inside myself. It is divine.
On Thursday, March 3, 2005 at 10:54 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
42. Lenny Bruce is not afraid.
First things first. I want the snow to stop now. I hate you snow, you irritate me. Kindly fuck off.
Secondly, I have no idea where my tagboard went. It disappeared into the vast void of nothingness, quite possibly absorbed by a black hole. I'm sure a black hole would have more important things to absorb, for example...Gina Davis. But the world is a curious place, you never know. Maybe someday it will just magically appear again so I don't have to exert myself to find a new host for one.
I'm sleepy...eyes closing now...wishing for a Macguyver marathon...loving my cellular headset that looks like the ones from The Italian Job...damn that movie is perfect...hacking...safe cracking...mini cooper goodness...
On Sunday, February 27, 2005 at 11:24 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
We have been having alot of clear nights. In between the occasional snow shower or rain, the weather is almost pleasing for this time of year. I can't keep my eyes off of the sky. Every night I look up at it, and more often than not I see a million stars shining back at me. I can pick out dozens of constellations I have memorized, trace their delicate pattern and say their names under my breath. I feel motionless and small. I feel like nothing and everything all at the same time. But most of all I feel honored to see the sky as people have always seen it, from ancient egyptians, to civilizations that have withered away into a past so deep we can't even call them by name. Their eyes looked at the stars that I look at now, and it is magic.
The first thing I see when I look up at the sky never changes. No matter where I am, what way I am facing I always find it without a slight twist of neck. I look up and there it is...triple star belt, holding the horsehead nebula below it. Rigel is at his foot, Betelgeuse and Bellatrix at his shoulders, the Great Nebula visible in the center of his sword. To the Syrians, he was called Al Jabbar, the Giant. To the Egyptians his name was Sahu, the soul of Osiris. And now he is known as Orion, the Hunter, given way from Greek mythology. He is beauty, he is the center of my sky.
On Thursday, February 17, 2005 at 09:15 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
A day off today. I want to curl up on my hardwood floor, pillar candles lit, watching the wax fall delicately onto the egyptian base I have them set on top of. I want to stack columns of books around me. Old tattered journals and greek mythology. Treat each and every one as an invaluable resource, of my past, and the past I love to learn. When I look at them piled high around me I will feel like they are a childhood fort I am nestled inside, that keeps me safe from the world and my thoughts. I will remember when I was a little girl and I spent my day dragging pillows and my favorite toys underneath the living room table. How I placed a sheet over top of it in the end and crawled inside. The air was different there. It was safe and comfortable. Toys at my feet that I didn't want to play with, pillows stacked high so that no light got in, I would take one off occasionally and pretend like they were windows, peek outside, then put it back. Nothing could touch me there, no fear. Just hours of thought in secrecy. Hours dreaming about the things I wanted to conquer. I wanted to learn to fly, back then...at that age, nothing was impossible. In my mind I could learn to fly, I just had to find the right book to teach me. In my mind magical creatures did exist...hidden lands were real where giants roamed and in the tall forest around my home unicorns played and fairies danced. I wanted to find and see them all. My parents never once told me to get my head out of the clouds, and more often then not, they boosted my fascination and let my imagination run wild.
I remember playing outside in our huge yard. Butterflies flying everywhere. I stood out there running from them, screaming at the top of my lungs because I was convinced they were trying to kill me. I finally make it to the front door and I start pounding, I hear my father running towards it and see him holding back a smile as I ramble on and on about the horror I just experienced. He will agree that they are after me. I catch my breath and smile. Moments later I beg him to let me go back out, I want to see if I can escape them again. The cycle continues for hours, with me trying to withstand the pain of those terrible butterflies, only to run to the door screaming bloody murder if one came too close. I think he had as much fun with it as I did, I could see his head peeking out of the window watching me.
I remember my mother taking me for walks around the house. We would huddle towards the ground to look at rocks, flowers, little insects. We would go to our pond, with a net in my hand and I would triumph over all of the frogs, catching them after much persistance. I removed them carefully from the net, held them in my hand and inspected every one. Only to let them go and catch them all over again. Once and awhile I would make a huge catch, I would put it in a barrel we kept beside the pond and save it for my dad to see when he got home. He would laugh and take pictures, and utter the most amazed gasps at this poor croaking frog I trapped for bragging rights. I would boast and be proud as he took those pictures out to show his friends in the days to come. He was always proud of everything I have ever done, even something so simple as catching a large frog. So was she, anything and everything...all of the accomplishments I ever made, they let me know how proud they were.
I liked hiding back then as well. It was how I spent the other half of my time. The other kids at school loved me, each year our house would be full of laughing children at the huge birthday parties my parents would throw for me. No one would miss it for the world. There would be life size characters of whatever cartoon character I begged for that year, balloons and streamers being tossed everywhere, a multitude of games and prizes for everyone. It didn't matter that they all liked me so much. I would smile, laugh and play, but all I wanted to do was crawl back under the table, behind the couch, in the huge furnace boxes my dad would bring home for me that I would, with my parents help, create into castles.
I still like hiding now, that is no secret to anyone who knows me, but 29 year old women can't be considered sane if they spend their days underneath a table. So my childhood table becomes an entire room now. Where I still drag the things I love and have them perfectly placed around me. Where I close the door and hang heavy victorian curtains over the windows. Today I will not peek out of the windows, and even though there is an entire house around me my living room door will remain closed, and I will feel safe, and I will think about all of the things I believe in still.
On Friday, February 4, 2005 at 11:23 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
A venture out.
Point one: I rarely drink.
Point two: When I do, I exhibit no control over stopping.
I enjoyed last night. A little too much perhaps. I have discovered that the amount of beer I can consume equals alot less than what I ended up having.
The comedy club was brilliant, it's the first time I have ever been to one. It honestly felt amazing to laugh, rephrase, to laugh and mean it...to feel it entirely take control over me. It was euphoria.
After the club, we all went back to the hotel, where I finished myself off of any inhibition and care in the world. I remember not being able to feel myself, my face and body numb. Quite literally. I was blissfully hollow. Stop? No, I was curious how much I could take. I remember thinking, "I wonder if I will get alcohol poisoning?" And then I remember, well, not caring if I did.
Here is where I want to thank Tornado for helping me out. Leading my stumbling, blabbering body into the hotel bathroom. Where I proceeded to zip my pants and run my head into the stall door. To the room we went. Again, thank you for cranking up the heat and getting me a cold washcloth...also for still listening to me because I wouldn't shut the fuck up about anything.
Eventually I passed out. Only to wake up at 6 a.m. sharp. I lay there feeling like I was going to die watching some shit infomercial on knives. I watched that informercial way too long, I seen more uses for cheap "indistructable" cutlery than any person on this earth should experience. When I eventually couldn't stand the room still spinning around me I ventured into the bathroom. I managed through a shower, and then a bath after that (i'm not quite sure why). I didn't dare leave the area around the bathroom, it became my own private sanctuary for what was to come. I paced around, opened a cd I purchased off of the one comedian...the instant I look down at it...Voila! It hits me. I spend the next hour on a freezing cold tile floor with my face stuck in a toilet, eyes pouring out tears and swearing at myself because I forgot to bring my toothbrush amisdst all of the hair products and Nintendo DS games I stockpiled in my backpack.
Currently, I still feel like shit.
On Sunday, January 30, 2005 at 09:13 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
About a dream.
