Daily Archive

normally when i write titles to these entries i pull them out of my ass before i even write anything… and then, while writing, i have no idea what to say, i just write and hope whatever i wrote made sense… sometimes i’ll read something later and be like, “wow, alyssa you are awesome.” othertimes i’m like, “i can’t believe you are that stupid. you wrote the wrong form of ‘to’ again, and nothing you wrote makes sense to anyone not even yourself. fuckhead.” i don’t really delete it if it’s bad, i figure that i was borderline retarded for some reason, and maybe it would be okay if the internet knew it.

speaking of the internet. i’ve wrote on the internet for sometime. and you know, i am a fan of “blogs” or “blogging” (even though i hate the word with an insane passion, and i feel stupid for even saying i’m a fan of it.) but whatev. i enjoy writing to a void. i know there are people i know who read it, unless your rosey or john, i don’t know that you read it, and therefore you are stalking me. but thats cool. mostly if you’re reading this, i don’t know you. and thats also cool.

maybe i can give you insight into my life. i know a lot about things like being a “psychopath” “insane” “borderline retarded” “grammatically challenged” all those horrible things… by reading what i write maybe you’ll become depressed, maybe encouraged, maybe you’ll just know me a little better. maybe, just maybe, it’s the best way to stalk me. but i keep writing here, because the internet saves what i write, and my mom stalks my word documents. and sometimes it’s nice to vent to people i don’t know.

at this point in my entry, i will either change the subject completely, write song lyrics to the song that inspired to me to write today, or end on some tragic note about how my life sucks.

maybe today i’ll do something else. maybe i’ll tell you exactly whats going on instead of writing a poem that you can interpret anyway you want to.

i have to leave for work in 15 minutes and i don’t have make up on. i have a friend that i like, that i mess around with, that is dating someone else. i don’t know where to go with that. except that every other day it sucks and i hate him, and every other day i want to mess around with him again. it be better if i just didnt like him. but it’s hard when he makes me laugh. i love when he makes me laugh.

i have an eight year old boyfriend that went to build a bear and built me a cream colored bear. he named it after himself, i call it snuggles. he loves me the way an eight year old knows how. one day he’ll grow up and figure out what everyone my age already knows: all love is a lie, and i, alyssa, am a psychopath.

i had a thirty-four year old boyfriend. well, he was never my boyfriend, but i liked him enough that he could have been. he was good to me. and he wanted me to be his girlfriend. it ended up that i didn’t take him, because it seemed so for sure and real, and it scared me. so i fell back on a douchebag with a nice back, because i knew that THAT would never be real. that it would continue to make love a mystery, and that’s what i wanted.

a boy i dated two years ago just called me this morning. we’ve been friends since then, but i haven’t talked to him in months. he was always smart, good and beautiful. but he never made me laugh so hard i cried.

there’s only a few people that can make me do that. and thats all i really want. that, and to say that i’m 22 and actually called someone my boyfriend, instead of calling him just another guy that liked me, or that i liked, or that i messed around with.

there’s alot going on, i don’t need anyone, i never have. and now, i work over fourty hours a week, i go to school full time, and one day, i’m going to be too good to hang around with myself.

ring the alarm. there’s a fire on the roof.