brooke’s blog

is: Chair, Daily Grind, Corner in Staunton, Augusta County, Virginia, United States, North America, Northern Hemisphere, Earth, Universe.

doing: computing things on my new Latitude D630.

fuck yes, fuckerssssss.

about to: go see Cecil play at the coolest art gallery around: KRONOS. my pottery was there last art show. i'm more stoked than stoked. my boyfriend is coming to get me and walk with me to there and pay for me to get in.

go Cecil.   especially Alex and Scott. Because I love them the purplest.

uhhh my gawd.

my head is playing a kill brooke game. and it's playing to win.

i am slightly dizzy, and hallucinating every few minutes. my arms will randomly shoot out in wobbly directions out of the corners of my eyes.

and so maybe all that stuff yesterday + no eating whatsoever = bad idea.

but man. it was worth it. the show kicked my ass. it was sooo good.

This blog of mine is extremely depressing. I suppose it's much easier to write when your feelings are negative. Negative feelings seem to flow so much easier like endless rain or oil stains. For a normal person, I'd say my days of depression are more than average, though.

I just cooked something real for my first time ever. I made a Roo [spelling?] and cooked noodles, and cooked mushrooms and onions, and put it all together and it made something awesome. I was so excited. So I called my BF up, 'cause he told me how to make it. My insides were doing cartwheels, nearly. I told him just how good it was, only to hear Alix and OtherBrooke in the background. He told me good job, though, and made me feel like a punk-cook-rock-star. Plus he told me he liked me, and he does. But, it seems as though brooke is there EVERY day. So her kid can see his dad, who is never there. But secretely I think she goes to see Pete. Her kids dads brother. My boyfriend. They screwed once when they were both drunk. About 6 months ago. About 3 months before our "one year anniversary." It broke my heart. My heart is still broken. The slightest things make me think of it, and when I do, I plunge into this neverending pit of darkness and cold water and windows that never open. And my heart feels like it's jammed in this plastic bag and getting squished between two bricks. And it feels like there are needles poking into my eyes to suck out the tears. The tears do come, sometimes. Slowly, though. And my eyes never move. Most of the time I can't even tell what I'm looking at. I just look. And then, drip by salty drip, they slip down my cheeks. But there is time enough between them for each one to dry before it is replaced. And I think about things. Like feelings, and myself, and how much there is to me, and to him, and to her. And, frankly, we're all so much the same, but we're all so different, too. And I feel like I am much more different, though. Because if I could be there, maybe he wouldn't cheat on me. But I'm never there that late. I'm never there when I need to be.

Although, it's not my job to be there. It's not a responsibility of mine that comes with my relationship to: be there for him when he gets drunk and horny. It's a responsibility of his to: care about me enough to have the inkling of a piece of heart and brain to stop himself.

And maybe that's what makes me sad. That he can't think of me enough to stop himself. It also makes me sad to think of him screwing her the same way he does me. I don't have the guts to ask him or her how it was. I hope it wasn't fantastic. I hope they both felt like Fucking Shit afterwards, and threw up on each other. And I wish I would've walked in on it, so's I could slap them both in the face and run run run run run run run farFarFAR away where I'd hope he missed me.

Mh. I just don't know what to do. I get in this same never ending funk all the time. I don't know what needs to happen to make me feel better. But I feel like I can never forgive either of them for that. And I feel like it will ruin a little part of the rest of my life. And I hope he feels utterly crushed inside for making me feel this way. God dammit. I love him so much.  

i used to climb kids when i was a tree.

i'd step on their limbs, and

pull myself up their stump.

i'd get my fingers stuck in their hair

and sometimes i'd accidentally rip it out.

      ...oops

                  nah!

fuckin' right i'd rip their hair out.

those little shit machines.

You just returned my call.

I had a zillion things to tell you, but I couldn't because my mom was right near me.

Like: Today I got a speeding ticket. Tomorrow night I'm allowed to stay out, and I wanted to party with you but you won't be here. I graduated on Tuesday and you haven't told me congratulations, duuuuude!!! Also, I'd like to hear about your DUI. And I was wondering how you and Kristin were doing. Maybe she's not hip enough for you, because you're more of a dirty hippie, and she's more of a clean hippie. That just doesn't work.

So, you're coming home on Monday. Maybe we can talk more then.

Peaz.

p.s. - I wish you could come to Strawberry Fest tomorrow night.

things are looking up, now.

i graduated high school last night.

i watched movies all day today.

in two days is a small-town music festival way back in the boonies/woods.

you're taking me to it.

i'm staying the night with you and our friends at your shack.

we're gunna drink booze.

together we're gunna kick ass in beer pong.

and hopefully squeeze in a game of glow in the dark frisbee.

i'm standing up to my parents.

their options of guard are running low.

i'm slowly pushing my way through those rubber veins.

i'm never hungry anymore.

someone should open the gates.

or i'ma break through.

So. Today whilst I was searching my 11 year old sisters bedroom for something my mom said she had stolen from a friend, I stumbled upon the excitement of the afternoon!

She had two pages of my journal ripped out, and laying on her bedroom floor. [This is not the first time I have found my personal writings - ripped, read, and violated in her posession.] [This is just the first time that I brought the problem up for debate in the house. My house.]

