Monthly Archive

i wish i could document every moment that i spend in school. it’s a weird experience- i like school… a lot. i want to spend every waking moment in the halls of that place. which is strange. really queer. because, i don’t like school. i don’t. i hate it. my whole life i’ve hated it. school hurt my feelings. waking up. going to class. taking tests. learning stuff that doesn’t matter. ever.

my favorite thing to say to teachers, as most intelligent, lazy people, like myself, would agree on, was always, “why do i have to learn this? of all the people in the school, why do you think that i care at all? cause i don’t. this is lame and doesn’t matter in my future career as a server/bartender.” then i would get mad and ask for the hall pass and sit in the bathroom, and do my hair, and stare at my face.

not a lot has changed in four years.

except the fact that i love school now… i love listening to my ipod on my breaks. i love learning about supply and demand. i love watching videos from the 1980’s. granted i still go into the bathroom and stare at my face, but even that is more fun then it’s ever been.

i only have five or six more years to go… which will take me to about twenty-seven years old. ahhh. i hate school… it lasts so long.

i’m quitting now while i still can.

“today’s been a career day,
futures made and fortunes lost as I’m standing in the lobby,
I’m waiting for the elevator to take me away up to nine or ten, maybe eleven
the sound of sirens fading as she whispers in my ear she’s saying,
its too late to wish success so get undressed and
please just come to bed
cause I’m the last real thing you’ve got
you’re cursed by all ambitious thoughts
is that all you’ve got as for you,
you spin a story like a spider spins a web
see that’s a metaphor, no wait, a simile
I’m still learning but I think I’m getting better
oh if I’m not tortured how are you ever going to relate?
I’ve been condemned by those I love,
wishing me the worst as I’m trying my best
but she’s the last real thing I’ve got
I’m cursed by all ambitious thoughts
is that all you’ve got
love close your eyes and cover, cover your ears,
for the end is near but the beginning is here
in with the outro and out with the old
I’m gonna tie all the loose ends i once pulled
in with the outro and out with the old,
preparing for failure, from what we’ve been told
in with the outro and out with the old
with nothing to offer, so nothings been sold
in with the outro and out with the old
forgive me and give me
one more chance to fold
in with the outro and out with the old
there’s nothing to lose when there’s nothing to hold
we’ll be together in the morning”
–the format

i’ve got my khaki, boyfriend pants from the gap on. they are so last spring, but i am an enviromentalist. reduce, reuse, recycle. i wish i could reduce, but i still weigh about 150 at all times.

i’m also wearing a black shirt from forever 21. they endorse slave labor, and proudly stamp “john 3:16″ on the bottom of all their bags. i slave you in the name of jesus. and i buy you in the name of seven dollars and ninety-nine cents.

i’m not really an environmentalist.

when i was quite younger than i am now, my parents informed their friends, that i, the prodigy child, was destined for one of the respected professions. (i.e. doctor, lawyer, teacher, or spiritual leader.) but quickly learned that i was not going to be a doctor, due to the fact that i’ve never brought home a sick animal, and i used to take pleasure in torturing ants. i just thought that it was incredible how you could step on an ant, and it wouldn’t die. it would heal itself so fast. so i would try killing it slowly, to see what the ratio of torture to auto-healing it needed to actually survive. a lot of times they died on me. i always felt the need to put it out of it’s misery.

i asked my mom if ants had feelings, and she told me no. so you know. if they don’t cry, why should i?

i’m not a serial killer. i’m just not the type to cry harder when they kill the horse in a movie, then the human riding it. if you can catch what i’m saying.

and now for something completely different.

i want to tell you a little something about robbie. he had a bowl cut, parted in the center, was about 5′1″ and weighed approx. ninety lbs. in fifth grade he sat behind me… i loved him. on valentines day, i received a valentine from everyone except robbie. and i was the only one that robbie didn’t send love too. i was devastated. i hate valentines day.

last year i worked valentines day in my resturant, when this horrible man came in with his barely legal girlfriend. they sat in my section. i didn’t serve them, another woman did for me, but he was still right there, and he stared at me all night. then, things got worse when his poor, borderline-retarded girlfriend, looked at me with a sadistic smile and laughed. i had a panic attack in the middle of the resturant, but was urged to keep on working despite it. “push through it alyssa, push through it, they’ll be gone in fourty-five minutes to an hour.”

