The Beginning of....Something

[Fade up on a large, startlingly white room. There are no windows and only one solid door at the back of the room with a pristine, silver door knob, as well as several large locking mechanisms. In the center of the room sits an uncomfortable looking silver, metal chair. Directly across from the chair, though at quite a distance, there is a wooden desk and an equally uncomfortable looking high backed desk chair. In the first uncomfortable chair, in the center of the room, sits a smallish waif of a young woman. Her face is sallow and sunken, as though she has neither eaten or slept in quite some time. Her rich, brown hair sprouts out of her head in tufts as if it had been weed whacked off of her scalp. A tall, slender, kind looking man sits opposite the awkward young woman in the other uncomfortable chair behind the desk. He has a pen in one hand poised over a fresh, white, unused marble notebook, and a tape recorder in the other. He is bespectacled which adds an air of officialism to his kind eyes and gentle facial features. The man opens his mouth, prepared with a list of questions. However, he realizes he has neglected to start the tape recorder, hits the Record and Play buttons simultaneously, readjusts his glasses, and stares fixedly at the young woman before him.]

It's Not Done

No one dared tell her how wrong she was; How wrong all of it was. She wouldn't have cared anyway. It wasn't that big of a deal. Really. A kiss on the cheek here, or a peck on the lips there. It was all perfectly normal. Really. Wasn't it?

They had know each other for years, and they had been in love for what felt like an eternity. Since before they were born even. A special bond formed in the womb, or something along those terribly cliche lines.

Most days she hated herself for loving him. Most days she just wanted to hate him. That, however, was beyond impossible. He could have done any number of terrible, horrifying, sick and twisted things to her and she would still love him all the same. Now, don't be afraid for her sanity. It's not like that. They were both this madly in love. She could have castrated him and bled him dry and he would still have loved her all the same. It was just the way things worked with them.

They had an intensity that not even the fires and depths of hell could challenge. The fire, baby, it'll burn us both. If one of them were to fall, they'd both fall. If they lost touch with each other they seemed to lose touch with their very being. It was like an electrical current that flowed between the two of them every time they touched. If they were too far apart for far too long the flow of electricity would stop and they would cease to function independently of one another. However, leave them together for too long and the flow of the electric current would grow to dangerous levels and they would burn. Finding the perfect balance proved difficult.

They could get lost in each other for days on end, or longer. They'd already been lost for months. When the going got too tough the tough got going, which in this case, meant that she ran away. The intensity scared her. She wondered if she could forget him. His smile, his smell, the arch of his back. But it was a futile effort.

It was useless. Every memory stuck to the fly-paper-ish inerds of her mind. A sticky solution retaining each struggling thought. It was like trying to pry apart the worlds strongest magnets. It just couldn't be done.

I've Been Denied All The Best, Ultrasex...

An over sexed nation.

Little boys with their

little

pricks. All manner of

unabridged

hardcore

unimaginably erotic

pornographic material

is on display at your local

super market.

Magazines and videos tapes,

tits, dicks, and twats.

An oversexed nation becoming

over stimulated

by all the readily available

sexual content.

Gasp, moan, scream and shriek.

Let out all the emotion that has

nowhere else to go.

Take advantage of the

taken-advantage-of.

Oversexed

Ultrasexed

and all maxed out.

Tired and tiresome,

sex is an

over rated

unappreciated

commodity in our world.

So go ahead and

take advantage of the

taken-advantage-of.

Enjoy

while it lasts.

Sometimes I Wonder...

I tend to think too much, too often, too quickly, and about too many things at once. I'm starting to wonder about the decisions I've made in the past few weeks. Really the past month. I've done some strange things, some fun things, some stupid things, and silly things. I've told people things that weren't necessarily true, even though I pride myself in being completely honest. And, more specifically, today has held a lot of things for me to think about. Including my very poor geographic knowledge, my poor driving skills, my size, my appearance, my laugh, the way I look at peoples mouths while they're talking, experiencing a lot while saying very little, the difference between lust and passion, why we always forget where we put things even if we always put them in the same place, why my toes were the only part of me that got cold, why it decided to rain on this particular evening, how somethings happen for a reason, and why time slows down when you aren't watching the clock. I want to know why we're always left wanting more and why it's never enough. I need to know why I always forget what I look like when I feel happy. And why I couldn't stop smiling the entire way home. These are the things I wonder. The things I want answers to. And the things that are currently important to me. I don't really care if I actually get the answers, but the wondering gives me something to do.

