well i got myself a new day
and i got myself a second chance
so i headed to the bus stop
and the sun the sun was warm on my face
today i ran for miles just to see what i was made of

well i got myself a song inside. and i got myself some full-blown daylight. gonna tell you just how hard it's been trying to talk myself out of jumping.

today i ran for miles just to see what i was made of.

- gemma hayes

life is, for the third week in a row, very good.

quick - i need songs about fools for love and fools with delusions. i need to relate and emote.

i'm making a playlist. it's called 'i am a fool.'

people are SO lame.

le sigh

keane - "hopes and fears"

i wish it were not so late and my roommate was not sleeping soundly in her bed because then i could blast this.

really, blast everything.

emoting or building

I think the words we need here are: sustainable development.

I need to take a little, give a little, breed a little, stir a little, and carefully sculpt its development into something that will be rich and long-lasting and beneficial to all.

I am obviously talking about feelings. Not oil nor wind power nor green buildings.

'Here is to dying in another's arms and why I had to try it.'

I am at a crossroads and I'm asking the wind or whoever blows it to give me a little shove in the right direction 'cause I can't stay awake thinking about it all night long.

Great weekend. Great week. Don't know how I'm going to deal when its over.

flat top vampire

oh, what strange turn of events!

time is going fast.

these last couple weeks have caused me to exclaim, on more than one occasin, that life is good.

life is good only when one good day has been cushioned by at least 3 good days on both sides. this means 'life is good' is equal to one week of goodness. that may not even be true. perhaps it is one great day cushioned by 4 on each side. that would mean 'life is good' is equal to 8 days of goodness plus one day of greatness.

although exhausted, it has been worth it. i have had those little moments where i realize that all is not lost and that i am a much more interesting and smarter person than i was two years ago. that some of my fears have been quelled. that some of them have only escalated but due to good reason.

i stood outside through the beginning and the end of a thunderstorm. i can't pretend i'm one of those carefree people who like to splosh and run through the rain and who love thunderstorms - because the truth is i dislike rain and am scared of thunderstorms. but that night, i was one of the living. i prefer minnesota weather. it is alive all the time - constantly changing. i wish to be more like it.

we live again

Just a quick note.

Night two where Kristina has not gone to bed before the birds have woken up and began to sing their little ditties. Their little simple tunes that I will never begin to emulate.

My typing sounds so loud. So loud. It is intrsuive in the stillness of the night. And yet I am smiling.

No matter how I look down upon drunkeness, it adds a sort of wonder to the world. I wonder how my brain is functioning to connect to my fingers that are typing. I wonder how I am going to crawl into my bed. I wonder how I am ever going to wake up again and why my wrists are so skinny and that shouldn't they deserve more support for all that they do? More bone? More muscles? I am going to live in London in a year. That will be miraculous. God, all I want to do. It' just to live somewhere where I feel challenged. Where I can take walks in beauty. My house. My house is so suburbian. It' so DULL to take walks. It' just asphalt and big houses that you've seen before. Little trees and front yards that all look the same. There are hills a block away but I can't feel safe walking on them. WHy? Because I'm a girl. I'm not trying to make any sort of statement - it's jsut fact.

Dear Mom, Happy Birthday. I love you. Thank you for helping me be who I am. Thank you for buying the "Phantom of the Opera" record when I was 4 and was terrified of the cover. Because being terrified of the cover at age 4 only made me love it more at age 5 and have it in my heart forever and forever. I once forogt about the magic of musicals - thank goodness I've found it again. Mom, music is my life. Thank you for helping me find it.

Happy Birthday.

I hear a bird song and I haven't even gone to bed yet.

the japanese richard gere

Today I am inspired. This is a great feeling. I don't know how or when it happened. I'm feeling good about myself today. I'm feeling brave. Perhaps this is a triumphant feeling that one often gets after getting over a wrestling match with sickness. I feel good about making my history class laugh today. I feel good about not scheduling out my day and still getting everything done. I feel good, the way that I should.

I want to go on a nice walk with somebody I enjoy spending time with but that I don't spend too much time with but who doesn't make me feel like I am boring and doesn't let my hands sweat. I want to go on adventures and take more pictures. Artsy pictures. I want to go on the light rail and pretend that I am on the London Underground. Every train I go on I pretend I am on the London Underground. I plan art projects around the London Underground. I read books about the London Underground. There are inspiring things to be had to be seen in life and today I feel like I've discovered a lot of them.

I decided I want to be the student that "one who always puts pop culture references in her papers."

Here is something I don't feel good about. My Entertainment Weekly is opened to the HitList because I love Dalton Ross, but on the opposite page is an ad for VH1's concert to benefit their 'Save the Music' campaign. The image is an electric guitar with some bling bling slut nurses hands with resucitators over the guitar. I hate this. But then you look at the artists. . . Alicia Keys Mariah Carey Rod Stewart Rob Thomas Joss Stone John Legend Donna Summer And More. . . and how are they going to save the music? How is this nurse going to save the music with her long red fingernails is really the question?

I made a webpage because I was bored. This is it. It is about stuff I like. I didn't know what else to do. I'm at a loss for content.

The truth is, I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha getcha. Not getchoo. No, Rivers, NO.

nothing compares 2 u

Being sick means not having to say you’re sorry. It means the excuse to avoid human contact. Being sick means everything in your life is put on the backburner. Being sick means you are the pope, the sultan, the queen of England who glances down from atop her tower of pillows, tissues, and empty soup bowls. Being sick means you are the victim and therefore in control of the world.