some people who do horrible things to others can enjoy themselves at my expense on a stupid holiday, and i am left to be reduced to nothing, once again. i hate valentine’s day.

but after the stupid holiday, which also happens to be my grandpa’s birthday, life is good. everyone breaks up, the snow melts and i you know what that means? day drinking. i just laughed out loud. summer is for day drinking, is something another love of my life used to say. sorry, you don’t have to get it.

lets stop here for a second and talk about my grandpa. he is gone now, sometimes i think i see him- in my car he is the man driving next to me. when walking around outside at night, he is there, then he is gone. i’ve always felt that he was the only person who unconditionally believed in me. even when my grades dropped and my parents stopped bragging about me. he used to tell me that i was going to be the ceo of coca-cola. he said, i had it all, brains, looks and talent. i always quietly wondered why he drank pepsi and not coke, but i never did ask him. he told me i was a swing. i think that meant i was beautiful.

my grandpa was never the best father to his daughter, but he was all i needed as a grandpa. and i might just love valentines day for the fact that in the past it has meant unconditional love. not easy, mindless, superficial love like love notes that i’ve never recieved or the kind rapists give their underage girlfriends. but real love.

what a nice thought.

“Would you believe me if i told you
That i’m surfacing for just one thieving moment
To steal your heart

Would you believe me if i told you
That fairy tales come true
When i’m with you
I’ll free the one who falls in love again

Come on and hold you like candy on a friday after
Making love all year
And now we’re swimming down where
Iron doors are open
And there is too much fear to breathe

A girl, a boy, a hell. like thieves we are..

All in love
With stolen hearts
And we all fall down
And fall apart for love

Dance?! alright!
But i’m giving it one last fight
I fancy not your night
I’m not your girl, your whore, your hell
But thieves, we are

All in love
With stolen hearts
And we all fall down
And fall apart for love”
–lovedrug

i took pictures of a another drunken social scene.
now its just a vaulted story from a narcissitic beauty queen.
smile for the camera, make it love you.
take your clothes off for the man, drink me like you do.
isn’t this what you wanted?
is this what you were waiting for?

another blackened memory, complete with eros, ahhs and kegs.
another open heart confused with open legs.
remember when you tried to kiss me?
i turned you down, down, down.
i told the dark to finally let you take me.
you took me down, down, down.
isn’t this what you wanted?
it was all you had been waiting for.
and now it’s gone.

roll the dice, was you’re advice.

everything i know will be written in a letter.
i give this one to you, i probably should have known better.
so rip it apart like pink and yellow, party confetti.
it was such a beautiful thing, but you didn’t want me.
i thought all i did was care, and now it’s done.
i couldn’t say i did much to deserve this.
but i know full well, i took it on.
for just another superficial secondhand kiss.

i drew a picture of another broken, future stranger.
you weren’t the one i needed, but i loved your pretty anger.
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie, kiss the girls and make them cry.
you are the one they wanted, and they never knew why.
is this what i wanted?
isn’t this what i was waiting for?

another blackened memory, took us to the clubs, beds and bars.
another drunken fool crashing into cars.
remember when i tried to chase you?
you turned me down, down, down.
i gave you the lite the italian gave me.
you drank them down, down, down.
isn’t this what you wanted?
it was all you had been waiting for.
and now it’s gone.

your black tuxedo. my libido.

everything i know will be written in a letter.
i give this one to you, i probably should have known better.
roll it up like spleunking maps, like oragami.
it was such a difficult thing, but you didn’t want me.
i thought all i did was care, and now it’s done.
i couldn’t say i did much to deserve this.
but i know full well, i took it on.
for just another loveless, lifeless, blow me kiss.

we moved too fast, now it’s too late.
can we both be sorry? it was an honest mistake.

we’re all the same.
it’s just a game.
i love you was a gamble never dealt.
but it wasn’t just mine, but your soul that felt.
it’s life and it’s all we get.
not so worthless, so we place our bet.

isn’t this what we’ve been waiting for?
and i’m just another shameless, dirty, empty whore.

