How quick you are to denounce me and all I try to do...We're still in the gutter, but you act as if I've laid out our sheets.

Tell that story about the frog and the wig...

I was prompted to make up a story about a frog and a wig... this is what I came up with:

There once was a bald frog named Ted. Ted thought it was peculiar that the frog community began to grow hair when, as history books can tell you, frogs never had hair. Each frog grew luscious radiant hair except for him. He did not fret though, he figured he could continue the legacy of the bald frogs that had reigned the land before time. However the frog community did not take lightly to this, believing that Ted thought he was better for his clean scalp. He did not though, he just believed in preserving the past and his bald heritage. One night the frogs conspired to make Ted one of them. They devised a plan so horrid my ears bled as I heard them. The following morning, Ted woke up in the worst pain he had ever experienced. He thought that he had just slept funny, but when he went to the pond and look at his reflection, the Ted that went to sleep was not looking back at him. A wig that resembled the style of Elvis Presley was fastened to his head by glue, tacks, and caulk. He pulled and pulled, but the only thing that came up was his head. He was very sad and depressed, but was well welcomed by the frog community. They expected him to be overjoyed by this newfound warmth, but instead was sickened by their petty painful ways. He leaped to the middle of the town and pulled at the wig till he pulled his own head off and died. The end.

The Difference in Humanity

I sit here, pondering, breasts hanging out from the covers, my heated sighs ricocheting off of the computer screen. I wonder, through all the cluster of people I have involved myself with, male and female, what the difference between each of them is. If I end up with this person, this person who sits, absolved of his actions with no care of remedy, what makes him so different from the rest? I've been with over a hundred different guys, because of some quality that struck in my eye and commanded me to knock that quality or that guy off the list of accomplishments. I've been with all of these guys, kept some for longer than others, had hopes that some would stay and hopes that some would just fall off the face of the earth. There was a small collection that I thought would last, be good ones to bring home to dad, and now two remain that I thought and think I may spend the rest of my life with. To the latter, I just wonder when the chips will fall in disarray and the realization that all the carp in this sea are filled with the shit they live in will reveal itself.

Is it environment that merely is destroying certain nights or the fact that our priorities are different? Does our age matter that much where the things that bother me are just trivial and juvenile to him? And coming from a person who was consumed by judgmental pretentious people, if all of this is true, what makes his word and thought valid to me?

Things will never be perfect...sometimes I wonder why I must keep fighting for a life I am apathetic to continue.

It's been over five years since I first met him. Those days are old and fading, and somehow this internal conflict has too much of a balance between the pros and cons. I don't know why I've held on so long, and have somehow forced this belief that it's true love. The one and only. The suffering had to of meant to prove to a lasting and infinite connection. True love. And as much as everyone believes that we will end up together, they don't know what events are unfolding.





It's hard to grasp the concept that everything I did and chose to sacrifice...and did no matter the consequence that it meant meaningless. I can't believe that I was used. I can't believe that he would take advantage of me and I won't. I don't understand how someone who will accept me to the end, and care so much, and still remain, loving me, won't be with me forever. And as I try and move on, and how i meet strangers that feel comfortable and familiar, I remain within his perverbial grasp. How I try and forget, and not because those days made the best days. Those days made me who I am now and I don't regret a single moment because what use does that do. And I wonder if I move how different that life will be. And yet I know somehow it will become the same whether it takes a week or a decade, wherever you go, there you are...and so she said.

I want to forget. I want to be something new. I want to be invisible and intangible. A distant and forgotten memory with no remains. It's hard enough to continue your own rules and conscience when you're not the only person you must please. The more strangers you collect, the more expectation there is. The stress is too much when people can be as indespensible as pez...and blue collared workers.

I had my first panic attack since my last roommate. These days have been so chaotic and manic. They're large commitments with huge responsiblities and as I try and control both sides of me, Tasha and Beth, somehow those lives have combined into what I've feared the most since the first day I considered becoming apart of this industry, this lifestyle. I never wanted them to be face to face. I've become a waste of intelligence and talent. I've finished before I started. I'm not me anymore. and i'm so scared.

I wonder why I came back. Everyday I wonder why I was a miracle. Why I survived. The first thought that ran through my head after I realized where I was was why I survived and how pissed I am for doing so. The joys I once was able to do I no longer can become the damage has been done. And once something good and pure and everything I've always wanted and dreamed of happens I sabotage it because honestly I don't think I deserve it and will ruin the purity of those offering it. I wonder why for everything...some things can't be romanticize or made light of. Some things are just done, and no matter how injust they seem there's no changing the inevitable. I give up. I accept it with great disappointment. Another wasted life.




I've forgotten who I am. I wish I could find myself again somehow. I miss her so much. I don't know how I became this way. I don't know who I am, but I do know that I will end up living too long, and alone. How did this happen...I once had a chance with people who saw a remarkable future. I've failed you Hemingway. I've failed you Bukowski. I've failed you all.

I'm scared that I know who I really am and after him, I'm scared to repeat it and ruin someone else. I sabotage it to save them from me. Now I know why she left without a return address. I know he loves me, but won't let me visit. And i know that I'll end up staying in Rochester. I cling onto those days when responsiblity was just an mxpx song... and when mxpx was popular. And now as I realize that these days are depleting when this behavior is not completely unacceptable, I begin to lose everything that made me who I am. He's coming home and I'm panicking.

Chapter...

The story of my life has been told so many times, the same version, told over and over to intoxicated airways and droned out masses. The times have changed with an infinite story playing, events as redundant as the last that these words are meaningless. There is no gain than a vice, a ploy at attention or gloating. I have acquired many of these. I stumble over these sentance structions, spelling, grammar as my liver chokes down another PM aid and it is a slow process until one is defeated.

Tomorrow begins another paragraph of this story with aspirations to be as long as "porn dick." I'd like to start tomorrow of with sunny side-up eggs and some bacon.