7.19.07

Today has been a shit day.

Do you ever have that revelation that your friends aren't your friends? These fucking people parade around pretending to care about you, when the funny thing is, they could give a shit. I put myself last to a FAULT. I will put everyone else's needs before mine. Funny though, how no one would do that for me.

What about me screams, "take advantage of me!"? Fucking doormat Kyla, that's what I am. Go ahead. Walk all over me. Take advantage of that fact that I, unlike you, give a shit about my friends. Don't ask me how the fuck i'm doing, just tell me what you need me to do and expect me to do it for you. Lie to me, I won't find out. Don't fucking wait 24 hours, it's not like I'm worth it anyways. Hi, I'm Kyla. Could you use me, please?

I'm not saying this to get some bullshit "Kyla, i'm always here for you". Because the funny thing is YOU'RE NOT. Your life, your problems take fucking presidence over everything else in life, myself included. Hell, tell ME about your problems! Please! It's not like I ever have anything of value to say anyways!

And I'm not saying this so I can hear your sad little tales of how your friends forgot to invite you to a party once in your entire life.

And you're all sitting there, whether you'll admit it or not, thinking "man, Kyla's being a whiney little bitch".

Fuck it. I could give a shit.

7.10.07

Artists > Maria Mena > Fragile

I've been walking around all day,
Thinking.
I think I have a problem,
I think I think too much.
I've been taught to hold back my tears,
And avoid them.
But you make pain into something I could touch.

I've been walking around all day,
Laughing.
I think I'd be better off without you here.
And I bet you're sweet and hard to get over.
So I'll cry and people will stop and stare.
Now that's okay.
Let them stop and stare.

Cause I am fragile.
I am hopeless.
I'm not perfect.
But I am free.

I've been walking around all day,
Waiting.
And waiting is all I seem to do.
Cause I never get it unless I'm fed it.
But this time i'll just have to.
Yeah this time i'll just have to.

And I'm fragile.
I am hopeless.
I'm not perfect.
But I am free.

Say you're not around, Am I finished?
If you're not around, thats too bad.
Hope youre safe and sound,
not alone now.
Cause you know I believe in you.

7.9.07

I’ve recently been treating myself to some fantastic books. I don’t know why I don’t read for myself more often. Oh, that’s right, school.

The past few weeks have been me taking time to do things for myself. Which believe me, is rare – I live my life to do what others want from me. But! I’ve been taking time for myself (rare) and doing what I want to do (even rarer). I can only hope this is a more mature stage of life for young Kyla. I’m almost 17! It’s time to act like I’ll be able to live, responsibly, by myself in a year. Make less stupid, immature decisions – my resolution. I guess I’m not following it that well though, since I’m still picking dumb fights with Adam.

Funny, how I’m both so happy for you and so jealous at the same time. And only half the time is it a possessive jealousy, the other half of the time is a whole other monster entirely. Do you know what I’m talking about? No. But does it matter? You can relate without even knowing where this is coming from.

Anyways, how ‘bout them books, eh? I read another Jodi Picoult book, Mercy. After 3 novels, I find she writes very formulaic-ly, not unlike – dare I make the comparison? – Nicholas Sparks. Then I read Oh the Glory of It All, which was vaguely reminiscent of Girl, Interrupted. Only set in San Francisco and with a male lead character. And now, for the greatest summer reading of all time – One Hundred Years of Solitude! No, just kidding. Seriously, no. Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides is probably one of the most amazing books I’ve read. And I’m only half way through! Luxuriate in this quote, won’t you?

“Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in “sadness”, “joy”, or “regret”. Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster.” Or: “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.” I’d like to show how “intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members” connects with “the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.” I’d like to have a word for “the sadness inspired by failing restaurants” as well as for “the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.” I’ve never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I’ve entered my story, I need them more than ever. You can’t just sit back and watch from a distance anymore. From here on in, everything I’ll tell you is colored by the subjective experience of being part of events. Here’s where my story splits, divides, undergoes meiosis. Already the world feels heavier, now I’m a part of it. I’m talking about bandages and sopped cotton, the smell of mildew in movie theaters, and of all the lousy cats and their stinking litter boxes, or rain on city streets when the dust comes up and the old Italian men take their folding chairs inside. Up until now it hasn’t been my world. Not my America. But here we are, at last.”

I am in love with his writing.

I just poured my heart out

there's bits of it on the floor

And I take what's left of it

and rinse it under cold water

And call him up for more

And I say baby, yes I feel stupid to call you,
but I'm lonely

And I don't think you meant it
when you said you couldn't love me

And I thought maybe if I kissed the way you do,
you'd feel it too

He said I'm sorry

so sorry

He grabs my wrist

as my fingers turn into angry fists

and I whisper why can't you love me,
I'll change for you

I'll play the part