here i go again.
the sun will come out tomorrow.
cause tomorrow is another day.
the sunshine always rains harder on the lesser man.
so now we are a dying breed.
because the world drives us to insanity.
and then gives chocolate cake to the fat insignificants.
i’ve got something to tell you.
you deserve to know.
i’ve got to move on.
changes are good.
but i am afraid.
i want to take your good arm.
and wrap it around me like a blanket.
do you know what time it is?
time for you to get a life.
a real one.
eat a pound of fruit a day.
drink eight glasses of water.
get off your ass.
caffeine only lasts so long.
before it brings you down.
i remember when i loved you.
but i grew angry.
and dropped you.
like a tin can of hot water.
get up my lifeless unhappy fuck.
get up and kiss my mouth.
i can only see you naked.
cause thats all your good for.

i want to dance on a hardened lake of salt water hopelessly waiting for a man with rainbow eyes to take me to his imaginary life. beyond the yellow brick highway. make me his wife. and die. and i could steal all his fools gold.

if i did drugs maybe you’d understand me a little bit more.

we relate, you and i. we relate because we find pleasure in the notion that if we were the last two people on earth, we still wouldn’t deserve each other.

lets play safe in pretend.
pretend that we could be happy.
as long as we are not together.

here i go again.

there is no reason to be here right now.  not up here freezing my face off just because i need to write something profound and amusing that some people might read, and gain insight from.  i don’t really want to reread that sentence. it was probably a run-on.  but no one gets laid because their grammar is good.  and thats all were looking for these days, eh?

so as it goes, i’m probably not the brightest hammer in the screwbox. (btw. i said that to someone yesterday and they were like, “not brightest hammer, alyssa. it’s brightest lightbulb.” and i was like, “you don’t say?”) anyway, i should probably just drop any sorry ass that does not confuse me with the sea, or a rock, or god. but i keep thinking that one day he could. he will eventually come around. so i cant swear him off just yet. i also can’t end it, because i like him so much that it might be physically impossible to pry my hands from his beautiful back. i can’t let go. he has to let me go. and i know he will. they all do.

it’s a countdown of days…
eventually…

they stop calling. they stop talking. they lay off. because i am crazy. i might be beautiful. i might say funny, witty or intelligent things sometimes. i might be the fucking sea upon which they float. but i am insane. a little sociopathic. but mainly bi-polar. mainly an emotional wreck. i don’t trust most people. or anyone for that matter, but that’s normal for anyone these days… really, i’m just “psycho.”

i feel like i’ve gone through enough in my life to be a crazy. that’s the credit i give my mom at least. i deserve a little of it. i deserve you all to understand that everything i say or do may not have a real reason behind it, but it does make sense. and if that don’t make sense to you, lets not be friends. it’s up to you to drop me. i’ll just ignore you til you go away.

that’s what i do with most people.

i’m nicotine. a cash machine. the color green.

i’m money. it’s no big deal. i’m even cooler than the chick you ate lunch with today. but if you can’t see that, i can’t make you. i don’t want you to change your mind because of me. i just wish you’d wake up. open your eyes to what’s real, and what’s there, and stop jerking me around. but who’s fault is it that i get jerked around? it’s probably mine. but the blame looks better on you. because you are an asshole. and i’m a nice, psycho chick.

i don’t know what i really want. i think i just want you. i think that’s what all this is. just a game that i hate. just a prize if i win, you. but that would mean that you lose. and i would hate to be the reason you lose at anything. i care to much. i just want you. you. okay? that’s all. i want you. there i said it. or wrote it. or babbled my way to this end result. i want you. i may not love you. or even like you all the time. but what do i even love or like all that much? i want you. you know it. they all do. so what do i do with it, now that i figured it? nothing. because you don’t want me.

you say you wanted more, what are you waiting for? i’m not running from you. can’t break me down. bury me, i am finished with you. look in my eyes. you’re killing me. all i wanted was you.

the good.

me and my best friend have a strained relationship these days. you possibly ask why? well, she is sublimely happy and i am not. she and i have never lead the same lives, but we have lead parallel existences. they both have sucked. together as people, we have never seen good. we have never seen love. we have never been happy for longer than an hour.

what used to make us happy? running. playing beer pong. kissing boys. going to concerts. eating out. driving. but these are things that last an hour. then you have to reminisce. which don’t make no one happy.