I haven't been doing well at all. I had a dream a couple of nights ago. About my mother. It was so damn real, so powerful, it threw me back when I finally opened up my eyes. It just reminded me that I am without them both now, and that just gets stronger every day. I feel like I am dying inside.
In the dream I was sitting at a table, in the middle of a restaurant. I was with co-workers. I put my head on the table and felt myself drifting off to sleep. Then began the dream inside my dream. Head layed on my arm I opened my eyes, I looked across from me and she was seated at a table. She had other people around her, I didn't recognize them..in all honesty I didn't try to. She was looking directly at me, a beautiful smile playing on her lips. I watched her wave and the tears poured down my face. I remember saying to her, "Mom." and after a long pause, "are you always with me?" Her smile faded and tears welled up in her eyes. I heard her say one word, "Yes." She said it with such emotion and love. My god I can still see the expression on her face.
Will this EVER FUCKING GET ANY EASIER?! Because I can't take the looming fucking mental instability in my mind. Is it possible every day to just loose a little more control, a little more of myself? I don't know who I am anymore. I don't care where i'm going. I'm tired of collapsing on my shower floor begging for something to help me. Invisible hands to reach down and protect me from how I feel. THERE ARE NO FUCKING HANDS.
I'll be fine, or I will keep pretending I am. One day at a time. Maybe someday i'll see my father in my dreams like I want to. Maybe someday I will understand. I won't do anything to myself. I just don't want to become hollow, I don't want to become numb to everything. I want to feel something other than this. I just need more time.
I tried to kill the pain
but only brought more
i lay dying
and i'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal
i'm dying praying bleeding and screaming
am i too lost to be saved
am i too lost?
my God my tourniquet
return to me salvation
my God my tourniquet
return to me salvation
do you remember me
lost for so long will you be on the other side
or will you forget me
i'm dying praying bleeding and screaming
am i too lost to be saved
am i too lost?
On Thursday, January 27, 2005 at 03:34 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
The product of two days off. ((or)) I used to have a life.
If you were me, you would spend 30 hours making shitty cartoon crap like this...and...you would enjoy every minute of it. It also wouldn't matter that it doesn't exhibit any hint of talent at all.
This should manage to distort my page to hell and back, ruin the perfectly aligned border where my entries go. Not like i've written much anyway lately, so it doesn't matter :)
On Thursday, January 27, 2005 at 12:44 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
This stress I feel is rising. It comes in waves. Some days I pretend I am ok, I pretend so well that I even fool myself. Other days, I am not quite sure why I even try anymore. Yesterday I sat on my living room couch, intending to draw, to write. A cd playing in the background that distracted me. The lyrics pounded into my mind until I broke down and cried, I was hysterical. I sat there choking on air, face and shirt wet from tears. I couldn't stop. I tore into myself mentally and physically. I couldn't stop thinking, why couldn't it have been me? I never got better through the hours. I fought to sleep. And when I woke up this morning the feeling was still there, lungs and throat raw, panic pushing through me. And here I sit again, on my living room couch. Burgandy blanket curled around me, hair in tangles, make-up smeared on my face, laptop on my lap...headphones on trying to pretend there is no world around me. Wondering, why am I even fucking writing this down? It's not a cry for help, it's not some fucking attentive draw. It's just how I feel, and i'm scared.
I want to wake up without a nightmare. Every night they are there. I wake up soaked in sweat, out of breath, not knowing if it was real or not. I look at the clock, hours before I have to get up. I can't fall back to sleep again, I sit there, cigarrette in hand, shaking because it is still with me. My most recent, consistant nightmare...I am in a house, everything feels warm around me. It is comfortable. There is someone else with me, this person often changes. The outcome is always the same. I hear a noise, something falling. I run to the window and see a beautiful landscape in front of me, I see a trail in a bright blue sky. I watch it hit, and the explosion turns bright, fire streaming upwards. It grows closer, and I know I am going to die. Everything moves in slow motion, every second I feel as the radiation seeps into my body. I grow disoriented, I try to run, but instead fall to the floor. I feel it eating it's way through me, and when I know I am on my last breath... I wake up.
I've sat here for 30 minutes without writing another word, I think that I am done for now. I know things will get better at some point, maybe not better but...easier.
On Tuesday, January 11, 2005 at 09:49 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I haven't written in awhile, it's not because I haven't tried. I've often sat here pouring out sentence after sentence only to end up deleting everything. I hate that my writing is never happy, that everything I have to say is depressing. So i've kind of gone into a bit of seclusion. Both in writing and my daily life.
I just wanted to write today and thank everyone who has written, called, and tried to drag me out of the house. I'm sorry that I haven't answered the emails, given a call back, or shown that i'm out there.
On Thursday, January 6, 2005 at 08:11 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I can't even communicate as of late. My speech becomes all twisted and muffled. I am insecure of everything that comes out of my mind, my mouth. Stress levels are raised and i'm not looking forward to the holidays. Truth is, i'm not looking forward to any day. I've become complacent in my hiding. Only venturing out when I have to work, or when other mundane things need done. It's difficult to sleep at night, and when sleep finally does come, I wake up to persistant nightmares...over and over again. One bad dream after another. Nothing new there really. I just want to be functional. I want to feel refreshed, calm. I want to feel oriented.
On Thursday, December 23, 2004 at 12:00 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
And I hear me say again "Oh let me not return" Damn the illusion of redemption and the hopes that held me here I will oppose all that would befall me With this rage inside of me I will defy what I would become.
VnV Nation - Distant (Rubicon 2)
On Tuesday, December 14, 2004 at 10:45 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
The Artist and the Prophet.
When I lost her, I never knew I how would be able to cope again. With life, with loss, with anything. Everyday was a struggle, a reminder, full of that missing feeling of knowledge that you will never hold onto someone again, never have a conversation, never hear them say I love you in return.
Now. Not 5 months after, I lose my father. When I got the call from my uncle in the middle of a work day, not knowing my other aunt and uncle were on their way to where I work. I just had stepped out the door to have a cigarrette break with a co-worker. I didn't want to pick up the phone. I remember looking at it for a moment and saying, "no, I don't want to answer". But something inside me picked it up, and as I heard the words, "Kristie, your father died." I screamed at the top of my lungs, I wanted to destroy everything around me, I couldn't stop screaming, swearing, crying. And as my co-worker put his arms around me, I remember it but I couldn't feel it, I couldn't feel anything. I didn't hear the voice on the phone. I didn't notice how cold it was outside. I didn't notice the people outside of the other business, who later came in concerned asking about me. Nothing existed. Just that fucking pain.
The weekly visits won't exist anymore. The curling up on his couch, and feeling him place a blanket over me when my eyes are closed and he thinks I am asleep. I wasn't asleep then, but I lay there cherishing the feeling of that simple show of emotion. Something so slight as putting a blanket on, can become monumental, it showed how much I was still his little girl. No more brilliant talks about lost civilizations, walks in the woods. No more trips to the bookstore together, spending an hour paging through and showing each other different books before we made up our minds what we wanted. No more of him teaching me how to dowse in the middle of his yard for a water line. No more father, who's mind I loved as much as the man.
All that keeps going through my mind is, I am 28 years old and I have no parents.
I am them. I am not one or the other. I am both, my life so impacted by each, that just choosing one who I take after would be impossible. I rave about the end of the world, study ancient cultures. I would rather spend time alone with a pencil or a book in my hand then be around a group of people. I am solitary and social at the same time. I am stuck between having my head in the clouds and my feet on the ground.
