So much better

Maybe it's because I've been in the city so much, I don't know, but The Weakerthans have somehow become my priests, in the same way that Jesus' Son has become my bible. I'm starting my own religion wherein each member tries as hard as possible to become me in the next life. Whoever studies hardest wins - GO!

"Measure me in metered lines
And one decisive stare
The time it takes to get from here to there
My ribs that show through t-shirts
And these shoes I got for free
I'm unconsoled
I'm lonely
I am so much better than I used to be"

Now read every second story of Jesus' Son and develop a numerical version of dyslexia. Then we'll talk.

Now, for the more serious notes:

I've sunken back into the perpetual rise and fall of day-to-day life in my own house. I stay up till 5 AM on msn, then close myself into my room and take a few bites out of whatever book happens to be on top of the pile that night (lately it happens to be Catch-22, which suits me fine because it's so full of paradoxes that I'm usually out after four or five pages) and then wake up the next morning, shower, take care of hair, makeup, clothes - all those frivolities that I must confess I indulge in. By this time it's usually about 2 PM and I'm at a low. I shrug and mumble and text people back with dead-ends like "yeah" and "lol" because I don't have the heart to say "leave me alone, I don't want to talk to you" and I'm just too much a text junkie to ignore the message completely. I perk up after a couple bowls of cereal or a cup of Green Tea and a trip to 'anywhere but here'. After a sufficiant amount of time has passed, I'll come home and someone will remark on my presence in the most ignorant way possible ('Damnit, it's 6 o'clock and you're just getting up? You really shouldn't sleep in so late...')

Then it's either back on msn to waste the remainder of the day or out to get in shit around town. The highlight of the week was jumping off a building and walking in wet paint, both in the same night.

Hannah and Chris' relationship is a bust. Imagine that, scoffs the little cynic on my shoulder, Hannah with an ex-boyfriend. One wonders what sort of daddy problems make a girl that specific hybrid of indecisive and desperate. What was on a pedestal above her one week is in her arms the next, and the week after that that same idol lays in a dumpster, wounded and insecure.

I know this is the result of some deep daddy issues because, being the girl whose parents aren't separated but live 30 hours apart from eachother, I am just that familiar with the phenomona an absent/lousy/addicted father can cause. I like to blame my neverending cycle of boyfriendlessness on my absent father (Not because it's totally logical, though). And I suspect the reason I am so quick to trust men is another one. I promise to one day take a Psychology course and study the effects of fathers on their daughters relationships with men. I know there are connections, but I don't know the extent or magnitude of the repercussions.

Eric read through my blog before (One sentence! Good enough?) after managing to find it with some google skills I imagine he's downright proud of right now. He's not the type to tease unneccesarily, so if he did find the fact that I write in a blog particularly funny, he masked it well enough. I don't mind people who know me reading this, as long as they are open-minded enough to realize that just because I'm semi-popular and not overly ugly, it doesn't mean I can't also be...you know: smart.

I appreciate open minds like I appreciate a good murlough - greatly. They don't come much more pompous than I.