I always just want to be alone. Then I can’t disappoint anyone. Although I’m sure I’ll find a way to disappoint just by not being there.

Whenever my phone is loading shit I want to read too slowly I will take that as a sign I’m supposed to be writing on the AlphaSmart3000. I have to call it that. I love its name. That was part of why I picked it about the Neo and the Pro or whatever; Aside from not needing all that fancy shit. It is just a keyboard for your lap. Some writer-person invented this, or someone who loves a writer-person. It seems I have to be having a love affair with what I am writing on. That’s why the desk computer and I don’t write well together. It’s ok but the chair hurts my back and so does the position of the keyboard and the mouse. I am also more tempted to use all my words arguing or preaching on Facebook instead of writing them just for myself. The blog and the writing, it is really all for myself. It is the only thing I like to do. It is the only thing I like to practice. Don’t I say the same things all the time?

That’s why I feel I’m at a crossroads. I’ve written all these essays. Blog posts. Journal entries. Whatever you want to call them, they are all the same. The constant stream, that happens in my mind, all the time. It is honestly hardest to pick one and focus on that branch, and to type as fast as they go by before I am like, what the fuck was I just thinking. The more I practice, the faster I type. Took getting used to the AlpharSmart3000 Keyboard just riffing on some random shit and the angry stuff about my family after Grandma Jackie was buried. Hunter must have written about the typewriter in Fear and Loathing the book. I’ve never read it, but the type writer is in the movie. Some shit I just couldn’t understand as a kid. I hope I get less angry as I get older and not more. Now I need to take those essays and ideas I wrote about succinctly to satisfy an internet audience and expand one of those ideas into a book. I have no idea what to write a fucking book about. I feel like I am 11 years old all over again trying to write that fucking play. Is this a play? All I can write is inner monologue. 

That would be a pretty boring play. 

[Stage instructions: writer sits on bed crossed legged with AlphaSmart3000 on lap. Narrator reads inner monologue] Haha. I always laugh at my own jokes. People who are Trying to be funny never come off as very funny to me. I always laugh at a good story or a weird fact about life. I am not as bleak as most people make me out to be. I like talking about dark morbid things but in a very satirical way. Kyle and I are intense with our sarcasm. I notice we try and ease people into what we think. We never try and change anyone’s mind; we just want to make sure we aren’t going to be judged. We have very very good friends and family now. I never feel self conscious or bad whenever I talk to anyone I know. It’s so nice. But I am isolated a lot and choose who I see. I am always here if someone wants to call or visit. Most people don’t. They are busy now, they have jobs and social responsibilities. It’s such a busy fucking world. I just sit here with it Whizzing by my head. Someone told me it’s just my perception of how fast it goes. I already knew that. But what does that mean? I can’t seem to slow it down. I feel like it has been on a constant acceleration since birth. It used to feel terribly slow. Sometimes painful moments seem slow. But then again, not really. 

Some of my friends are making very good art these days. It makes me very proud. I want them all to. I love some very beautiful people. Whole people have lived through some shit. Whole people who you can get real with and connect with. You don’t have to be the same, you just have to be yourself. Kyle and I want to plan a music night. That’s what I miss most about how much he is at work. He always fills my house with music. Whether it’s piano, guitar, or synthesizer my house is always filled with music when Kyle is around. Sometimes I participate. I don’t know what my hang up is. It feels like jumping off a cliff. Will I fucking drown? I will regret it if I never find my voice again.

I think the best way to get some of my words heard would be to say them, especially to Kyle’s music, since it is so good. Even I write nice riffs sometimes that I never remember and only rarely write down. Then I forget how it goes between practicing. I’m the same kid who played a year of every instrument, just enough to not be able to play anything. I can hear music. I just never trained my fingers to be strong enough to play the same thing over and over. It’s probably more the repetition of music than the actual keying. Typing is similar but never the same pattern of keys. I mean I type like a fucking fiend. (Thank you Jess Taylor and all my fucking old AOL Instant Messanger friends.) Nothing will make you type as fast as wanting to talk to all your friends as much as possible before your mom calls lights out. 

Who would have thought all those nights I was up all night typing to myself in LiveJournal or DeadJournal I was and could have been more specifically practicing a skill. Why didn’t anyone tell me I could be a fucking writer? It is literally something I’ve never heard a girl told she could be. I know a couple of girls who did it anyway. But I feel like girls who excel in anything do it despite a really fucked up set of standards for what women and men are allowed to get away with. I read an article detailing how many more hours women must spend doing their hair and other personal grooming for working in the business world compared to their male counterparts who look the same. Not to mention they have to do everything Perfect lest they be called a slut or someone who used their looks, they are forced to maintain, to get where they are. 
 

Oh yeah. I am starting an Organization. That is its primary goal though. Just to organize the tribe of human beings. I want a lady led organization but it won’t be strictly for us. It’s called Ladies Organizing and Voicing Equality. Bet you didn’t realize this whole time the L.O.V.E blog was an acronym. It will be for equality for all of us. Therefore we don’t want men being forced to be ultra masculine and unemotional anymore than we want women to be objectified in the media or any gender, race, or sexual orientation discriminated against. We want people with tattoos and bad teeth, hairy faces and no make up, to be accepted. Those superficial looks don’t tell you who is intelligent and who is a hard worker. Who has something valuable to contribute to all of human histories collective knowledge. Those are part of the reason we have lost our meritocracy. Money buys lots of expensive beauty treatments, for men and women of the business world. But facials didn’t seem to help them predict the housing bubble burst, or the dot com crash, or the stock market crash of 2008. Manicures don't seem to instill ethics and values.

So my goal should be to incorporate some of my amazing essay ideas into full blown stories with characters. Will I ever be able to? I’ll be like Ayn Rand editing for years until I create this epic masterpiece I believe is perfect and is the most perfect representation of my ideal world. 50 years later it will be completely misinterpreted by a prick like Paul Ryan. He will use my beautiful prose to sway the masses, unless everyone is still prude about women publicly saying the word fuck. As if everyone doesn’t curse sometimes. It is healthy to curse, it is funny and it expels negative energy so you don’t bottle it up. That’s how I survived my high school years without ever doing drugs. I just screamed “Fuck!” all the time about everything. And I called everyone a “cunt” because no word is more offensive and empowering to a 16 year old girl. Now I find teenagers who are miserable in paradise funny. If you just ignore all the assholes, the world is a beautiful place. 

Be My Friend

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