so i am happy for her good. happy for her lovely life and her new found funny vocabulary that includes phrases like, “goodnight sweetheart,” and “i love you, okay baby? i love you.” sometimes when i hear these strange sentences come out of her mouth, i make barfing sounds and actions, because i am five years old.

luckily i have a good friend who doesn’t hate me because i am still stuck in the bad and am immature because of it.

i’m not saying here that no relationship = bad life, there are a lot of other things that come into good, and she has them. college education. financial security. travel opputunities. all at twenty-one years. i am happy for her, though being happy for someone never makes you happy. it makes you want to feel sorry for yourself.

the bad.

my dad called me today (mind you, i have been sober for a week) and asks me what i’m doing. i say eating. he then goes, “so you aren’t sick from alcohol cause you’re not slurring your words, but you are stuffing your mouth, so you probably have the munchies from smoking too much dope.”

okay then.

i do drink a lot. but to say that not drinking this week was hard, would be a lie. i’ve had no desire to get drunk. but that just makes me look like an alcoholic, because i’m trying to prove my soberness. do i smoke weed? i have. i don’t, because i don’t “do drugs.” but i do have long hair and i laugh a lot, so you know… i’m probably on something at all times.

i had a week off work and i have no money. i’m hungry right now. it’s 2:30 in the morning. i must be high.

i’m nervous. because i have to go to school soon. i hate school. that’s why i don’t go. i seem to have forgot that part when i enrolled. someone should have shot me in the face with that information. but the thing is, people never liked that i wasn’t in school, so when i made up my mind to go, EVERYONE was for it. i wish people loved me enough to tell me to keep waitressing.

the ugly.

no eyebrows. googly eyes. big teeth. every person that i have despised has had those main features. i am not that shallow. i’ve hated their personalities first. they just happen to be ugly, which is their own problem.

it’s a little too dark and cold to run outside today. but i will have to eventually. my health is not up to me. it’s up to a girl sitting on the floor with pink shorts, a jungle-green tank top, and a grey zip up hoodie. she’s more devoted than i.

i’ve run the chicago marathon in 100 degree heat people!

there are a hundred songs that i love like they were in my top ten, but there are only two songs that i love above the rest. green eyes by coldplay, and babylon by david gray. coldplay and gray rhyme. nice.

i made coffee today that was too strong. coffee doesn’t wake me up, it just makes me happy. i’m happy enough. i slept til 3 o’clock.

‘and if you want it, come and get it, for crying outloud.
the love that i was giving you was never in doubt.
let go of your heart, let go of your head.
and feel it now.’

im glad you can be nice to me. even if you had to be completely humbled first. you don’t treat me all that great. but i like you. and thats all i know. what do i want from you? i want you to want me and just me. no big deal.

‘honey, you are a rock upon which i stand,
and i come here to talk, i hope you understand.’

“oh matt just bought me something! thats exciting…” says my lovely friend with pink shorts, as she checks her text messages.

good for you.

one time a boy bought me a pink wrigley field t-shirt down in wrigleyville. he wanted to make me happy. he found he could by buying me things. like buying me twenty-five dollar shirts that i only wear to sleep in. he grew resentful of me that i never turned down a drink offer, and that i never offered to buy HIM a drink. i figured that stuff was pointless, especially if i put out.

‘honey, you are the sea, upon which i float.’

my mom tells me that im too good for the boys i love. she don’t know me. how am i too good for someone as intelligent, beautiful, and witty as he is? i guess i just deserve someone who loves me. and thats what she’s saying.

it’s getting late, and i just woke up. i hate this winter sun setting thing.

‘green eyes, youre the one that i wanted to find.
and anyone that tries to deny you, must be out of their mind.’

grey skies hurt my feelings. i’m being serious. i get depressed. angered. irritable. like two years ago to the day, i told God that if i were to wake up the next morning, and it was grey, i might actually slit my wrists in the bathtub. the next day the sky was bright blue. i thanked God for understanding the seriousness of my prayer.

i don’t know how much i believe in God anymore. i feel as though it was just a nice coincidence that kept me alive.

a coincidence. like the time i almost fell from my attic window when i was six. i was on my way down when something pushed me back in and i landed on my back on the floor. my mom was outside, she saw me falling she saw me fly back in. she told me that it was an angel. i didn’t see any angel. i saw nothing actually. i didn’t even see danger.

