*listening to The Cure, Disintegration*

I'm gonna be a bitter, old lady.

Mmm yesterday, I stepped on a piece of glass in the kitchen (my dad broke a glass a couple days ago--one of mine, actually--and he claimed that he'd swept). Well, I felt this little pain, but dismissed it. Then I looked down and saw drops of blood where I'd been walking. "Hmm.... great." I reached down and dug the glass out of my toe with my fingernails. Pretty soon, my hands were covered in blood and it was dripping a steady stream onto the floor. Not wanting to track the mess any further than the kitchen, I yelled for my dad. And yelled. And yelled again. Finally, I heard a "What?" yelled back.

He brought me paper towels; and, as he went in search of bandaids, I remember looking at the blood on my fingers and under my fingernails. It was bright, poppy red. The droplets and streaks and pools on the floor were darker, thicker.

For the rest of the day, I felt icky. I went to bed at 8pm and woke up this morning at 5. I can't handle the loss of much blood, which is why I can't donate. Even when I got my first tattoo, I was light-headed. I'm not sure why... maybe the iron deficiency? Blah, damn redheaded genes.

Did you know that redheads have smaller capillaries? Due to this, it takes more anesthesia to put us under (it's not unusual for redheads to wake up in the middle of surgery) and takes more alcohol to get us drunk. I heard somewhere that our hair has a higher iron content, which makes it red, but I'm not sure about that one. Interesting theory, though.

Redheads also have the least amount of hair on their heads compared to all the others. But our hair is the thickest by strand. A high percentage of redheaded men go bald. Some women, too.

Anyway... the cut on my toe seems to be alright now, though I dread peeling the bandaid off and looking. It was actually pretty tiny but rather deep. I guess the glass hit a blood vessel.

I wanna go see Bry's new house. >:D Maybe I'll call her.

Van Helsing was...

A BIG PILE OF STEAMING CRAP.

*seeth* It had so much fucking potential, too. ;-; I mean, it was fun to watch and everything (maybe that's all the director was going for), but it was oozing... cheese.

Wait, didn't I write this same review for Hellboy a few weeks ago?

One of my coworkers, whom I don't even know that well, stuck his finger up my nose today. I'll just let you ponder this for a while.

...

...

...?

Another night out with the big, blue bitch fest. Greasy pizza. Good times. I kicked ass at Trivial Pursuit.

I'm going to injure my supervisor if I don't get away from him soon. We're talking boot to the teeth, head through a pane of glass, stake through the rectum injuries. I hate this stupid fuck. And I had to work with him for seven hours today... with no one else.

Anyway, onto a more serious discussion (injuring my boss is more of a side note). I'm thinking about what exactly I'm going to do with school. I would like to finish an associates degree or at least scrape together some useful credits at LCC and then transfer to EKU or *shudder* UK. If I go to EKU, I would like to have an apartment there. It's only a thirty minute drive from here... no big deal. But here's the iffy part: I would like to take out a student loan to cover tuition, books, and living expenses. Eventually, I would get a part time job in Richmond. I want to live comfortably while I'm immersed in school. And I'm sick of this fucking place. What will I study? I don't know. I was thinking perhaps education. Speaking with an advisor or career counselor has been on my mind.

Oh, man, does my stomach hurt.

1. Go into your LJ's archives.
2. Find your 23rd post (or closest to).
3. Find the fifth sentence (or closest to).
4. Post the text of the sentence in your blog along with these instructions.

"I have to work in five hours. =("

Wow... that was entertaining.

So, I leave you with this: Mountain Dew is no substitute for sleep. O_O

When the shrill winds are screaming
And the evening is still
Lady Samantha glides over the hill
In a long satin dress that she wears every day
Her home is the hillside, her bed is the grave

Lady Samantha glides like a tiger
Over the hills with no one beside her
No one comes near
They all live in fear
But Lady Samantha, she sheds only tears

The tales that I told round the fire every night
Are out of proportion and none of them right
She is harmless and empty of anything bad
For she once had something that most of you have
Music by Elton John
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin

That's my fucking song.

I've been rather angry lately. Don't fuck with me :D No, actually, not angry... just fed up. I'm fed up with people asking me what's wrong, too. I wish I could muster the strength to say, "Fuck off," but I'm usually reduced to grumbling and walking away.

Ah, well.

Home is behind, the world ahead

So, I went out with some acquaintances tonight. Went to a movie, dinner, then ended up talking until... well, 30 minutes ago. Talked about psycho "friends," romantic relationships (or lack thereof), school, other inconsequential thing. As I was giving ex-coworker/flirty boy a lift home, I finally gave him the humdrum speech about why I'm celibate. (You'd think I'd have that down-pat by now, but I still struggle for the right words.) Hey, he asked after my virginity came up in earlier conversation.