I had someone tell me last week, "I have seen a pillar of strength and it is you." I can pretend to be strong for everyone else. The pretending I never had a problem with. But it is the reality that gets me. I hate reality with a passion. I don't want it to be real, none of this.
On Friday, December 10, 2004 at 09:12 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Reorganization for me can be quite a task. This past week I have worked on this house in so many ways. I worked until my entire body shook, my vision blurred. I could hardly even stand yet found a way to move table after table, hang numerous paintings...relocate...everything. I think it is an attempt to make this place more, me. I can't say for sure if it has any effect on me. I suppose it does, a little comfort. Especially for one room. I added everything with a soft burgandy to it. From Tiffany lamps, delicate curtains, silk flower arrangements and candles. I am quite pleased. I am far from done to have much contentment, but slight stability creeps over me.
I am bored with myself lately. Very bored. When this happens I want to change myself more than my surroundings. I can't seem to be happy with who I am, so instead I become frustrated. All this damn frustration built up inside, it really can push a person down. And I am about as far down as I can get.
I stayed at home again last night. Rented some movies, comedies to put my mind at ease. Well nothing of the sort happened. I am laying in my newly decorated room, curled up on a couch with my favorite blanket...doing just fine. That is, until the movie I am watching brings back the thing I try to lose myself with the most. The death of my mother. One moment I am laughing, the next I am watching the "mother" in this movie die of an anneurysm. Laughter turned to horror, horror turned to panic. I cried for what felt like forever. I couldn't sleep. I fought to breathe.
I have been told recently that I am addicted to chaos. A concerned family member brought it up to me. I truly laughed at first, until I realized she is right. And as I stood there trying to wipe the nervous smile off my face, I reflected on the things I do, my life then and now. It's all a mess. What the fuck do they prescribe for that? How the hell do I thrive off of something I absolutely loathe? How do I loathe it and need it all at the same time? What the hell is wrong with me?
Anyway, yes Halo 2 is out and I have been sparse lately. But i'm getting back to reality now. Not sure if it's a good thing or not. Reality and my mind never got along well. Always have my head in the clouds. I think more about the impossible than the possible. This has been an overly sparatic entry that I don't really want to post. I'll post it anyway, because...I spent awhile driving this out of me onto the screen.
On Monday, November 22, 2004 at 10:19 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
For as many dreams there are that are forgotten, the ones I remember usually make an immense impact on me. Two nights ago, I was stuck in one nightmare after another. Horrible, terrified, waking up crying. I don't mean to write about my dreams so often, but they affect me...my thought process. They make me think, they scare the hell out of me.
I was driving through the town where I work. Everything fine. Everything normal. When everything is fine, everything is normal, I never trust it. Ever. The wind starts to pick up, and in an instant normality turns to terror. There is no rain, but I watch water start pouring across the roadway. A giant torrential seeping flood, that gets higher by the second. The ground below me shakes in long jolting motion, grinds and cracks beneath me. It feels like a tornado is trying to throw me in the air, my car sways back and forth as I struggle to keep it on the road. There is no tornado around me. This is retaliation. Mother nature has just gone wrong. As I sway over the roadway, I watch those around me die. Cars uprooted from their path into the air...crumpling...squealing...metal on metal. Bending. Breaking. Screams. Water now rushing, pulling others away. Over an edge I watch them die. My mind is clear as my car slowly lifts from the pavement. As it slams me back down towards my accelerated mindless plea. Each time I rise higher, and know that any moment now...any moment...I am going to follow those before me. Something inside of me lets loose. I realize I need to get out of my car. I force open the driver side door and feel like a suction is forcing me to the ground. As I lay there, water rushing around me I watch my car make it's final levitation. It soars above me, making it's ascent over the guard rails. I watch it in the air, it's frame contorting and breaking. It's as if giant hands are shredding it like worn down paper. I watch everything calmly with tears welling up in my eyes. It is an epiphany of madness.
This is where I wake up/where I drift back off to sleep...
I am in a room with my family. I am sitting in a chair. All I feel is sadness. My mother lays before me in a casket. There is someone standing before her. I do not notice who this is as first. In my eyes the world is moving ever so slowly, shifting, it is all seen in slow motion. I feel delirious with the pain of it all. I feel half mad. I see the figure before the casket start moving, it's a woman. It's my mother, standing over herself. Looking down at her own body. Vision shifting I try to focus. She lunges at herself. I hear commotion as my sight is failing, blackness, light...constantly revolving. Then I hear the final sound that snaps me back and targets my eyes into the wooden polished box. Her lifeless body is screaming now, I hear the word, "NO" contorted and shrill. Over and over again, coming from her mouth. It doesn't sound human. I can't stop screaming, I wake up with my throat feeling raw and my eyes burning. For that split second I think, it was only a dream, it's not real. And then I realize she is gone. And I can't wake up from that.
This took alot for me to write today. Too much out of me. I can't ever seem to stop crying since that dream. It was such a fucked up reminder, that no, everything is not ok, no matter how much I pretend that it is. No matter what dillusional fucking world I throw myself into in my head. It all cycles back to the monumental truth of it all.
On Monday, November 15, 2004 at 12:30 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Last night I woke up to myself talking out loud. The words, "I see fire", pouring from my mouth, over and over again. It became a calm mantra to which the point of meaning had been lost. I only remembered those words, not the dream itself. I consider myself lucky for this reason. My dreams have been sketchy as of late...mostly invisible and un-remembered. But when they are remembered, they always turn out badly.
I haven't had much time for anything as of late. I really wish that I could write on here more often. Mostly when I have a free moment it is my real journal that I am pouring myself into. I've been picking up on my artwork again as well, incorporating it into each page full of my words. Scrawling snake like creatures, shaded delicately for hours, peering over sentence after sentence, I have no idea how the hell i've gotten on that kick.
I've also spent the past few days in full analyzation of myself. I find that I make my own best possible psychiatrist. I do this little routine where I say everything out loud to an empty room. I listen to myself, and because I don't often take time for myself at all, it's quite a change. I've dug up so many things that scare the living fuck out of me, things that linger in my personality. I metaphorically sorted them all out in a line and took a good long look inside. I realized...I still don't like myself much. OOoo but yes, I have blueberry muffins. Fear them.
On Sunday, November 7, 2004 at 09:58 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Typically any injury that I get pisses me off, so naturally...I write about it. Tonight is no different. Did you ever feel like something is truly out to get you? I've been going through that for the past few days. I've been feeling uneasy, when I am walking, at work, at home, head snapping behind me to see if anything is there, breaking out in goosebumps, something screaming inside of me, TURN AROUND NOW...that type of uneasy. I'm not normally so bad with it, but as of late it's becoming a problem. It's not like I woke up one morning and said, GEE I hope I become overly paranoid, yes, yes I enjoy it so! No, there is really no reason for me to be feeling this way that I can tell, something just triggered in me, leaving me an absolute mess.
Anyway back to my original irritation. Walking out of Blockbuster today with some movie rentals. Towards my car I go, almost there....few more steps....
