Well I've been afraid of changing 'cause I've built my life around you.

Only four more days until school starts. There's a few things that have consistently weighed on my mind for months upon months now, and I've long given up hope for a reprieve.

I think I have a problem, in fact I know I have a problem, but can I really be left to blame when people insist upon using the same password for everything? If ever before I have wondered about my space reserved in hell, I no longer do as I sit and read and silently mock your newfound faith. You claim to have asked for my forgiveness, well let it be known that I won't begrudgingly accept your apologies until you let yourself slip again, because then I'll know that I was always right. And that, ultimately, is what it all comes down to. In all my resentment and ill wishes, I'm still better than you, and bullet point by bullet point, I can prove it to you.

Faith may be important in life, but it can't be your only crutch, and when it comes down to it, you're a pretty worthless person even when the facade of newly acquired morality is taken into consideration.

I am a loathsome person.

And now, rather late per usual, 2008 in a nutshell as it seems to be the thing to do (speaking of, walnuts are fucking grody and should not infiltrate my chocolate covered chex mix ever again, gag):

January:
Not much to remember on this front, more than likely because it was excellent in comparison to the correlating month the year prior, and therefore warrants no particular space in my memory lest I not have anything to complain about.

February:
If I recall correctly, this is the month that Thomas finally moved out of his parents' house and into the one in Toledo, which he shares with Sam. I remember arriving and unpacking only to lie down upon a blank mattress in the corner of an empty room, crowded by the overwhelming loneliness of life.

March:
Found myself Spring Break Broke at the doctor's office, rather hastily labeled with OCD, Depression and Anxiety. The remedy was not exactly welcomed, as apathy crept in and no one really recognized me. A delightful ultimatum.

April:
Dumped on the eve of our two year anniversary, I was propelled into a state I had not reached in years. Despite the ever warming weather, I found comfort in long sleeved shirts. I was taken back for the beginning of the end. I don't think I have felt much more used than when he yelled at me to leave, and then took me to his room.

May:
The end of the school year was embraced with open arms. A brief trip to Pennsylvania marked the only freedom I would have, as I prepared for my inevitable return to plastic paradise at the factory. The monotony of assembling truck grilles was broken, however, by the unexpected reassignment to an internship in the front office.

June:
The Dream is Over.

Thus begins my spiral into anorexia and obsessive exercising, and I find myself in therapy for a multitude of reasons. The only bright spot? An entirely unexpected note and an assortment of classy chocolates left on my desk during lunch break marking the last day of the most hellacious month of the year, along with a few visits with a friend that punctuated days spent in my cubicle, hoping no one would notice my hour long trips to the restroom.

July:
Sparked by my therapy sessions, a bit of a rebellious streak set in and I found myself stepping in the direction of someone completely new, attempting to bypass the whole 'healing' phase and continue to believe that I was coming out on top.

August:
At the end of my internship and therapy sessions, I found myself a winner at something I had never been able to accomplish before: running, dating someone completely new, offered a job had I not been returning to school, and weighing a whopping 114 pounds at 5'8" and wearing a size two. This would be the first time I'd ever arrived at school without you, and the promise of a life outside my dorm room was somewhat exhilarating.

September:
I looked you in the eyes as I sat across from you and told you 'no' for the first time ever, looked past the tears in your eyes and knew that you did not really want me, you simply wanted what you knew you could no longer have. I threw my training bra on stage and secretly celebrated the fact that I had gained enough weight back that I no longer fit into bras that small, and made it to 21 without being medicated yet still self-medicating with a box full of sharp objects.

October:
My 21st birthday party resulted in the unleashing of over a years worth of repressed thoughts and feelings. A trip to the Sunshine State lacked the ability to shine any light into the return to Indiana, and the ever looming onslaught of mental fluctuation.

November:
Remarkably unremarkable. Perhaps allowing myself to slip into banality and embrace a slightly varied version of what I once had is the key putting restlessness to bed.

December:
Yet another quick foray into anorexia followed by a period of recuperation, well-received news regarding grades and of course, the best holiday of them all. In order to ready myself for the new year, I bagged and boxed up a carload of things to give away, and looked forward to not looking back.


Cheers.

Everything All The Time.

Damnit.

It's so very Amanda to hate life. In fact, it's so very pubescent teenager to hate life, so I suppose it evens out. It's supposed to be break, and yet I'm not enjoying it. Fucking visiting with family all weekend was great, I loathe my grandpa and his vile wife though I gladly accepted their $50.00 for Christmas. At this point I'd take a $12.00 check on my birthday over listening to their redundant whining over how I never mailed them my school address (which has been the same for three years) when surprise surprise, telephonic communication is a bit more dependable.

