Blood not funny

Does anyone know what it is like to bleed for nearly 8 months straight? I do, and sadly nothing is getting better. I am in more pain than I think I have been in since the last time the doctor did something to my vagina. It hurts so much I want to cry. What hurts even more is the one person whom I want to come over and take care of me is the most selfish and uncaring person in the world. Saying things like sorry, wish I could help. Well helping would be coming over and sitting with me, doing it without my asking. Calling me to see if I am ok, saying goodbye at the end of a conversation, not cheating on me (whether physically or emotionally) and just being there. I did not want a boyfriend, because I did not feel like the person I was seeing was ready to be a boyfriend. He said he wanted it, actually got into a fight with me about it, and I finally caved. But I do not believe that he has the same idea of what being a boyfriend is as I do.

making out

Making out is one of my favorite things to do, not sex, not fucking, not oral stimulation, just good old fashioned making out and feeling like you dont know what you would do if you cant have that person that instant, but you cant, so you keep making out. Its wonderful, sadly it doesnt happen that often. new quote "No man or woman is worth your tears and the only one who is will never make you cry. If you love someone put their name in a circle instead of a heart because hearts can break, but circles go on forever."

Crazy Cat

Its been a while since I last posted, and I know that no one reads my blog anyway, but it helps me get some hair off my chest. Things have been a little weird lately. I feel like I am somewhat stuck in a rut, but not really. Its hard to explain. I am happy 85% of the time, which I think is a lot, but that other 15% sometimes more, I stress and and wonder exactly what I am doing, with all aspects of my life. Do I really like my job, do I really love my family and friends, should I really spend my "love life" with someone who may not like me back, and whom I may never trust? And when all is said and done, is this really my life? Probably. On another front, its April and snowing and I feel like it should be Christmas. Its certainly looking like it outside. Im going to start posting my favorite quotes and I will begin with this one:

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a flying and this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying."

My favorite poem of all time

I like to post things when I am high and pretending like I am doing work. I love this poem and every time I read it I am automatically in a better mood. I need that right now. I am trying to just be strong and move on but it hard every now and again, when I have a lot of time to think. And because of this, I am going to think as little as possible from now on. But I will let you read this: 1. The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo. LET us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … 10 Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo. The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, 15 The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap, 20 And seeing that it was a soft October night, Curled once about the house, and fell asleep. And indeed there will be time For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 25 There will be time, there will be time To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; There will be time to murder and create, And time for all the works and days of hands That lift and drop a question on your plate; 30 Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions, Before the taking of a toast and tea. In the room the women come and go 35 Talking of Michelangelo. And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair— 40 [They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”] My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin— [They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”] Do I dare 45 Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all:— Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, 50 I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room. So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55 The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? 60 And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare [But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!] It is perfume from a dress 65 That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl. And should I then presume? And how should I begin? . . . . . Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets 70 And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?… I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . . And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! 75 Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep … tired … or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? 80 But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85 And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, 90 To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it toward some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— 95 If one, settling a pillow by her head, Should say: “That is not what I meant at all. That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, 100 After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105 Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: “That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . . 110 No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, 115 Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old … I grow old … 120 I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. 125 I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown 130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

I love Dogs

Ok, so I put this on my myspace profile, because i really do love dogs, and instead I get a message from some 18 year old kid that I dont know, asking if he can watch me have k9 sex sometime.
weird

Misery loves company

I am miserable right now. All I want is to not be alone forever, thats apparently going to happen though, its inevitable.

Im starting to not love Christmas so much too

I said I wouldn't

I said I wouldnt take medication any more after I used to be on a lovely little cocktail, consisting of uppers and downers. And now, I am taking it back. I am taking a lot of things back. I am going back on medication, I need to. I am on it right now and god, I feel so much better, like I might actually get through the day without giving up. Like I normally do.

I told my boss that I would stay at the clinic, why, I don't know. I feel like I did a really shitty job on the project this semester and need to make up for it next semester, by staying. Oh yeah, I have to go meet with a principal.

I also know everything and am not oblivious, nor a moron.