This is where my ankle twists and gives out. I don't remember what caused me to fall. But oh, did I fall. I didn't care that my purse was scattered across the pavement, movies tossed aside, keys laying by my front wheel. All I cared about was not being able to move my ankle, not knowing if I am going to be able to get up. I minute later of me sitting there in immense pain and shock with what I am sure was a very dumbfounded look on my face...I see a woman walk around the van that was on the other side of me. She proceeds to look at me funny, and I say, "I'm sorry i'm here, I twisted my ankle and fell." She runs over to me asking if I am ok, we talk for a short while and she calls over the man she is with. He picks up all of my belongings, opens my car door and places everything inside. I get helped to my feet and scream. Tell them I am fine and hop to inside my car, wondering how the fuck I am going to drive home. Drive home I did, how...I don't know, because I can't even step on it now.
So now it's time for the WOW is it broken or not game!!!? When you can't bend your toes because they feel like they are locking up when you do, have severe swelling of the ankle and foot, can't bend it or step on it without flinching as the pain shoots through you. Is it a sprain, a fracture, or just plain broke? Do I go to the hospital I so despise, or just see what happens? I have to work eleven and a half hours tomorrow, and spend two driving. Either way it's obviously going to be a problem.
I also want to take a moment to complain about papercuts. I hate them, I have many...and they really fucking hurt.
On Sunday, October 31, 2004 at 09:23 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Last night I had a dream. I slipped and fell. He brought me to my feet, steadied me, assured me. All without saying a word. The air turned electric. Intoxicating. It was beautiful. So fucking amazing. And then the aliens came.
On Wednesday, October 27, 2004 at 10:28 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Words canít even express what I feel anymore. I have far surpassed a single sentence for the range of emotions that flow through me at any given moment. I feel changed. I feel enlightened. I taste excitement. I feel the way I never thought I would feel again. Years ago, I blocked myself out, numbed myself to everything around me, everyone. I hid from anything that manifested itself inside of me. I didnít believe anything was worth feeling. And to those who witnessed it first hand, I am sorry. When you have too many bad things happen in your life. Maybe you have some happy medium. Maybe you can shrug them off, let them go. Or, maybe you are like me and
cling to them, let them envelop you and your way of life. In the past year I have slipped little by little out of the proverbial hole I dug for myself. I let myself feel. Sometimes to a fault, but at least I allowed myself in the first place. I had given up on so much. I wouldnít even call it existence. Itís funny how a single year can change so much in a life. This year is almost past.
And for the first time I can remember, I want to see winter come. Something big is happening this winter that has been one year in the making. Something that I am looking forward to with all my heart. Writing this does not relate to the loss I had this year, the day I lost her I will never recover from. This is about what has been found.
On Tuesday, October 19, 2004 at 07:08 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I never really got to write about this. It will be almost a month now that the one girl I work with, who pops in here every once in awhile as Tornado, has gone to another store. She is managing now. I'm very proud of her but at the same time I miss her dearly. She was my best friend around here, we would drag each other out...running to bookstores, movies, lunch, lol staples..every isle of it...it was always fun. I could tell her about anything in my life, and she'd never even flinch. Same with her, she could tell me anything and it would always stay with me, and me alone.
I remember last winter. I was at work and the snow was falling faster and faster. There would be no way imaginable that I would make it home that night. I called her just short of crying...I didn't know what to do. She told me she would be RIGHT THERE. She came through all that muck, to pick me up. God that cheered me up, she took me out to eat, we rented movies and spun in circles in the parking lot laughing.
My point to all of this, is...damn it Tornado, I miss you! It's been too long since I seen you last. Expect to be bombarded with phone calls soon, and just wait until I have time off, I will be bringing you a pirate hat and badgering your employees with sparrowisms.
On Monday, October 18, 2004 at 01:10 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Come what may.
In follow to my last post. As of the night I wrote that, I decided it was finally time for me to try and sleep here. There comes a point with me, where no matter how afraid I may be, that I get anxious to face what scares me. So...I did just that.
The night was less than pleasant. On top of being afraid, I also had a fever. I was dizzy and burning up, and it only added to my discomfort. And as I lay in bed thinking, I shook all over. I was shaking from the inside out. I shook so hard that my whole body ached. I was afraid to let my mind stop. I blocked out a list of things that I couldn't let enter my mind...because if I did let them appear, that would mean I would panic. That would mean I wouldn't be able to breathe. I thought for hours before my mind finally stilled itself. And when I finally drifted off to sleep. I woke up later with tears pouring down my face. It was a steady stream of them, I was confused and didn't know why they were there. I don't remember a dream. I don't know what was happening.
But I made it through. I didn't panic, I didn't stop breathing. And it gave me the little added strength I needed. To know that I can be here. To know that even though everything may not be ok, I can still stay in the place I love.
On Monday, October 18, 2004 at 09:05 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Anyhow, what I wanted to write in the last post that I just deleted, was...
This house can fucking be scary. To the point where I spent most of the morning curled up in a little ball on this chair, arms wrapped around my legs, keeping my mind busy because the only other alternative would have been to run out of here screaming. One adrenaline rush after another. And now...now I feel exhausted from it all, and am going out to get a nice large sugary coffee. At least that will bring me back to functional status.
On Friday, October 15, 2004 at 11:07 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Is it time yet?
It's very good to be back. While i've been gone let's see, i've been reading...as well as busy being constantly reminded of the feeling that something out there is trying to kill me. I'm starting to develop a complex. And, no...it's never good when I develop a complex. Let's see...On top of wandering in my door one night and having my house full of gas, my "you really have something wrong with your brakes" light coming on in my vehicle. A tire seemingly loosing all of it's air. And if anyone would remember that dream I wrote about, (the one where I was shot, out of a coma, and running down my aunt's alley), well I seen that woman in my dream, in the alley today. She was on a morning walk as I was driving home. She was wearing the same thing, had the same hair...right, not a comforting feeling. I drove past her gawking at a whopping 3 miles an hour. Eyes open wide and mouth hanging open. I tried to cover the, "oh shit" look on my face with a smile. But with clenched teeth, how true can that look after all.
Anyway, i've been finishing up the Dark Tower VII, I have about 30 pages left and I am milking reading them. I could have been done hours ago...days ago. But when a story that you've thought about all of your life comes to an end, somehow...it's a bit sad and frightening. These novels have been on my mind since the first day I started book one, sentence one. They never left. I remember one frustrating moment after another thinking about what would happen next. And after tonight, when I get the nerve to finish...there will be nothing more to know. So here is to 19 and the 99. "For ka is a wheel, and all it knows how to do is roll."
On Thursday, October 14, 2004 at 08:31 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Why I shouldn't write when i'm sick.
I haven't had much time to write as of late, I don't even really have time to write now. I just hate letting this go for days on end. I've come down with what I feel is a government plague in the form of one really nasty head cold. So between a full schedule, all I have is exhaustion.
I have been ordering alot of books online though. I've recently received a book about HAARP (High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program). In sum, it is a research facility devoted to the study of the Earth's ionosphere. Which I don't have time to go into alot of discussion about, but possibly will after researching it more. Very conspiracy oriented indeed, it will be a pleasant read. I've known about it for quite a few years now, and want to delve a little deeper. I'm running out of, "oh no, the gnomes stole another sock" type of conspiracies and miss the real ones out there.
The books on the way...those I am really excited about. One titled, Black Holes and Time Warps. The other, The Great Beyond: Higher Dimensions, Parallel Universes and the Extraorindary Search for a Theory of Everything. Otherwise known as, holy shit..that is a long title. Both deal with physics, much about the theories of Einstein. I miss knowledge. I miss physics. I miss connecting with my inner geek.
