So...the days are counting down, one by one.
I"m listening to Hope Sandovals "Friends of a Smile"--so pretty.
I'm having daily anxiety attacks--brief ones that make my whole chest compress--but, other than that...I'm doing okay.
I just think I'm doing the wrong thing, now.
hopefully it's my ovaries talking and not my 3rd eye...but I just see this whole thing falling apart.
Then again, it's like: wake up country girl....you're going to make it after all. Don't forget your mary tyler moore mantra. And I'm trying to keep hope alive. I mean, I'm sure everything here seems 10 million times better because there's a finality to it (finally.)
The staff at Keiki O's is really nice and the insurance/pay isn't 100% horrible. It really sucks because now that my mom isn't working, I could've found a second job here in hawaii and earned a little more money.. and tried to pay off more bills, but whatever. I mean, living here totally sucks. And when I think of the silence and the freet time, I kinda smile. But, this is all joe's fault. le sigh.
whatever...I'll make it, and things will work out.
Chris and I were talking--and he's my sanity guru. He was like...every decision is a decision so just move on and deal with it.
But, maybe it's my internal defense mechanism? I don't know....
I don't know anymore.
my chicken is on fire.
by the way, remember "at last" by neko case.
everyone...get an account with pandora.com and listen to the "mazzy star" radio-station.
pretty ethereal chick rock that makes tears stream from your eyes....
You know what...I'm not done writing.
I've taken care of the chicken and the world hasn't set on fire yet...so I can type for a few more minutes.
I'm in the sorting process--looking at each item of my belonging and deciding it's worth.
Poor objects of my long-time obsession--
up on the chopping block, waiting for it's fate
does it go in the suitcase
does it stay in a box (never to be seen again)
or does it go in the white trash bag?
little pieces of materials
notes and letters
stars of all shapes
pictures of areas that remind me of good times.
all of those little things
placed on a unseen scale
being weighed as important or not.
But, aren't they all important?
don't they all hold some significance and a place in the suitcase
--a place in the heart?
doesn't it mean more than a small sliver of space in the already failing memory bank?
don't these little trinkets of happiness have a place in this world?
no one tells you that growing up means saying goodbye to all of the little pieces of gold glitter that makes you smile.
no one tells you that at all.
I hate living here.