Mentioned that I had, oddly enough, been in a "relationship" with someone for over a year (much longer, now that I think about it), but that it was virtually non-existent. Luckily, he could see that it was a sensitive subject and let it go.

I had that gruesome teeth-falling-out dream again. It's becoming more frequent. I know what it means, subconscios. You can give it a rest. Please.

There are so many bodies in my graveyard that I'm running out of tombstones. Friendships that died, loves that vanished, futures that were killed.... And I carry them with me everyday, no matter how well I try to hide them or forget about them. There's no getting away from them. And I wish, sometimes, that I could make them all go away with the snap of my fingers. That would only leave me empty, as there's not much to me without them.

Feh.

So, here's a funny story:

As I was punching out from work's lame, boring, dull, and pointless meeting.... My supervisor (of the month), turned around and said to me something like this, "I haven't had a chance to talk to you about this, and this is completely off the record. If you tell anyone, I'll deny it. I was really fucking pissed off about what you did last Saturday. You basically screwed us, and that was fucking wrong. Blah blah blah... You're like a sister to me."

...

I'm not exaggerating. He cussed me like I had hit him with my car (which doesn't sound like such a bad idea). I called in last Saturday. I was sick, if you recall. Like, painfully ill. I have never had someone at work speak to me like that. It was a 30 second conversation, but I've been thinking about it all day. And the fact that he tried to hug me afterward and say I was like a sister to him...? I wanna kick this guy in the face while wearing steel-toed boots.

My sister said that I should have told him, "Off the record, Fuck you," but my wits left me once shock came in.

If he thinks for a second that I'm not going to tell someone, he's dead wrong. And at this point, I don't care if the shit hits the fan and sprays down on him. I don't get paid enough to deal with that kind of crap. Hell, I don't get paid enough to work there.

We can neither confirm nor deny the existence of life.

So...

Sometime I wonder if one day I'll wake up and someone will whisper to me, "Open your eyes," as in a strange movie, I once caught while channel-surfing on some dull afternoon. And for some reason, I always seem to catch it when it's on television since that day. And it's like a horrible car wreck from which I can't peel my eyes away. It makes the heart ache. And it tastes sweet when you look upon it. Vanilla Skies. I'd like to see the original, aptly titled Open Your Eyes.

I wonder if I made up a love in my head, a love that never really existed, a love that I twisted and bent to my selfish desires, and a love that couldn't stand a chance if I were awake. And then... I slap myself, because these are the thoughts that drive me into a vicous cycle.

Electric beats bounce off my ear drums like silk hitting a windscreen, if that makes any sense.

With a world that I once cherished

I suppose nothing is tangible. That's fine, I don't want to touch it, anyway.

Staring out at the afternoon sky, glassy-eyed, contemplating the purpose of those little sparks swimming around in my eye juice. Well, not right now.

Mint Chocolate shakes own. Mmmm.

I want a vacation from work.

With the hair all whipped up from the breezy spring weather, I couldn't help but wonder today what kind of summer is ahead of us. Today was just perfect. Sunny, just a spot of showers, and windy as all get out.

In other news, my bad procrastination habits are gonna get the better of me if I don't nip them in the bud. I need to get my ass over to LCC after I submit my app, and see what they have to offer that'll finish up an associates degree. A fucking associates degree? My ass should be out of shool as of 2 years ago. Trouble is, I still don't know what I want to do or what I would even like to do. And I'm how old? FUCK.

Le sigh.

And there's also this crappy job thing to worry about. Truth is, I'd hang on to it if I could switch departments and get a raise. I don't see either of those happening any time soon. Hell, I just need something part time that I can swing while I go back to class in the fall. Something that pays decent. Something that could possibly pay the bills when I move the hell out of this stinkhole.

Money's not really a problem, I just don't like not getting what I'm worth.

Money. ._. That reminds me: I need to apply for financial aid. Yippi.

As for other matters, I think it's best if I just let go of them and let with winds of fate (gag) carry them where they may. Cheesy, but true. Fate being... whatever you make of it; I just don't want that crap on my hands or in my mind anymore. It does nothing but make me miserable. Yeah, there's no way to forget it, but I can do my damned best to try.

I make mistakes, you make mistakes, some of us were born from mistakes. Some of us think we can share little nuggets of wisdom with the rest of the world and that makes us wise. Some of us are complete jackasses, no?

I'll shutup now. :D