or how bout the time when i was basically thought to be dead in my mother’s womb because the cord was wrapped around my neck three times. i’m probably supposed to be mentally retarded. i might be. but i’m not dead.

someone wants me alive. but it’s probably all coincidence.

i know most alive people have these little moments where they understand that they aren’t just matter thrown about the earth. that there might be a reason for their existence. so i’m not alone in that. but i think im alone in the fact that i don’t care anymore. i’m alive, so what? what does that even mean?

if my parents are right and if you believe in god and jesus and heaven and hell, then you will end up in paradise with the other believing people. and you’ll be happy walking on the streets of gold, and living in the castles full of medium rare filets and garlic mashed potatoes. and the blind will see, the lame will walk, the deaf will hear, the dumb will find their brains, and the fat will be thin. there will be no sex, because God is better than sex. uhuh.

but what if we are nothing, and this life is all we have? then i am screwed. this life sucks. and as my friend told me yesterday, he is holding out a hope that reincarnation is real, because he is ready to try again.

why don’t we get two chances?

if i could, i would go back to high school. cause i would be the most popular chick there. now i just have empty memories about how much life sucked for me, and how my life continues to suck, because no one asked me to my senior prom. shallow, i know, but my life sucks too bad to actually dwell on the real shit that happens.

we all get burned. we all get hurt. we all fall short of what is perfection. so why can’t we try again? i’ve always thought that those who believed in reincarnation were just hoping for that chance. now i think that those who believe in god are hoping for the same thing. but this time in new bodies, and happier spirits. and it’s a pretty little fairy tale.

i’m not saying that i don’t believe in god. because i too, need to hold on to something just like everyone. and i do think that life is too coincidental to suggest that we are matter and that we don’t matter. but please, a god that loves us and wants to bring us to a better place? where is this better place? my parents basement is the fucking hancock signature room to some people. and you know what? my parents basement sucks balls and is freezing cold. how can there be a better place when everyone, including bill gates, the dali lama, and bono still haven’t found the best?

when i was little my mom bought me a set of finger paints. i thought that they were the stupidest things in the world. i drew a blue sky and left some clouds white. i painted a red river. i showed my mom and she didn’t even bother to put it on the fridge. to some kid’s parents, that would have been art, but because i was born with a brush, painting like leonardo, my finger painting abilities were seen as garbage.

the moral of this story is that i can’t even live up to my own potential. and i am reminded everyday.

i wish i wasn’t such a genius. i’d close the case on my life now. hands on the bible, i might kill myself even. but i understand that i am still alive, and that only a couple hundred people would care that i was gone. to some thats a lot, to me, it’s a desperate attempt for attention that i wouldn’t even be alive to see.

but whatev. no answers tonight. i’m just gonna breathe and sleep and brush my teeth and not necessarily in that order.

the end.

i find myself searching for this mysterious answer to a question twenty-two years deep. granted, twenty-two years is nothing to the majority of people on this earth, but for me, it’s my life, and it’s been a long time. but i wonder, as i grow older, and continue to breathe this oxygen and not the dirt six feet beneath the ground, why i have not found the ending to my story.

you know, the point in my life where everything makes sense. where i wind up with the questions answered, the point of my life understood, the love of my life discovered. i want that. i want to be content. to find contentment. but like most people, i get caught in the struggle of not settling for contentment until my life brings me something that i can be glad about, that i know will stay with me forever.

why can’t i find that thing? that one thing. the climax in my story. the point in the book of alyssa. because i am so fucking pointless. and in my mind, contentment never shows up. i remember the two best days of my life.

the first day, i was seven years old, my mom told me that if i cleaned my room i could hang out with my best friend, erica. so i cleaned that room spotless and was allowed to go out. erica, my brother, some neighbor kids and i rode around the filthy town of springfield, il on our bikes until the sun went down. we discovered alleyways, untouched by the rubber tires of our huffys, schwinns, and murrays until this day. we found parks miles from home filled with exotic flowers, and old married couples, walking their golden retrievers and black labs, holding hands, smiling. i never knew old people could be in love. i never knew there was such thing as love- my parents never loved each other. we ran into bums and rode away from them as quickly as we had frightened them. we got yelled at for trespassing, and laughed it off. when we landed back home, my mom had pizza hut waiting for us on the dining room table. to this day, my mom has never had food waiting for me when i got home. this was the best day i knew. this was when i saw what it meant to be happy for the first time. and i was content.