And now... I am out of time to write.
On Sunday, September 26, 2004 at 10:26 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
You know you become addicted to a video game, when it's world becomes sort of real in your mind. No, not like I think it's a real world...it just dictates alot of my thoughts. The game is Fable for Xbox. I normally don't like RPG games, but it's been a long time in the wait for this one, and now I am entirely sucked in.
Yesterday, at my Aunt's, I had to take the dogs out. I took them out around midnight. Sadi, is pure white..very beautiful dog. But as I am standing outside waiting for her to do her thing, I get this video game reminder. Ahh the White Balverine...something like a werewolf, and a bastard to kill. I brace myself, and give a stance...I point at the dog and yell...YOU ARE THE WHITE BALVERINE!!!! I brandish my imaginary silver augmented sword her way, and hop around her. She plays along well..and starts jumping around letting out little barks because of my excitement. After some time of this, and it being so cold out i'm loosing feeling in my feet, I grow weary. I pet her on the head, and tell her that she is defeated, she looks up at me and wags her tail. We go into the house to settle down to rest. I don't know if the neighbors saw, it after all was quite a loud ordeal, perhaps not a battle to be fought at midnight in a quiet neighborhood.
On Monday, September 20, 2004 at 09:37 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Last night was the first night that I have spent alone since my mother passed away. With my Aunt away on a brief vacation to Atlantic City, I was asked if I could continue staying there at night, to take care of the dogs. Ah, the dogs. One pomeranian that resembles a baby deer. Ironically named, Baby. The other...my mother's dog, an American Eskimo Spitz named Sadi. I had dog bed last night, I was shoved to one side, the pomeranian knowing just where rest herself to take up the most room, Sadi at my feet running up to give me the occasional lick across my cheek and nose.
I didn't know how last night would be for me. I was beyond afraid, and given the current state I have been in, overly worried. When I am alone, if I have a brief moment where I am not doing something. I am thinking. Driving is the worst of all. All that time, trapped inside my mind. I am usually screaming and crying, because what happened hits me over and over again..throat raw, eyes burning and open wild. But when I get to where i'm going, I put a smile on my face. I mask everything off, pretend that everything is ok. If I don't hide it, it will entirely consume me and I will go crazy. I hate teetering on an edge...I really do. You have two ways to fall, and standing your ground, arms open wide for balance...that's the hardest of all.
I made it through last night by pouring everything I am into a book I am reading. I made every word become the only thought in my mind. It was focus. And when the words seemed to dance on the page, and my eyes started slipping closed. I put down the book and curled myself into a ball. I drifted off. I didn't wake up in the middle of the night, I didn't have a nightmare. I didn't panic.
On Monday, September 20, 2004 at 07:41 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Swing away Merrill....Swing away.
I realized tonight, that I can have a complete conversation with myself in a mirror. I have no audience, yet I recite things to say. As I stand there it is like a solitary podium where I recite quotes, lines from movies, lyrics from songs. It's where I will come up with some of my best ideas, some of my worst, some of my deepest thoughts. It's where I am bold. Not afraid to let something slip out, not afraid to pour out my heart. I don't think of myself as another person, I think of myself as the reflection that is in front of my eyes.
On Tuesday, September 14, 2004 at 09:20 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Right at this moment, I am growing excessively uncomfortable with myself. With everything I do. I've been trying to draw for hours now. Nothing came out...only brief glimpses that were wiped away by a worn down eraser. I'm breaking into sweats, my mind is clouded. Occasional spurts of crying. Hands clenched in frustration, little crescents wearing their way into my palms. Music pounding into my ears, not a single lyric makes me smile. The words just make me remember. They tear me down and they do not build me back up again. I do this to myself. Why do I do this to myself?
On Sunday, September 12, 2004 at 09:06 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
This is a title.
Another dream. And quite a dream at that. I woke up in an entire state of delirium from it. I didn't know if it was real. And for that brief minute I thought it was, I was still trapped in it, even if my eyes were open and searching in the dark, even if my jaw was clenched so tightly and it was the only thing keeping me from screaming.
This is my dream...
I was pushing my way through a crowd of people. I knew something bad was going to happen, I was in a panic and I had to get to the third floor of the building that seemed like an endless journey in front of my eyes. It was as if I was on a treadmill, trying so hard to move ahead, but seemingly stuck in one place. Finally I make it, ages could have past in my mind from the amount of time that it took. Only I knew it was too late. Too much time had gone by. I watched as the earth split open and separated me from my destination. I started to fall, and through the darkness sucking me downward, I screamed at the top of my lungs..."NO!"
Time swirled backwards around me, and I stood at the beginning of my dream again. I stood with the faces around me, and the panic gripping me of what just happened..and the realization that I had to move faster. Again I rushed, again I fell. Back and forth I went, starting over and over again.
Frustration kicked in, and along with it came ambition. Every time I would get kicked back to the beginning I would loose so much strength, it didn't matter then. It was a matter of succeeding. I pushed through everyone like they were not even there...I reach my destination, I stand in front of the door and swing it wide open. I stare at a large staircase in front of me. I know why I am here now. I hear her voice from the third floor, I hear it as it echoes through the building. She is glad that I am home, she doesn't know what is about to happen. I need to get to her now. I hear myself yell, "MOM! I NEED YOU TO GO IN THE FAR BACK ROOM THIS SECOND!!!" She runs to the steps as I rush up them. I scream as I hear the ground outside crack open wide. I know I am still too late...tears are welling up in my eyes, I reach forward as I am watching her... as I am watching everything fade around me, to go right back to the start.
I am crying when I arrive there as well. I can't waste time, I feel like I am fading and this is my last chance. Through the people, through the door, up the staircase.
I run through the upper hallway and don't see her there. I hurry and open the door at the end of the hall, I scream her name and she runs in toward me. I close the door and wrap my arms around her. The tears won't stop, and I am thinking in my mind that finally I made it, I knew it was my last chance. My strength was finished, there was no going back. But everything was going to be ok now. And even though I heard the crackling of the ground outside and the building shook around us, we would be untouched, we were safe there.
On Saturday, September 11, 2004 at 11:21 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I ran out of swedish fish.
I have no intention on knowing what this post is going to be about and I think I prefer it that way. I am just going to start typing and what comes out....comes out.
I have been thinking alot about my past lately. It's not something I would normally write about so I will probably be sketchy on the subject. I am missing alot of people right now. I'm missing them terribly. I'm wishing I could turn back time and start things over. Make amends. Change all I have done wrong. I often think if I could live my life over knowing what my mistakes would be in advance, I would probably still make the same ones. It's some un-resistable urge to procrastinate, to lose, to push away, to fuck up.
Sometimes I think my thought process gets a bit lost on it's path. I have a spur of the moment -this is a great idea- thought. I rip it down, tear it to pieces and before I know what happens, it fades away to nothing. I get intertwined in myself, inside it feels like a knot twisting it's way through my body...starts at the tip of the toes to the top of my head, like some direct opposite of divine meditation. I suffocate on my fears.
I'm tired of being afraid, truly tired. I want to metaphorically walk on the edge of a tall building and peek over the edge and not get weak in the knees. I want to create something that people will set their eyes on, and not worry about judgement. I want to look back on judgement and smile instead of flinch. I want to be different than I am now. I have always been overly insecure of everything about me, about everything I make. It has got to stop. Don't get me wrong, I have gotten better. I'm not nearly what I used to be. Improvement after all takes patience, it takes steps, and i'm ready for the next one.