This morning I got up and I was sick. I made a few unattractive noises and rolled out of bed. Greeted by cheerful ‘good mornings’ of my roommates, I grunted in response, wearily heading towards the bathroom. On the way back, I grunted some more. I’m sick, grunt.

Then they got it. Then they understood. I had triumphantly acquired the ‘get out of jail free’ card. I could be a raving lunatic as long as I interspersed coughs within my speech. Gone all guilt of thinking of my computer as my best friend. Gone all guilt of building up my taciturn walls. I was sick. I had never been freer.

Being sick means an excuse to disappear, be irresponsible, flake out on things I said I’d be at that now, come to fact, I didn’t want to do anymore. Being sick is a doorway to truth. Being sick means being able to insult my closest friends and still keep them close. Being sick gives me the magical ability to be eight again, my health and welfare entirely in the hands of my mother. I gain whiny vocal expressions I didn’t know I possessed.

On Saturday, one of the most beautiful days of the year thus far, I called my aunt. I told her I was sick and since she was sick, we should be sick together. We holed up together, burrowed under blankets, and drowned ourselves in tea, soup, and Diet Coke. We scowled at the bikers and the kids playing outdoors. Lucky jerks, we snarled. We watched Charles and Camilla’s wedding reception on BBC America. I laughed at my aunt for wanting to watch it and she scratched her face deliberately with her middle finger. It was okay, because then I wiggled my fingers and told her to tell me when to stop. She said stop. Only my middle finger was left up. Being sick means being mean. It’s funny when you’re sick and mean.

We went grocery shopping for sick food. Being sick means being able to throw whatever you want into the grocery cart because there is so little that sounds appealing to you that your mother is happy that you’ll eat so you don’t just waste away. You can buy packaged fruits because you’re too sick to cut them up. You can buy ice cream because you say it will make your throat feel better. You can also leave your grocery cart in the middle of the aisle because you are sick and everybody is in your way and they deserve it.

Being sick means everybody gets in your way, just to spite you. Being sick means having people tell you that you look sick or death wormed over. Then you thank them sarcastically. Being sick means you can use your sarcasm to your most potent of abilities. Being sick means always having a conversation starter.

Most of all, being sick means appreciating the sun and your snot-free nose and your tickle-free throat when one morning you finally get out of bed and realize that the room is not spinning and that everybody is just really happy that you’re better.

Probably because they hated you sick.

Sometimes the actions of brushing your teeth and washing your face before you can collapse into bed are just too much.

all i have procured

I am too stupid to go to King's College London and too stupid to go to University College London. Mostly because my major is history and I suck at history. That means I am definitely too stupid to go to Oxford or Cambridge. This totally blows. At one time in my life, one of my life goals was to study at Cambridge. The other two were to marry a soccer player and attend the Oscars. One down, two to go. I am too stupid to live. Why did I not just try harder? Why am I dangling here with my 3.3 GPA? Why do I have a 3.0 in my major? I am too stupid to live.

I am also lonely and I hate car alarms and police sirens. I hate sore throats and I hate being alone in my room trying to do homework when I just want to go to sleep and freak out about study abroad stuff and how I'm going to have to reduce myself to a different London college because I am too stupid to get into King's College or University College. My parents are going to be so T'O'd. They should be. This encourages me to do my homework. Glad I checked up on my stupidity tonight when I still have final papers and projects to do.

I wish all the other aspects of my life would just fall into place so I could just worry about grades and study abroad all day long.

come disconnect the dots with me poppet

Of Montreal = crazylove.
crazylove = Of Montreal.
Of Montreal = band.

I IMed my little brother today, saying, "brian?" 'cause sometimes he is not there. He wrote back, "hi poopface" so then I knew it was him.

I think having two brothers made me who I am today. Cool.

Tonight on 'America's Next Top Model' the contestants had to come up with a perfume/bottle that represented them and market it to people from all over the world. I would say 'This perfume is not going to sell well. I've never sold well. This is for the people who secretly don't want to smell bad but don't want to spend lots of money to smell weird like a perfume. This is called Eau de Open Air and is a chameleon perfume that acclimates itself to its surroundings quite well unless they are stifling or full of complete pretentious and structured crap. It is not flashy and its bottle is quietly sophisticated and funky and angled so that sometimes you can see how sophisticated and funky it is but only if you're of the right angle. Obviously, this is now not marketable at all. And also some sort of crappy metaphor. Thanks, Tyra. I want to be America's Next Top Model."

And so on and so forth..

nothing compares 2 u

I have been dabbling in streaks of unfriendliness, but now I realize that I am on the brink of perhaps losing friends into the large pool of acquaintances. It is my fault, it is their fault, but I feel like I am not doing enough about it. The happier I am, the less I need friends. It is a rotten state and a rotten lot I've been given. The happier I am, the more I can enjoy time to myself. The more I want to enjoy time to myself.

So if I have been rotten to you, I apologize. I know I cannot be great friends with lots and lots of people; I was simply not ordained to be one of those people. I am too antisocial, too introverted, and believe me, no matter what you think, this is true.

I go out of my way to hang out with some people, and it always seems to slip my mind to hang out with others. This is the natural order of things. This is life - and I have trouble with that. Still, there are so many more amazing people that I dont' know and who I want to be my friends. It comes easy, it goes easy. It's so easy to meet new people and it's so easy to lose the people you've met before. It's shit, absolute shit, and I hate it.

I feel the exhaustion of sun on my skin. My skin feels stretched and dry, and so does my body. This weekend has been a good run.

I am still avoiding the future.