Doesn't take much to think that, believe me.  Just read (seriously, the most awesome-est story every really just because of - well, she described it very well here herself.  I'd say something, but I really don't know what to say.  Almost cried though! ^__^) the last chapter of Chemistry because I didn't get a chance to earlier when I first got the alert.  S'good, as always, and am waiting for the next update.

I found her - Kate - myheartisinohio - Ohio - what? - on LJ again too.  Am happy with that.

Not happy with much else.  I eat too much.  I feel fat.  You KNOW what you just ate isn't instantly rushing all to that fat on your stomach but it sure as hell feels like it.  And Ben (because this is what I do, relate my life piecemeal to songs and stories) is snapping a rubber band and I can't do that (well I can) because it won't help me.  I don't want it to hurt...  I just want to see that blood there.  And the line there.  On my arm, not my thighs where no one can see, where I can't see it or run my fingers over it.

So wussy cut that's disguised as a scrape, still with razor blade, not enough.  Fuck, I wanna drag that razor from one side of my arm to the other, across the soft (relative) skin and just leave a BRIGHT RED LINE to touch and see and soak up the blood until it stops oozing out in its tiny droplets...

Ah frick, wanna cut myself on the arm now.  Can I get away with wearing long sleeves for the next two weeks?  Because - you know - I'm a wuss and all those stories of where the girls always perpetually wear long sleeves, well - I can't do it.  I know I'll pull them up, or I'll get hot and need to wear a t-shirt or a tank top instead, and...geez, we know what'll happen then.  Doesn't help that my parents know I've cut before (man, I was an idiot in grade ten - I still wanna tell sometimes but for the shock value, and I know better now) and so they'll likely be more suspicious.

But I really want to cut.  Can I maybe do the back of my arm?  So it doesn't look like some cut-across-the-wrist-gone-awry?

I can't write Hell's Angel, really I can't.  Everything sounds so lame.  Raelyn's lovestruck too early, too soon.  Aidyn has nothing to do but angst away for the entire time.  He has no life.  Raelyn has no life.  Neither of them have a life that doesn't revolve around the other in some way, shape, or form.  Maybe Aidyn, and Isaac.  I'm not sure why I decided to do a rewrite - maybe because the original was really just too awful to bear.

But if I drop Hell's Angel momentarily, I don't have anything else to work on.  Various Times A Fool, maybe, but I can't write that one either.  I might be able to after reading through a WoT book in one go and then sitting down and writing right away, but I can't afford to do that, not really.

So, nothing.  No short stories, nothing solid - dammit, I want a project and I don't fucking have one.

I envy myheartisinohio for her ability to convey life on paper.  (And for the record, I get so annoyed every time I see "member" in smutfic.  WHAT the FUCK.  WHO SAYS THAT.  All those euphamisms are just so - not natural that it kills a story, really it does, plotless or not.)  I don't think I've ever really been able to except for the scraps that make it onto my destinee's notebook FB account.  Maybe I'm just scared to talk about myself, I don't know.  Whatever.

Scholarships.  I don't particularly give a fuck right now, especially after I get a lecture.

Bloody ashes, I'm listening to Linkin Park.  Great, I'll wallow for the rest of the fucking night.

I have this theory that I use the word "fuck" just because I can.  That is really just - lame, lame.

What have I ever done for anybody?