Upon telling my parents of my discovery, they asked to see the papers that I had written. They weren't bad at all, luckily. [My parents are well known for reading my journals and getting me in severe trouble for some things that they read.] However, I did use the word -goddammit- oops? I used "god's" name in vain? Well hot damn, I guess I'm banished to hell. And, I mentioned the act of engaging in "smoking expensive cigarettes."

Those two things were unacceptable to my parental units. Therefore, I was the lucky child to get in trouble. Not the child that searched through my private belongings, opened my private notebooks, selectively chose articles to RIP out, and smuggle them to her bedroom where she could have read them 24/7.

I deal with petty problems like this on a daily basis. They usually involve my bad habbits. My "immaturity." My "lack of responsibility." and how, "I am an awful influence on my younger siblings."

Also, i recently signed up for classes at Eastern Mennonite University, where I will be attending in the fall. Upon bringing my schedule home for reviewal with my parents, which, by the way is not required, they immediately disagreed with my class in Ceramics. I am a Biology/Art major. My advisor told me to take an art class first semester. It's 3 credits. That helps me out. My parents, however, say that art will get me nowhere in life, and are possibly trying to remove this class entirely from my schedule. Also, possibly removing the Art major and making it just Biology. I had Biology, so that I would be doing something my parents approved of. I had Art, so that I could survive, and use my extraordinary talent. Also, If I go against their wishes, and keep doing Art, my parents will stop paying for college all together.

After my night of stress and arguments, I called my boyfriend. He told me earlier today to call him so we could talk. He had band practice, but afterwards he would be able to talk about his bad day and stuff. So I called him. I told him the basics of what happened. I don't know if I even covered everything. He gave me some advice. It was good. I had explained about 17% of my story. He interrupted me to take another call. He was hanging out with a slew of people. [I could hear them all talking.] And, right when I was starting to express my opinions, he said that he was really busy and had to go, and that he liked me, and that if he didn't have band practice on his birthday [thursday] that we'd hang out.

So I said [approximately], "alright. that's cool. thanks for talking. yeah. byebye."

Obviously, there were too many distractions with his friends, or lighting his cigarette, or looking for his money so he could buy his inebriation products, or switching gears, or changing the music WHATEVER, for him to pay any further attention to my emotional crisis at hand. I wasn't even close to being done with expressing my feelings before he ditched me. I was cut off.

Last time I checked, part of being in a relationship, is to be a listener and a source of comfort and advice when your significant other is in despair.

However, I don't seem to mean that much to him. It's not a big deal. I just need someone to talk to, that's all.

295695561_5vEDp-Ti-2

>>alright. hello?

>>that's me. walking with my guitar.

>>pictures suck on here.

>>i met my roomie, online. she's studying abroad in India.

>>i'm going to like living with her.

>>i can't wait for college and a change of scenery and party places.

>>our parties are getting outrageously cliche.

>>and, it seems like everyone has screwed each other except for me, [almost.]

i'm ready for a change.

i'm ready for so much!

grasping that cold, sharp cigarette like it's the last thing [solid,sure] that i have to hang on to. i may be troubled, but i'm surely not helpless. coffee has never tasted this good. books have never been this open.

my plants are finally growing. each morning i open my window so they can soak in the sunlight during the day. when i come home to them, they're all sticking out sideways towards the outside. like they can't get close enough to it. it makes me feel guilty for keeping them in my room, but it's still a bit chilly outside for them. [they aren't aware of this i'm nearly positive.] [(how could they be?)]

i'm fused out of iron, i'm fuuuuuused ouuuut of irrrroonnnnnn....

i'm down to 2 turns, for sure. i could take that one, or i could take the other. how do i know. what should i do?

2:12.

When I woke up at 9 thismorning, I patiently waited until 10 to call you. You stayed in Richmond last night, because your band had a show. There were three kegs. There were loads of girls. The cops came.

You said you'd be home thismorning and that you wanted to hang out, since we haven't for 4 days. So when I called you at 10, I assumed that you'd be on your way home by then. No answer. So I stuck it out another two hours and called you at 12. No answer. So I figured I'd wait until 2 or 3. You called a little after 2, and told me that you had tried to leave a little while ago, but got really lost. So you had to go all the way back to where you started from, and leave again. You'll be home in 2 hours. Which puts us at 4 o'clock at the earliest. But, you also told your mom you'd be home earlier, and she had work for you to do. You have to dig a big trench for planting stuff in. That will take you at least 2 or 3 hours. Added on to 4 o'clock, that's 6 or 7 o'clock tonight.

I wonder how late you stayed up last night. I wonder how wasted you got.

Okay. So I'm glad you had a great time. I'm glad the party was great. But I miss you real bad. And you could have at least left a few hours earlier so that you would've gotten home when you said you were going to. I thought we were going to spend excess amounts of time together today. I had planned on it. I was excited about it. I cleaned the entire house so that I would be allowed to be gone all day today.

And now it looks like it could be around 8 o'clock tonight before I get to see you. If i do. We'll hang for a few hours. It'll be okay.