Useless Ramblings

I always tend to get into things too deep. To take things too seriously. To lead people on. But I'm determined not to do that this time. A bad habit that I need to break. Like biting your nails or picking your teeth. It's a dirty fucking habit. And it's going to stop here. It's going to stop with him. I don't want to tell people things that aren't true anymore. And I don't want any more people to end up disappointed. I'm tired of letting people down. I'm turning it around. A step forward, I think. Definitely a step in the right direction.

Direction is something I think about extensively. The direction of my life, The direction of my thoughts, The direction of my hopes and dreams and wishes, The directions my actions take me in. I try to go in a meaningful, useful direction. But I can't help feeling completely useless at times. I can't help feeling like nothing I do matters. Like it won't change a thing. I want to change things and to make them better. But I end up ruining everything. I want to help the occasional hobo. I want to take in an orphan. I want to save a shelter dog. I want to donate all my money to some charity that no ones ever heard of. I want to do something useful.

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,
I am sad tonight. I wonder what happened to those girls -- The ones who didn't talk to me. The ones who pushed past me. The ones who never saw me, but who I studied wondering how they got there. How did they get so cool? How did they decided one day that heavy black eyeliner was the way to go? I was fascinated with the ones who knew how to fray a perfect pair of jeans; who knew how to French-kiss when I hadn't yet held a hand. I studied them because they knew how to make someone look at them. They knew how to draw attention.
I also studied the Pure Girls. The Pure Girls only looked pure, but actually wanted to lose as much innocence as possible on a Wednesday afternoon between the bus ride home and curfew. They were the ones who looked good smoking a cigarette, and who hated doing homework.
I thought the more you knew the sexier you were. How mislead I was. How non of that helped that first, terrible year of high school, when I had no idea who I was or who these people were, and they didn't give a fuck about who I was. I was in a small town with people who had known each other for years and I was on the outside looking in.
You miss every school you ever went to. Even when you hated those schools so much you'd cry yourself to sleep every single night. The sound of the school bus will forever make your stomach drop. The smell of pencil shavings brings a lump to your throat.
Maybe next time you'll be popular. Maybe people will think you're pretty, or that you have the coolest clothes. Maybe they will love you immediately and take you right in. Or maybe they will hate you and make you sit at the outcast table again. Maybe they'll have other boys pretend to like you and ask you out. And they'll wait until you say yes and then all start laughing at you in the cafeteria. Even the lunch lady will laugh because there is no way a boy was really asking you out and she has a sad, lonely life and her only entertainment is watching children be horrible to each other.
Later you think, look at it this way: At least it's made you this funny, friendly person. I'm the life of every party now. They just don't know I'm scared that they all secretly hate me.
My life so far isn't going to make much of a movie. That's something I've thought a lot about lately. If my life were a movie, how would I want it to end? Does someone swoop in and carry me off into the sunset? Does anyone have to? Can't I be the swooper? Why do I have to wait to be chosen?
I hate that I feel this way. I hate breaking down, shutting down, just because there's noboy around to keep me up. When will I be good enough to be chosen? When do I get to choose? And why does everyone go away?
See, she wasn't the closest friend of mine lately, just a girl in my social circle. Now she was someone who had moved up on the social ladder of life, while I was still a few rungs down below. Someone was in love. Another person. Someone who was not me.
The hum in my head turned into a murmur. Then it sizzled into a loud, vibrating buzz.
I hated the feeling of dread weighing down my arms.That heaviness making my stomach feel so empty. I hated it because I never expected to feel it. I didn't think I was that kind of girl.
I'm not the kind of girl who defines her personal status or self-worth by the length and quality of her relationships. Or, at least, that's what I thought about myself before I picked up the phone to hear her good news. Then I was flooded with jealousy of another person getting picked first. It wasn't that I needed a lover to prove I was worth something. I just hated being second. Or last. God, don't let me be last! The Spinster, The Old Maid, Auntie Em with the cats! I don't have to be next, but pleasepleaseplease don't let me be last!
I feel silly for getting this upset. When will I actually be as strong as I give myself credit for? When will I feel as independent as I act? When will it be my turn?
See, I just want it to be OK for me to feel this way...