Right at this moment, no matter what I have written above...I have a smile spread across my face that won't go away. I have alot of hope inside and alot of dreams. I know I can do almost anything I set my mind to, I just have to.
Well, except for sprouting metal claw hands like Wolverine...that just might be impossible after all...quite a shame really.
On Thursday, September 9, 2004 at 08:19 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Yesterday afternoon on my way to work, I make a quick stop to get coffee at my favorite gas/everything station, that as I mentioned a long time ago...seemingly has the best coffee on earth. I go in and start poking around for some type of food to get me through the night. I stop at a potato chip rack, and stand there staring at it for a minute. Enjoying the feel of the cool air-conditioning that is targeting me in that one particular spot. When I eventually do turn to walk away, there is a gentleman there who I would say, is his late 80's. I see he is watching me and I smile at him. What happened next made me laugh for quite some time. The man surely had some mirror reflection personality of my own.
As I smiled, I seen this look pass over his face. I get the same look, for the same reasons. When I go off on a tangent, eyes open wide, slight smile curved on my lips...this means I am going to pick, I am going to bombard energetically, this means I am about to act entirely silly. Those around me usually suffer, as I am hopping around, making strange faces, thinking of new irritating noises to produce. It doesn't stop there, but i'm getting off track.
This man all of a sudden puts himself in a pose, he looks as if he is in an old western movie and is calling me out for a duel. I start laughing, and hurry up and position myself the same way. I'm not one to NOT play along, even with a complete stranger. As we are standing in the middle of the store like this getting strange looks, he proclaims, "DIDN'T YOU WANT ANY?!" I knew he was referring to the chips, and I said, "No, my mission for today is coffee!" We both smile and relax and go our opposite ways. After making my coffee, I head my way to the counter, I stop and pick up a package of cookies to go with it. He is at the counter at the same time. He looks at me and says loudly, "YOU DON'T WANT THOOOOOSE, they are fattening!" I laugh and say, "GOOD! look at me, I could use a few extra pounds!" He sizes me up, and get's this little twist on his face. I see his hand starting to reach out, I know what he is going to do, so I put my upper arm by it. He squeezes at my arm softly, then proclaims in what I suppose is his normal excessively loud voice, "IT'S ALLLLLLLLLLLLLL MUSCLE!!"
I watched him walk away, out the door to go on his daily business.
On Sunday, September 5, 2004 at 09:38 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
A couple of nights ago, after a long night at work. I felt nothing but exhaustion, I couldn't even see straight I was so tired. As I am sitting in my chair, I all of a sudden get this idea in my head that I need the movie Pulp Fiction NOW. I try to push away the thoughts, it's really late at night. Against my better judgement, I crawl into a hot bath and find myself getting ready to go out. My body is screaming, "NO MORE for TODAY!" But my mind is pushing out a consistant string of, "hmm, what's open right now? I really need that movie, it can't wait until tomorrow!" Pulp Fiction became every other phrase, pounding itself through my mind.
In any case, I drove there...to a Wal-Mart that is open 24 hours to begin my quest...it's well after midnight by this time. I finally get there, my eyes half squinted shut and wander into their vast movie section. I don't see it there, and I start to get aggrivated. Like I could ever give up on it that easy. I spot it on vhs, but no that's not good, I already have it on vhs. I don't have a vcr anymore, 2 dvd players, surround sound..the works...but no vcr. A stockman sees that I am looking for something, I let him know how entirely IMPARITIVE it is, that I have this movie now. He looks at me with amusement, but hey he helps me look. He then passes another girl who works there, she also joins in the quest. We are all standing there rooting through countless movies. There is a huge box stand about 4 layers deep of movies that are on sale. She seems to think it could possibly be in there. We all stacked pile after pile to the side in this bottemless pit of movies that aren't Pulp Fiction. She and I start talking about the movie, and she let's me in on the little piece of knowledge that she thought, "it wasn't all that special." *twitch* As I looked the woman in the eyes and proclaimed, "Well, Tarantino is a genius!" I seen her look away, not wanting to further insult me. If she did continue, I would have gone off on a rant about it's perfection, right down to the type of film used. No need for it though, she let me win, what was in my mind...our subliminial competition.
It turned out....they didn't have it.
On Sunday, September 5, 2004 at 08:31 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Spock Bean meets Happy Painful Finger Wound caused by scissors.
On Thursday, September 2, 2004 at 07:23 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Last night's dream - I woke up in my aunt's house, and walk out to the front door. As I am standing there, in a flash there is a man behind me, he grabs ahold of my head and neck. I let out a bellowing scream. As my Aunt comes running out to see what is going on. He is not there anymore. I can't tell if he was real or imagination. He felt real though, I could feel the pressure on my throat squeezing tighter and tighter. Other people come running out, my uncle, my cousins. They are all staring at me in disbelief. I'm screaming to them about what just happened, and they each have an all knowing look on their face. I hear them whispering, "she's awake...she's finally awake." to each other.
I feel my aunt's arms wrap around me, as she pulls me to sit down toward the couch. We sit down together, and I still feel that panic inside. She starts talking, "Kristie, you have been asleep for a long time. Something bad happened. You were shot in the head, you were beaten. You have been in a coma." I dart to my feet and can't seem to breathe, I am remembering.. the orange car, the man behind me, the choking, the beating, the loud resounding BANG. All a flashback, only a memory...or was he still there?! Entire confusion. I run to the kitchen and grab a knife. Squeezing it tightly in my hand, I start throwing questions, "How long has it been? Is the bullet still in me?! Did they catch HIM!?"
I didn't hear any answers and my body forced me to run.
Out the door, down the alley, I hear them running after me. I see a car coming, it's bright orange - another flashback - it looks like the same car. The car slows to a stop and before I even think, before my family can scream the word no...I hold the knife behind my back. I stand still in the middle of the road. Someone gets out of the car, in my mind it is him. I see him running toward me. I let the knife fly and watch it spin in the air...I hear a scream of pain. My mind is triumphant, telling me i've hurt him. But the scream belonged to a woman, it shook me back to reality. Tears started pouring down my face, and the screams were cracking my throat...it wasn't him, I had never seen this woman before in my life...she was stopping because she knew what happened to me, she was going to see if I was ok...
She would be fine, I could see the knife protruding from her hand, blood spattered white shirt. I ran, convinced he was still after me, I didn't stop running.
On Wednesday, September 1, 2004 at 07:59 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I love going into bookstores. Everytime I am there I get sucked into this elaborate world. I notice that sometimes they have the best books on sale. They mark down the knowledgable to some insignificant price, because most people do not want them otherwise. I ran around the store grabbing up books on Dali, M. C. Escher, and this overly interesting book called The Atlas of World History. These all spark my interest and i've sat here in my chair analyzing artwork, and looking over maps that begin in order from 9000 BC to every major monumental occasion up to 1991, in detail and beautifully depicted. I also picked up the new Stephen King book, Song of Susannah finally, as well as an older hardcover Anne Rice, Blood and Gold.
I've been milking the current book I was reading, I hate coming to the end of a story. I grow attached to those stories to the point where I can perfectly visualize every word being written. Before I "detach" myself, I need something new to fill the void that I will feel. Well now I have a very good backup. And finishing those last 8 pages should be a breeze. So instead of willing myself to pass out before I read too much, I will get sucked into another world. I need it, it helps me forget. I'm not "me" for awhile, and my thoughts don't exist. Only the words on the pages, and only the images that the words make my mind conjour up.
