Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Love. Love. Love. Ah! Phish!

My favorite Phish ever.

A classic.

and I'm Sofa King jealous of the bitches who got to witness this live:


Monday, May 23, 2011

Pretty, Pretty Please

If I have one more nightmare, I'm going to shoot myself in the fucking face.
I fell asleep last night crying on Jacob's chest. Literally.
Night before that, I woke myself multiple times crying in my sleep. Pretty sure I woke dad, too.
I hate this shit. I'm so fucking over this town. I want out NOW.

We (Jacob, Ariane, her beau Andrew, and myself) went to get Chinese food last night from Ho-Ho on Parmer & Lamar. I didn't even think about the fact that Lamar is past Metric when driving down Parmer from Jacob's condo. It's very difficult for me to even be on Parmer east of MoPac, and I cannot drive through the Parmer/Metric intersection without having a panic attack. We were stopped at the red light before crossing MoPac & I asked Jacob if we had to cross Metric. He said yes. I crinkled my eyebrows and tried to stifle the oncoming tears, but I couldn't stop them. I took some xanax. As soon as we crossed MoPac, I pulled my knees up to my chest and blocked my eyes until we got to Lamar. When we'd picked up the food, Jacob pulled out of the parking lot and didn't get in the turn lane to go back down Parmer. Ariane & Andrew asked him where he was going; why was he getting on I-35? He answered very nonchalant, "Oh, I was just going to go up to 183." A tear formed and that ball rose in my throat as I choked out a quiet, "Thank you." I grabbed his hand and held it tight with my face resting against it while my tears rolled down and got trapped between our fingers. I looked around at the businesses on the access road of I-35 as we drove and muttered, "Goddamn, I'm so fucking over this town," and put my head back down into my lap, my forehead pressed hard against the back of Jacob's hand that was being held hostage in my grip. I told him again once we were on 183, "Thank you for going to extra-super-long way around so we wouldn't cross Metric again." He smiled at me and kissed my hand.
I don't want to leave this guy. No one will ever treat me better than he does; no one will ever love me more than he does; no one will ever understand (or at least put up with) my neurosis as well as he does. No one will ever love him more than I do. He is the only thing I don't want to leave in Texas.
But like I said last night, I am sofa king over this godforsaken town.
Can we please go now?

Monday, May 16, 2011

for all the cows

Finally went to a doctor about my rotting insides after enduring a bout of uncontrollable vomiting until I thought I was going to suffocate at Kellyn's house about a week and a half ago.
Turns out my irritability has given me an irritable bowel, hence the intense intestinal pains/cramps/rotting feelings, and my irritability has given my tummy an excuse to resurrect my ulcer.

Treatment = control my stress.
So simple, right? No.

Every time I get upset I start puking. It's fucking annoying. So far, there's no blood so at least the damn thing's not bleeding... yet. If I don't get my stress under control & my symptoms don't go away or at least lessen in severity/frequency, I'll have to go to a GI Specialist. Or that's what the doc said; I don't really HAVE to do anything; I could just continue to let my insides rot away and die. I kind of feel like that's going to happen anyway, and besides how bloated/swollen/chubbed up it's making me in the meantime, I don't really care if it does happen.
It's almost like knowing what my stress/anxiety is doing to me physically has made my stress/anxiety worse; I was a total wreck all week: sicker than usual, weepier than usual, more miserable than usual (something I didn't think was possible). I just want to curl up in a ball and cry forever. I feel like this day in & day out. I'm supposed to be happy - I'm done with probation, I'm done with Concordia, I'm done with fucking TEXAS (almost), I'm about to go home to my momy after being away from her for the longest period of time in my entire life, I'm about to go home to my puppies & my kitties & my crazy stoner/white trash/old Catholic neighbors; why am I so miserable?

OH MY GOD I'm about to rip out my intestines.

Friday, May 6, 2011


You've been so long;
your blind eyes are gone,
your old bones are on their own.
So take off your coat,
put a song in your throat,
let the dead-beats pound all around.

We will go
nowhere we know,
we don't have to talk at all.
Hand me downs,
flypaper towns
stuck together
one and all.

The bargains you drive,
buckets and bags,
and all your belongings.
Your train's in the sand;
Ramshackle land.
Let the rats watch the races.

We will go
nowhere we know
til we find our one and all.
Hand me downs,
flypaper towns
stuck together
one and all.

Praises get spent,
your trick face is bent;
pigsties and prizes.
'Cause there's no kind of 'well' -
You're suiting yourself.
You leave yourself behind.

We will go
nowhere we know
til we find our one and all.
Your hand me downs,
flypaper towns
stuck together
one and all.