love always
Emily

Life styles

Age zero: You wake up. You're cold, wet,
and crying. You almost feel like
dieing.
Age one: You wake up. You're warm, wet,
and crying. You almost feel like
flying.
Age two: You wake up. You fall for the first
time. You hear your first wind
chime.
Age three: You wake up. You're off to
preschool years. The loud classroom hurts
your ears.
Age four: You wake up. You can dress
yourself up. You use the big-kid drinking
cup.
Age five: You wake up. You're off to Kindergarten
now. You want to read books but you still
don't know how.
Age six: You wake up. You can read books for
yourself. You can even reach a high
shelf.
Age seven: You wake up. You kiss your first
boy. You get mad 'cause all he does is steal your
toy.
Age eight: You wake up. You can write cursive
now. You go on a diet because a boy calls you
a cow.
Age nine: You wake up. You read ten chapter
books. All the adults start to give you weird
looks.
Age ten: You wake up. Almost done with grade
school. You wear the clothes that people say are
"cool".
Age eleven: You wake up. Middle School has finally
come. Kids laugh at you, leaving you feeling
numb.
Age twelve: You wake up. You're crying
everyday. You want to leave but your parents
make you stay.
Age thirteen: You wake up. You're at a new school
this year. When kids laugh at you, you pretend you
can not hear.
Age fourteen: You wake up. High School is so much
better. However, all your grades are down a
letter.
Age fifteen: You wake up. You are the youngest,
no more. You try to be pretty but they call you
"whore".
Age sixteen: You wake up. You do not know what's
so sweet. With your head down, you just watch your
feet.
Age seventeen: You wake up. You have confidence at
last. But a boy breaks you heart just like in the
past.
Age eighteen: You wake up. You face a new
world. You amazed at how your life
whirled.

Nudity

Nudity. [noun] The state or fact of being nude. Nakedness.

This probably isn't going to be a very revealing fact about me, but I love nudity. I love to be naked and I love the nude human form. What I don't understand is why nudity makes so many people uncomfortable. Now, I'm not saying I'm a nudist. I don't run around naked. I'm not a voyeur. But I do love to be naked. I rarely wear anything to bed at night, I don't really see the point. I laze around my house naked when no ones around. I mean, you came into the world naked. I think you should love your birthday suit. After all, it's the most fashionable thing any of us own. Embrace your epidermis! It's beautiful!

Just For You

Instructions:

1) List things that you want to say to people, but never will.

2) Don't say who they are.

3) Never discuss it again

1] I know I broke your heart and I'm sorry. However, for the 5 times that I've broken your heart, you've broken my heart 5 times more. And hate is a strong word, but I reallyreallyreally don't like you.

2] You are my best friend and I don't know where I would be without you. You save my life everyday and you probably don't even know it.

3] You make me laugh and you are always there for me. We have crazy conversations in my car and talk about boys and life and love and everything that really doesn't matter. We philosophize and generalize and try to out wit each other constantly. Sometimes we're complete opposites but I think that that's really why we work.

4] I know I've never met you, and I probably never will, but you're one of my best friends. I talk to you almost every day and we have infinite inside jokes. I'm your Twinkle and you're my Sith. We'll always be friends. [happy now?]

5]You are, above all, the most important person to me in the entire world. You've been there for me my entire life and I've been there for most of yours. You keep me safe, you make me laugh, you hold me when I cry. You're my back bone and my best friend.

6] I've always been in love with you, but I don't think you'll ever really love me back. And it hurts most of all because she doesn't deserve you.

Best AIM Conversation I've ever had.

hmm...well, in a relationship [idk if i want one but if i did and when i do] i like being able to just be completely silly and not feel like im making a fool of myself in front of the person. I want to be able to completely break down and look like crap with mascara running down my face and snot dripping from my nose and have the person just hold me and not judge me and make me feel better. I want to be able to be ridiculous and have crazy thoughts and ideas and have them go "that would be awesome!" even if my ideas are completely nonsensical and ridiculous. i want someone that will respect me and not take advantage of the fact that im a completely selfless person most of the time. but i want them to be able to understand when i am selfish and take those moments in stride because every other moment i'm probably only worrying about them.
i want to be in love. because love is great. i love love. so if im not in love im not going to be in a relationship. lust is fun, but love is better. i'd rather just chill and cuddle and watch movies with someone i love than have sex all the time. cause i feel like sex defines WAY too many relationships when the insignificant silent moments are what reallyreally matter.