My car is broken, again. I knew someone that once lit his own truck on fire to collect the insurance money. I'm glad he set the example for me, or else I might have considered it. Although, prison doesn't sound half bad right about now, or at least a very even keel based on the true story of the last three years of my life.

I want to be alone. In fact, I'd venture to say that I'm meant to be alone, as all signs are pointing to me being much happier that way. Think of it, endless loneliness to complain about, extra money for new presents to the best significant other ever, myself, no lame ass to tote around and feel self-conscious about in front of the even lamer family of mine... Who am I kidding? It was my calling to be bitter and alone, and I fucked it up by succumbing to dreams of patent leather proms and glittering hopes that litter the pages of Seventeen magazine.

Prepubescent, indeed.

Apparently le boyfriend's campus apartment window was busted and his room was broken into. I don't know yet what was stolen, but he has about two to three grand worth of stuff that was probably jacked.

Delightful.

Gobble Gobble Gobble (Hey?)

Happy fucking holidays.

Per the grand tradition of my family, we couldn't make it through a gott damn holiday without someone dropping the drama bomb. Ma mere and the fake faja were supposed to go to Canadia for the majority of the break to see family, so I tried real freakin' hard to get everyone together to have a Thanksgiving dinner, because if I hadn't we wouldn't have had one. It was mom, fake daddio, Aunt J-9 and the Du, mom's friend Donna (who was housesitting) and Josh, real festive like. Needless to say, the night ended with my stepdad yelling at me never to come home ever again, and that I need to respect the rules of the house.

Why, you might ask? Because he's a sick prevert who acts like a jealous boyfriend anytime I have a guy come home with me. I don't even want to go there.

Went shopping today, the best shopping day EVAR or something like that. Clocked in about an hour of sleep before rising at the ass crack of dawn (2:30 AM) to drive an hour and wait in line for ridiculously good deals on shit that nobody really needs. Can I just give a shout out to the people at Best Buy who camped out for two days? You guys are champs. I love the smell of commerce in the morning. I just now arrived back home, and more or less want to curl up in the fetal position and rock back and forth, cradling my poor, violated debit card. Needless to say, it was worth it for what little shit I bought. Always good to see old friends, especially when retail is involved.

I will have accomplished no homework whatsoever come the end of break. The universe is once again at equilibrium.

Under Construction.

Seriously? It's a got damn Sunday afternoon on a Christian University Campus. And you're jackhammering.

Is nothing held sacred anymore?

I've Got a Bad Case of Bulimia.

In all honesty, this feels amazing. I'm not done yet.

You know, I truly was over you. The cacophony of memories had slowly faded from their previous deafening stature, and I finally rid myself of the wilted flowers and tinfoil clad leftovers that remained from the wake mourning the last three years of my life. I firmly believe that "it's such a burden to carry 'round the vestiges of dead dreams."

And then I had a realization which seemingly lead to a state of delusion, wherein I convinced myself it was a good idea to send her a message and apologize for all the horrid things I'm sure you told her I had said. In reality, it was you that ruled with an iron fist over the information that we each received regarding each other, and therefore I had no right to judge her (though she was admittedly a bit daft in falling for what can only be referred to as your Thunderous Man Booty).

Upon the first phone call, the truth began to unravel faster than the cheap teddy bear you bought me for Christmas our first year together. Suffice to say, I truly and absolutely abhor your very existence. There is not a single fiber of my being left that could even potentially feel that you might be deserving of my love, let alone the love of anyone. For a while, I lived vicariously through daydreams of your car not-quite-spontaneously bursting into flames, and then realized that perhaps it's better if you live. I now find solace in the idea that perhaps you shall continue to manipulate people until, on some glorious day, we amass to form a big unruly mob, which stones you to death. Rest assured, I'll be there, and my stone shall drag you down to the depths of the Atlantic, much like I did, metaphorically speaking anyway, in real life.

Alas, a girl can dream.

Ween.

Upon perusing teh interwebz to a rather unhealthy extent, I decided in my (ever) infinite wisdom to create a blog, as my little Cootie Queen has me ever enthralled with the idea. At one point I had a Xanga and even a Livejournal, but alas they have fallen decrepit in the wake of teenage angst and douche bag squishers.

As for now, I shall remain perfectly content with my current status of Procrastinatrix, as it has served me well in the past. School sucks, but what can you do? It's not as if I haven't piddle pissed away the amount of time it would take to accomplish any given set of tasks required for class. Regardless, homework blows like a sleazy whore.

Pinkerton has the wiggles.