On another note, I have no nachos, I really need nachos, but I don't want to go anywhere to get them. I also need spicy cheese dippy stuff. hmmmm. My head also hurts today, I think that I am going through caffine withdrawl, I haven't had a coffee for a couple days now and my body is retaliating. The pure shock and horror of not having coffee is a great one. I'm trying to cut down a bit because it makes my heart race and i'm more prone to feeling panic. Ahh, tomorrow morning I know I will cave in a buy a large coffee, pour 22 sugars in it...and then regret it later. Damn you monopolizing coffee bastards, I cannot resist your sweet beany goodness.
On a last note, here is a picture I took while I was driving today.
On Tuesday, August 31, 2004 at 06:09 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
This is my bean. Don't try and hide the jealousy. It would be impossible, and you may explode. Tornado bought me this bean. I know she is regretting that I have it's mighty power, YOU CANNOT DENY THE POWERRRRRRRRR OF MY BEANNNNN!!
Ok i'm done.
On Monday, August 30, 2004 at 08:53 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Last night I had a dream. I dreamt of a dead dragonfly that I seen in the parking lot of a gas station a couple days ago. It disturbed me when I seen it, I stood there for a little while, not being able to tear myself away. And upon walking away I kept having violent mood swings. I remember slamming my car door shut after proclaiming, "SHIT!" at the top of my lungs to the family in the car next to me. No wonder I get strange looks sometimes. Later I would feel bad to subjecting the 5 year old boy with them to my filthy mouth and lunatic behavior.
Back to the dream. In my dream I was telling my dad about it, and he mentioned that he seen one that had died as well, he said, "that's funny, I haven't seen a dragonfly for awhile." End of dream. Right, not quite monumental. I told someone about it today in brief, and he mentioned I should bring it up to my dad. In all cases I forgot. But as I got into the car after my visit to him today, I let out a little squeal as I seen a dragonfly fly between us. My dad's exact words were, "that's funny, I haven't seen a dragonfly for awhile." I sat there for awhile after, just looking at him.
I had a very good day today, full of relaxion and passing out in my dad's big comfy chair. We watched some movies on the Sci-Fi Channel. He made me some pizza and had some fresh cherry tomatos picked from the garden. We had amazing conversations.
On the way home I tried taking some video, but almost wrecked into a truck for pissing with my phone while i'm driving, soooo...i'll try again tomorrow.
On Sunday, August 29, 2004 at 07:18 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Oh yes LG VX7000, you are mine...all mine. In all your phone 15 second sendable video, and still-shot camera goodness. In all of your bright flashy led displays that go off when you ring, that are reminiscent of a UFO. In all of your speedy data transfer rates, voice recording over pictures, beautiful internal and external display screens, creation of my own ringers, color layout of mobile web, swivel camera BEAUTY. You have everything that I could possibly want in a phone, I can't list it all here. But I shall display your perfection...........NOW.
On Thursday, August 26, 2004 at 10:26 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
On a lighter note, tomorrow I should be getting a camera/video phone. Since i'm not one to tote around my digital camera, it will have to suffice. This means I am going to be starting an online photo journal, with an occasional video thrown in depending on if I deem anything interesting enough for it. I'll put up a link once it begins.
On Wednesday, August 25, 2004 at 06:30 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
I stood there today. I felt the tension build, so much pressure mounting inside of me. My entire body locked up as my vision started to shift. I was angry...more than angry. I heard the crackle starting to begin inside of my ears, and at that moment, between delirium and illusion, I wanted to tear myself to pieces. I dug my nails deep into my left wrist. I quickly yanked back my arm and gouged at my skin. I didn't realize I was doing it, not at that moment, it was spontainious. It was an irrational reflex.
I stood there awhile afterward, analyzing the swelling red lines appearing on my arm, I could see tiny drops of blood starting to form. I stood there and looked at the skin lodged under my fingernails. I didn't have time for dwelling, I put on a plastic smile in front of my clenched teeth and pretended I was fine. Everything was golden.
On Wednesday, August 25, 2004 at 06:02 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Atlantis and Oak Trees.
Today was an interesting day. I always seem to have interesting days when I go to my father's house. It started out that he had an entire lunch made for me by things that he grew in the garden. From home-made french fries, corn on the cob, peas, carrots, tomatoes. It was wonderful. After awhile of us watching some overly sappy movie on television and agreeing that it truly sucked, we wandered outside of the house to go on a quest for blackberries on his property. It was beautiful outside today, we took a stroll through a large field and into the woods. There is a little stream that runs through it that we ended up spending some time at talking. I found a little black feather, picked it up and put it into my pocket. I was convinced something in the trees above was contemplating attacking me, I kept hearing rustling above me and seeing leaves come dropping down. So for the sake of my sanity we wander back out and head toward the house. My dad finds a large blackberry bush, with at first all we could tell...very few blackberries on it. All of a sudden i'm looking at him and his eyes light up. I see him raise his wooden walking stick in the air and start beating at the bush in front of us. Well...wailing at it. I start laughing as I hear him say, "AHA! I KNEW THEY WERE IN HERE SOMEWHERE!!!" It was a good time, he and I haven't done that for alot of years. Even though he cheated and just cut off large pieces of the bush so we could go and sit down to pick the berries off.
After quite some time of doing this, I see him wander out of the garage heading towards me with a map. I know what's in store, and I love it. Out of any map that he has, I can spot this one a mile away. I thrive off of it. He unfolds it carefully so we can start analyzing. It is not the "typical" map of the world. It shows everything, so much detail. Every ridge under the water, every elevation. We sit and point out to each other the Atlantian ridge, we have conversations of Plato and Atlantis. We talk about lost civilizations and point out to each other where some have been found. It is exciting for both of us, because we don't get to have these conversations with just anyone everyday. We learn new things off of each other...and will always remember them for the "next time."
I also spent alot of time under an old oak tree, it was absolutely beautiful. I stood under it looking upwards, just breathing in the air. I asked him how old he thought it was, and we came to a guestimation of over 100 years old. I felt so overwhelmed standing under something that has been around for so long. I never really stopped to think about it before. It just made me feel so small, like a tiny little fleck of time. My dad wondered off, and I stayed there, I remember saying..if only I could see all the things that you have seen. Only to hear the reply, "who are you talking to?!" Erm, I couldn't really tell him I was talking to a tree in front of me. And am not really sure why I am even writing this down now.
And last but not least, before going out for ice cream, I was taught an equation on how to determine the age of a living standing tree by him. You measure the circumference of the tree in inches at about breast height. You then divide that number by 3.1416. Then multiply the result by a species factor. Which in the case of that particular oak would be 4. I did not get a chance to do that today, but I look forward to it next time. Ahhh, you learn something new every day.
On Sunday, August 22, 2004 at 09:16 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Is my head like a magnet that draws objects towards it? Really, I get more head injuries than I care to go into. Today, walking out of my aunt's house in my normal half awake state of confusion, I walk directly into a shelf on the wall. The shelf did not budge but I flew backwards from the impact. Right in the middle of the forehead. I stood there in a stupor in the middle of her living room, eyes closed and a sneer on my face, hearing her feet come pattering down her hallway wondering what that loud noise was. I tell her what happened, and she laughs and says, "well, at least I know the shelf is on well" hahahhahaha gee thanks :/ Ahhh, it's good to laugh about the immense PAIN. Not to mention the other day at work, I was taking an actual magnet off of something high, it flies out of my hand and smashes me directly on the top of my head, it cut me a little and left a lovely bump. It's been like this all my life...one thing targeting my head after another. I'm starting to develop a complex from it...a rather painful complex.
