Super Duper Anxiety Time

It's like a show that has a roulette and I turn the wheel (much like in that show with Pat Sajack), and the needle lands on ANXIETY IN ALL ITS FORMS and then I proceed to freak out and get a full blown anxiety attack.

Quiero llorar. Que se me salgan las lagrimas, que se entrecrucen con mi sonrisa, lagrimas saladas en mis labios.

I don't want to. I don't want to believe in destiny, I don't want to believe everything is pre-ordained.

P.s. I fucking hate my haircut, detest it. This has only made me want to chop my hair short short, pixie short. I really am not happy with it.

I am so high I can't even write or organize my thoughts. How fantastic is that?! To die by your side, well the pleasure, the privilege is mine.

I want someone to be passionate about and who is equally as passionate about me. Why is it that in most relationships there is one person always giving more than the other one? One always loves more than the other, I feel. Do people ever fall in love around the same time? I yearn for that single moment where I see clearly that if I breathe one more breath, laugh one more time, think of this one person, I am going to fall, and fall hard. The *click* moment.

The premise: a romantic comedy drama of this couple who have been dating a year at least. She's open with him, loves him, slaves for him and contorts herself into impossible positions for him. He definitely likes her, he might even live with her but he's not in love with her. He doesn't cheat on her and he likes her company, but he's not about to sing up to a balcony, he's not willing to romanticize the situation. She keeps hoping he will one day just see what he has before him. But she stays with him because she does in fact love him. Something happens (maybe a guy steps in? she gets pregnant?) a series of unfortunate events happen and then he finally has his *click* moment wherein he realizes that he loves her.

Love. I am starting to not like that word. I am getting jaded, my skin developing a crystalline sheen.

I am so high I keep shaking my head a bit hoping to clear my head. Not working.

How Google Works for me:

The last remaining fragment of a quote rebounding in my head, a quote from the novel I had just finished by the name of Middlesex, something having to do with dappled, so I proceed to google 'dappled quote' and out jumps this poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins:

GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;	5
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:	10
Praise him.

 Which of course makes me google something else that caught my eye: rose-moles. Which I then google and come up with yet another link in the never ending Google chain: Sprung Rythm. When is Googling enough? Google fuck, Google trick, Google backseat lover, google exhaustion and city madness. I will Google the fuck out of you. I Googled him. Even Google hates him. Googled to death.

This (shit) writes itself

You know that moment in the night when you are too wasted to remember photos being shot of you doing crazy shit you might not want posted on facebook and then it happens with a cheerful forewarning of, "Oh great now I can post all those Hilarious X locale pictures I shot!" on a Facebook wall and so I start backtracking to see if I can remember anything indecent I might have been caught doing (yeah, I'm doing great in the living life department) and I come up with zero not because I wasn't doing anything that I shouldn't have been, but because I don't remember parts of the night. ZING! Jaggermeister 1 PJ 0.

Things NOT to Google while incredibly High Part 1 of God knows how many:

Buto dance.

Seriously freaked me out.

romantic vs. cynical chat excerpt

I: Do you recall moments of looking into each others eyes and thinking this is not like sex with a guy I really feel comfortable with like a boyfriend
Me: No waaaaaaay
I: Feeling like their eyes are empty
I: Do you even look?
Me: Hmmmmmm
I: I recall looking last time and not seeing anything, it was odd
Me: It's called sex
It's impersonal
It's not making love
Sex is just getting pounded
and liking it.

Awesome things today:

• bought my cleats and some awesome NB sneakers for a total of $53.00!
  
• this purchase also means that I didn't get the job I was hoping for but,
  
• it means that I can now go back to smoking all the weed I ever wanted to smoke again!
• this deserves a second sentence just for me to really brag about it. WEEDWEEDWEED!
  
• it also means that I have to keep working at the place where I am kind of "feh" about
  
• back with my bitchy co-worker who fucking hates my guts and is jealous of me
• I figured out she was jealous today when she played back an entire conversation I had with an Israeli a month back. I couldn't even remember!
• there is not much to be jealous about.
  
• I also feel like she is stealing my people technique and it is kind of freaking me out.
  
• saw a acrazy movie with A. the weed didn't help make it any more coherent. Sex, drugs, and severely jaded, moody, teens.
  
• how glad am I that stage is over and done with.