6 AM

It's past six a.m. and I can't sleep because the thoughts won't stop and the tears won't stop and the sobs won't stop, any one of these issues being sufficient to hinder a good nights rest but the combination being especially problematic.

If someone one day were to dissect me, I have the feeling that it would reveal that I'm only an inch deep, and that the rest of the space inhibiting my admittedly narrow body is just a vacuum. It's how I've felt lately. Not tonight.

There are days and nights, when I've been alone for too long, that I can't seem to stop myself from falling back into the deep recesses of my inner void and tapping into the emotional well that I've worked so hard to bury these past few weeks. Once I'm there, there's no stopping the tidal waves of salt water that force themselves in trails down my cheeks. I'm grateful the wall between CC and I is thick enough to to drown out my cries and allow her an uninterrupted sleep.

The thought continuously occurs to me that I should pray for comfort.

I never do.

I'm not speaking to God right now; it's not Him, it's me.

Besides, I need to feel this way. It's my only release from being the inch-deep psychological anomaly that is my persona in the daylight. I allow myself a constant stream of meaningless distractions that sometimes lasts the entire day and following night, sometimes not.

I seek simple amusements to fill my day and my mind, my eyes and my ears. My brain and heart don't get any input. They just don't. As for feelings, I am allowed one single inch of depth. I learn to just ignore the ugliness that I carry around with me wherever I go, no matter how far I walk, how long I drive, who I talk to or how very many distractions I seek out like a heroin addict does, well, heroin.

And if I bleed, I bleed knowing he may care,
but if I sleep, I sleep to dream of him,
but wake without him there.

because I used to have someone that knew me better than I knew myself, and even when we were separated by thousands of miles, at my lowest moments, I could feel that closeness that no distance ever severed. And I could hold the letters he wrote to me and feel his love seep into me through my eyes and through my fingertips. And I was never, really, alone.

And I know that right this very moment I could get in my car, drive for twenty minutes, knock on his door, and he would hold me like nothing has changed, like the beautiful sun I've revolved around all these years hasn't gone and left me spinning alone in this darkness. And for a little while I could convince myself that if two people really love each other, and they're trying their best to do what's right, and they're selflessly trying to serve the other, that they can be together.

But they can't, and I don't know why.

I don't know anything anymore.

He's not really gone, I just can't have him. And now all I have is the vacuum. The void, the well, the ocean, the inch....

But it only hurts when I'm breathing.

My heart only breaks when it's beating.

My dreams only die when I'm dreaming

so I hold my breath

to forget

and it only hurts when I breath.

If My Life Were A Novel, I Probably Wouldn't Read It

Today was semi-eventful. CC took me to meet her faux-family. I followed her to their house in my car while she rode her bike.

I blasted "Boys of Summer" through the window so she wouldn't get, like, bored or whatever.

When I got there, I vaguely noticed some paper taped to the front door. I read it when I left and was amused to read, "Notice #2: The boys of this house must return home immediately after school each day and must remain in the house - without friends - until all No grades, D's, and F's are corrected." There was another paper on the door that I assumed was notice #1. I didn't read it.

When I got in, the first thing I noticed was that the doorway into the kitchen was a brick archway. I know, awesome. I think I said so. I can't tell you what the second thing I noticed was because I didn't happen to be carrying a notepad and pen.

Anyway, sometime after I had finished noticing the first two or more things, I was introduced to the ever so friendly mother, who began with telling me how beautiful she found me (which, naturally, endeared me to her faster than if she had just vowed to donate both her kidneys to my dying first-born child), and then explained to me how unfortunate it was that I had only just missed the fashion show their family had put on consisting of some Already-Been-Loved clothes sent to them by their highly eccentric far away aunt "EVILeen." I immediately liked them better for having an eccentric relative (it would have been best if they had been the family eccentricities, of course, but I guess that's not their fault).

The more time I spent in that house, the more I liked it. You know in those books where they're talking about some place that just feels like home the moment you set foot in it, with that homey atmosphere and warmth and every crevice just oozing of perfect, familial content, or that scene in those movies where the young, attractive lead character walks in for the first time and the oh-so mellow background music starts up and they're just watching everything and the air is filled with laughter and fun and closeness and the jello looks way too much like old cheese and everything is right in the world? And you're watching and your only reaction is 'Hm,' because you didn't even bother thinking about it because places like that don't even exist? Well they do. And they're kind of like this house. You know, kind of.

In any case, I really liked it. I liked it even more when I sat on the couch and saw the greenish-pink-yellowish pillow moving out of the corner of my eye, and I turned and found that I had plopped down inches away from a giant iguana named Gandhi who, it turns out, is not, in fact, a pillow. It was love at first sight. I've finally found my Rebound.

The night continued. I got to explain how I was now living with CC because my parents kicked me out of the house for being out past my ten o'clock curfew and then leaving the house the next day even though I was grounded for being out past my ten o-clock curfew. Later, in between moments of pressing myself tightly against whatever latest object was hindering my attempt to get an arms length between myself and my newest acquaintance, Rex, as in "how many times can I rhyme my name with sex" Rex, I got to explain to the overly curious, touchy, speedo-attired high schoolboy all about how Matt and I had met when I was twelve, had a crush on each other, been best friends for two years, been broken up by my parents for three years which he spent seriously dating one of my best friends, met by chance in the street one night when I was seventeen, started dating, wrote to each other all through his mission, got engaged, planned a wedding, paid for a wedding, cancelled said wedding three days before the wedding, and then broke up. All the while avoiding any actual eye contact with a boy who was practically sitting on my lap the entire time.

