The Thoughts That Keep Me Alive

The only thing I have is the future
The thought of growing old
The thought that there is more to this than now
The thought of the money I will have
The thought of moving out of this hell
The thought of the lovers I will fuck
The thought of all the lovers I will love
The thought of the stories I will write
The thought of the poems I will preach
The thoughts that take away the chills
It’s all that still holds me to the earth
Keeps a slight smile on my face
All that keeps me sane
All that keeps me alive

But I don't know what story to write.

I just wish I could write stories again.

I miss San Francisco.

Said the one that lives in South San Francisco.

I don't want to do anything today.

Summer.

My summers have never been anything exciting. They have always consisted of me doing the same things:

1. Sitting around doing nothing.
2. Reading.
3. Writing.
4. Going to Mexico.
5. And, rarely, hanging out with friends.

But this summer I am not going to let that happen. I am going to change that, no matter what. And so far I have changed that. I have been hanging out with my friends a lot more. Reading and writing a lot less, which is not a good thing. And actually going to events. I have even been trying to get a job, but I suck and no one wants to hire me. Well actually people want to hire me until they meet me. There must be something wrong with me. I don't think I am ugly? I always dress nice. I speak as well as I can. I am honest, but I just probably suck. I must suck. I know I probably do. What other reason must there be? Oh, you mean the reason that there are other people trying to get jobs, and most of these people have more experience than I will ever dream of? Do you mean that? Yeah. Maybe. But everyone keeps telling me that. I don't want to believe it. I WANT TO BELIEVE THAT I SUCK. Though I recently got a great opportunity to be a part of this wonderful art group. So I guess I don't completely suck. I am just getting more opportunities when it comes to my writing, and that is a lot more important than getting a retail job. Though I need money. I am sick of borrowing money. I am sick of using my savings account. I am just sick. Literally, at the moment, sick. There is gallons of blood gushing out of me right now. It's quite disgusting. But it's the curse of being a woman. It's a curse that people ignore talking about, but I think everyone should just talk about it. It's not that gross. It's part of life. It's part of existence. Part of the cycle of life. Without it we would not have children, and human life would life would stop. People rarely think about it that way, they just think it's gross. And it's not that gross. You know, it's just a dead baby spilling out of your vagina. Ha. It's kind of gross.

Running.

I hate running. I am not the running type. I like walking. Slowly. Really slowly. Incredibly slowly. You get the point, slowly. I also like cupcakes. Today my mother and I made cupcakes. Vanilla cupcakes with nuts and chocolate on top. Yummy stuff. I tried one, and it tasted like heaven smothered in chocolate. Yep. Smothered. As if I had gone mad and had decided to murder the cupcake. I also, recently, have been obsessed with trimming my bangs. Making them incredibly short, and straight. It's great. It's wonderful. I fucking fantastical. This weekend was a big weekend. I went to my brother's big art show, stood in awe at the height of where the paintings stood. I stood there filled of insight. Wondering the meaning of life, which is 42, and viewing each painting for not only what it was, but what it wasn't. I am imagined the paintings coming to life, and attacking me. I imagined the movement the artist portrayed. I imagined the lies that were hidden inside. I stood in awe. I stood in imagination. And there I met a guy. Yes, I did, but it turned out he was my brother's age, and therefore too old for me. I have such bad luck. I need good luck. I need a job too, but that is another place in which I am unlucky. I sat all day today awaiting a phone call. A phone call that never came. Here I sat. Here I sit, trying to cure writer's block.