the second best day, i was nineteen. i was at church. i looked pretty. the love of my life was on speaking terms with me, and i basically had the job i wanted, promised to me and delivered. i can’t tell you in detail what it was about this day, but i knew i was content. i was content because i finally got off my ass and worked for the things that i wanted. and i was about to be rewarded.

i never asked for the world-these simple things meant so much to me. i didn’t win the lottery, or find love, or even have anything about my future set in stone, but i was happy. because i had hope that the rest of my days could be good like the one i just lived. but it’s never that way.

soon after the pizza was eaten, my parents fought about money, and my dad slept on the couch. my mom punched a hole in a glass window and lied to me about how her hand was cut. as if i couldn’t see the glass shattered on the ground outside. a week later someone found a way into our house through the cardboard ducktaped to the window frame and stole the little cash that we had left. there was no more pizza for a while.

the day i was nineteen, was also my mom’s fourty-first birthday. it was also the day a friend of mine went missing. she was found three days later, in lake michigan with her hands and feet ducktaped. she drowned herself. a week later i was told that the job that was promised to me, was taken away, because the employer decided that she couldn’t trust me, for reasons that were not valid. and then the love of my life, basically had to tell me he didn’t want anything to do with me.

and i wondered why i was allowed to feel content, when it would be taken from me so quickly. how things that were so good, could actually be what leads into those things that are so bad. and my humor couldn’t save me from this, it just got me in trouble.

the twelve years between my two best days, little went well in my life. my mom had an affair, and my dad consumed himself with self-doubt, and his work. i lived alone in a basement and thought up all the ways someone could come and kill me, so that i didn’t have to do it myself. i ran away from home three times, and got nowhere. i wanted to be normal, and found myself unable to fill that role, because i am just not that way. i wanted to be pretty and loved, but i was never asked out on a date, i was never asked for my number, i was never talked about as pretty by anyone other than my mother.

and then the day came, march 2nd, when i found that God was right and good people are rewarded. i saw that i was pretty. i saw that i was needed. i saw that i deserved to be alive. then all that was taken away from me. between my mom’s birthday and today, i’ve been raped, hated, jobless, homeless and alone. and i ask myself why? why am i not content? if i’m not happy now, i will never be happy, ever, i know this, so why? why can’t i learn to just deal with the shit thrown my way, and not freak out? why can’t i be strong?

i work in a resturant. why do i find myself taking the things that customer’s say so personally, when there is no reason to? it’s not even my way to care about such trivial bullshit. why do i care that some fat bitch with an annoying voice hates me, when i’m so nice to her? who cares? honestly. i shouldn’t care. i should be happy that my parents want me to live with them, that it’s been two years to this day that i’ve been raped, and i am fine. more then fine. i should be happy that i have more friends that i can count on my fingers, and that they love me. i should be content in the fact that after four years off from school, i now know what i want to do with my life.

i own two black coats, a pink coat, a green coat, a brown coat and a grey coat. i bought them myself. i have money to burn on things that keep me warm. i should be content in that. but here i am, having ten panic attacks a day, going through the worst identity crisis of my life, and taking advil pm to sleep. why am i not bloody happy? why not?

and i stop. and i know why. i know why i am not happy. because i am searching for a fucking ending. i am wondering how much longer i have to wait for my life to make sense. how much longer until everything i’ve lived through comes back to life and i say “yes, this is why i am on earth. my whole life was meant for this.” i want to know when it is my turn to be allowed to give someone my heart, and get one back in return. i want to be able to wake up and see a woman in the mirror, instead of a little girl that so desperately wants to be told that she’s pretty.

and you ask, why does this chick keeping talking about being pretty? who cares about that? i do. honestly i do. it’s insane, but that might be the one thing i can control in this life. and maybe in the back of my mind i think that if i can be pretty enough, someone will love me. and to be loved would make me happy. and if i was happy for an instant, maybe i could have another best day of my life, and maybe this time i could make it last.