And then when I went downstairs and saw this boy James, who used to go to my school.

It was weird, but cool. His hair is all blond now, like mine, and his voice got really deep. Like mine.

Yep, pretty crazy.

Crazy day.

Dear Jack

(Disclaimer: This isn't true. I was just having a boring Saturday night and this sort of just happened. Then I read it and actually liked it.)

Dear Jack,

I know Britt broke your heart. I’m sure she’s a real wench. But come on, man. That was TWO YEARS AGO. Move on – I’m sure she has. As for talking to me about her, you really need to stop. I am showing you an unusual level of patience for your pathetic past. We all have loads of baggage, so you need to learn to stop carrying yours everywhere. Buy a pack mule or something.

Also, would you stop being so gosh-darn sensitive to my feelings? Your ability to tell something is bothering me through a two-word text is astonishing. You obviously have a gift, and it is creepy. Next time you get that “something’s wrong” vibe, remember what I do when you tell me you’re not doing so great; I apologize for my lack of sympathy and move on. You should really learn to do that.

Oh, another thing, Dr. Phil. What was that “I know you want to feel love but you’re scared” crap you tried to give me the other night? Who do you think you are? I already warned you a number of times about what a heartless wench I am. And do you remember what you said to me anyway? “You’re scared to get attached because you’re worried they’ll leave. Why haven’t you learned to give people a try? They might be exactly what you need.” And I tried to shrug it off, I told you I was fine. And you said, “No you’re not! Listen to yourself.” And even when I stopped talking, you had the audacity to ask me if I’m happy. How dare you ask me that? What are you trying to prove? I told you the cold, hard truth: I don’t have to be happy, I just have to be right. What you answered, or just the fact that you answered at all, made me laugh: “That’s the biggest bullshit I’ve ever heard in my life.” Jack, I truly hate you. Stop analyzing my already screwy mind. It’s twisted beyond repair and it should just take early retirement in Sun City, Florida.

I think it’s only fair to tell you a few things I’ve been refraining from saying. First, you aren’t really a ninja and I DO mock you behind your back. Second, you are probably not going to ever join the CIA and you should start to explore other options. Your dreams were cute, though. Third, you need braces. Fourth, why are you taking a creative writing class if you hate writing? Are you retarded?

That’s all I can think of for now.

Sincerely,

CC Lemondrop

P.S. I’m not going to “live a little and give a chance to let my heart get broke.” That’s one of the worst ideas I’ve ever heard. Oh, and it’s broken, not broke, you moron.

Valentine's Day Disaster

So you would think that Valentine's Day is romantic, and wonderful. One on one holiday right? Well, not mine. First of all, he made me drive myself to BJ's house (where we had our date, if you can even call it one). That was the first mistake. Then, when I got there I knocked on the door and they didn't answer. I called too but they didn't answer that either. Finally Dustin came up because the dog kept barking. I was standing out there a good 10 minutes. I almost left I was so mad. Anyway. I walk downstairs and it's BJ playing the xbox and Dustin and I were sitting on the bed. I found out that BJ's date bailed because she was having a girl's night that night. I also found out later that they invited Shawn, who also didn't have a date. Alex and Ashley finally showed up. (They broke up but they were still Valentines.)

They put blankets on the floor because we were having a picnic. I was like, oh alright that's cute. Then they made everyone go with them to Wingers to get buckets of wings. Classy right? Yeah. We got back and they threw paper plates on the ground and it was as if they said, "dig in". At this point I was like, okay seriously? Then BJ and Shawn were acting like a gay couple and they kept making "that's what she said" jokes and talking about gross things they've done with girls. Well, BJ did at least. Ashley and I were both like, wow. Awkward. Everyone got done eating and they decided to watch the movie now. Wanna guess what movie we watched? I doubt you will. Tenacious D. You know, Jack Blacks band? Yeah. It's a movie about how there band got started and it's supposedly really funny. It's horrible. It said the F word a million times I swear. That was when I got really mad. Who watches that kind of movie on Valentine's Day?!

Next part of my story is when Stephanie and Jordin came over. They are these two girls that I swear are lesbians. BJ likes Jordin and she's the girl who was having the girl's night. With Stephanie. Alex was getting all up on Steph even though he was there with Ashley. Shawn and Ashley were talking after that. Everyone switched dates besides Dustin and me. It was weird!!

OH!! My gift.. It was a necklace (I don't wear necklaces) that was a heart (I hate hearts). It was delicate and cute I guess. But I don't think he thought about it when he bought it. He knows both those things and yet he persisted to buy it.

Question, How come guys are so stupid when it comes to these things?

I'm Keeping Your Hat

Hey girls, my creative writing class has got my creative juices flowing. This is my most recent piece of work. It's beautiful. It's called "I'm Keeping Your Hat." Dedicated to my 8th grade love Jaun Madly. So Jaun... here's what I REALLY think of you.

I’m keeping your hat.

It’s been

crushed

pounded

ripped

dragged

shot

torched

shamed

clobbered

gashed

bleached

stained

drowned

insulted

skewered

bitten

mangled

hung

and flushed.

But I’m going to keep it anyway.

If I ever see you again

Wearing another stupid hat

at a dance

in a car

with your friends

singing

cheering

screaming

or cursing,

All those things I did to your hate

I’m going to do to you.