And I threw my neck out again last night in my sleep, so on top of numerous head injuries I can't look to the left. How do I manage to sleep so wrong? I am all cozy, curled up under the covers when I drift off. But when I wake up I have a slight twist to my body with one leg hanging over the side of the bed, my head hanging off the other, one arm seemingly floating in the air, and the other arm semi-tucked underneath me. How the hell did I get that way?! From comfort to some mind-blowing contortionist position that no one in their right mind would find soothing in the least. Is there some unseen force manipulating me all around, laughing at what they can make me do, and forcing objects directly into my head - "hahaha, Lets see what position we can put her in nowwwww! Let's see what happens if we make this magnet pound on her head!" I doubt it, maybe I should just watch where i'm going... what i'm doing.... but i'll pretend anyway and label this: conspiracy #921...just because it seems fitting.
On Friday, August 20, 2004 at 10:28 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Today I feel frustration. I'm sitting here wanting to do several things at once, and accomplishing none of them. I am overwhelmed and uncomfortable. The tension is un-believable. I feel it pound through me with every move I make. I feel lost. I feel exhaustion and energenic at the same time. I feel like I am riding on this emotional roller-coaster that keeps jumping it's track.
On Thursday, August 19, 2004 at 10:55 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Almost every morning, I put on a button down white shirt, black pants that have a slight bell at the legs. It doesn't feel like a uniform. I like to think of it as some reflected version of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction. I think back to when I first seen that movie so many years ago, and I went on this un-ending quest to find the perfect button down white shirt, the only white shirt I would own. I think about how I couldn't find one to suit the image, and just gave up. And almost every morning before I leave, I stand in front of a full length mirror at the bottem of my staircase. I reflect back on that movie as I do the dance she did with John Travolta. I laugh at myself as I walk out the door.
I get into my car. I wonder if my engine will catch on fire, or if i'll be stranded in the middle of nowhere. Every truck that passes me, I wonder if it will hit me. Every hill that I go over, I wonder if the guard rails just wouldn't be strong enough to save me if I would hit into them. I think about deer jumping out in front of me, if one would slam into the hood of my car and bounce through the windshield. Every bridge that I cross, I wonder if it will fall. I stop on a particular one every morning, always catching a red light. I feel it bounce under the weight of crossing traffic, I grab my steering wheel and wait for it to collapse. Any plane that passes, it will crash into me. Any train that may pass, will de-rail. I see all of these things in my mind. They are spontainious and irratic. I've always been told that I have a great imagination. Right, well...it always gets the best of me. Maybe it's the dreams that I have, the ones i've had all my life, the ones I wrote about before. Still, I push on, I realize that I don't have control over anything or anyone else I may cross during the day, I only can control myself.
Someday I will make it to the places I wish to go, Egypt...Rome. Just like I have made it so many other places I chose to go before. It is out of need, fascination, want and motivation that I will be there. There is no such thing as "no" there is only..."I will make it happen." I hold onto those thoughts dearly, and know that I can and will do it. Things like this make the other thoughts unimportant.
Other things I go through on a daily basis: I have my hand eaten by one very vicious, yet highly adorable kitten.
On Tuesday, August 17, 2004 at 08:26 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Driving over a mountain, seeing the treetops below...a view that spreads as far as my eyes can see.
60 miles per hour: I feel the wind wrap around me, hair blowing and eyes open wide.
70 miles per hour: A chill on my skin, I feel a strong shiver pass through me. Goosebumps start to appear on my arms as the music I am playing takes me to another place.
85 miles per hour: No one else around me, I stretch my arms open wide, I close my eyes and breathe in deep. I steer only with my right knee.
I feel like I am flying.
On Saturday, August 14, 2004 at 07:08 p.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Because I feel the urge to post something, but have no idea what to post in the short amount of time I have...I shall write,
Random things about me that aren't so interesting and most people know anyway:
-One large cup of coffee = 22 packets of sugar induced goodness and half a creamer.
-I have had the opportunity in life to accidentally hit my favorite musician in the head on a stage in front of over 150 people. However, he re-broke my healing toe by yanking me up there. Still, I will always be traumatised by this moment and never forget the horror.
-I have met alot of famous people during my life so far. All but one of them have left me very un-impressed.
-I had the opportunity to go to E3 in 2003 through an invite from microsoft. I also got to attend the Microsoft Xbox press conference. I had a horrible time in California. I met Adam Sessler from Tech Tv's, X-Play there. He brushed me off because he was very busy. Then felt bad about doing so and came back over to talk and apologize.
-I could survive on 4-cheese hot pockets, Taco Bell tacos with only cheese and lettuce/no meat, Nachos, Candybars, and Pez.
-At this moment there is a large spider gently lowering itself over my alarm clock, I want to catch it and throw it out my window but I can't bring myself to do it.
-Right, like I mentioned I have this large spider, and I have lost track of where it went, my alarm clock is by my computer, I am at my computer...this is not good, sooooo I am going to go. I need to go to work anyway.
On Saturday, August 14, 2004 at 07:51 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.
Well it is known that I don't stay in this house at night. I just can't cope with alot of things here anymore, and by that I mean alot of things. But every night upon arriving to my aunt's house. Keep in mind, i'm 28. I am handed a vitamin, purchased for me by my worried family, in the shape of a spiderman head. Now my family they all know that I have this special "love" for Flintstones vitamins, oh yes, I will eat the whole bottle like they are little candies if they are in my grasp. So they could just GIVE me these spiderman head vitamins, but no...they ration them out like it's some sort of precious life consuming necessity.
What they don't know : These spiderman vitamins for one, taste like piss. Ever since the first night I was given one I gagged it down. I often wonder if they designed these to mimick the taste of spiderman's actual face and hood. I also wonder, who are the poor kids who actually have to take these horrid things?! I assume they will grow up with many mental scars. Anyway, I talk to my grandma almost every day, and the first thing out of her mouth is "are you takinggggggggg your vitaminsssssss?" I reply, "OHHHHHh yaaaa, they are just PEACHY! Thank you for buying them for me!" *twitch* Then she replies, "well let me know when those are ALLLLL gone and I will BUY YOU MORE!!!!" Aww, yes this is a sweet gesture. She really does care, and I love that woman and don't want to hurt her feelings in telling her how TERRIBLE AND AWFUL they are. In all honesty I have a stockpile of spiderman heads in the bottem of my purse. Every night I am given one, I say, "yep, i'll take it when I wake up, you know for that important spiderman energy I will receive in the morning." :/
Then I patiently wait for everyone to sleep, and throw it into my purse, practicing my wow these vitamins suck stealth. I have quite a collection.
Ok my story is done.
I also moved everything from my prior page into the Archives under my title, pitas.com is great for hosting a blog but it doesn't have a "next page feature" so I must do this once and awhile. Everything is still there, I just was adding way too much, pretty soon the scroll bar would have disappeared. Meh.
On Friday, August 13, 2004 at 07:35 a.m. prettytheft began a metamorphoses.