Placebo est Placebo mon.

my brohters' little friend is here more than i care for. honestly, it is as if his own folks don't want him at home. and we do? ah, i can't speak for my whole family, but i am pretty annoyed. i've never been nicer, however; no one will hear a complaint from me.

almost died from riding home with Hardy. how in the Hell she managed to drive on the wrong side of the highway, i will never know, but a head on collision would have been most unfortunate after the team lost the game. remember whilst driving, you should never be able to see the backs of signs when the road you are driving on has a white line down the center. there, i've saved a life.

there's nothing here, but what here's mine... i've given up on people and am starkly alone; i can count mes copains on my thumbs. loving what brian molko is singing, though. i can't truthfully say that i am regretful of my situation. time has blown me here too many times before. i should really just fall accustomed to this. i am going to be the best alone person that i know how to be.

mike, go home.

"i appreciate you."

that's exactly what he said... words are so powerful and people can manage still to sling them around, as if they are nothing. i do not think that he is lying on purpose; that is something i would never expect. i think that he just doesn't know how powerful words can be and has a knack for misusing them.

i was up until he felt too bad to tell me what time it was last night with him on the phone talking about nothing for several hours, just the way we like it. i refuse to fall into the same place i was in a year-or-so ago, no matter how much the current events mirror those of then. I REFUSE. i might love him a little, but i will not be in love with him, because that type of thing will just get me into trouble.

i wonder when he will call tonight? all types of romances, no matter how fleeting or hurtful do two things. they can leave one very unromantic, but before that happens, they always produce some of the best emotions in the world. ...hmmm. that's what i am hanging on for? well, then. i guess i "appreciate" him, also.

there are thousands of words left unsaid [typed], but for that to matter, my heart must be involved in this romance of mine and i am far too unromantic for that.

his number.

gotta love it: it's the last thing i saw before i slept and the first thing i saw this morning. ha ha ha.

back.

well, i'm back, like sam gamgee, except i have not traveled all over Middle Earth, only over the bridge to New Orleans, and i only hope that i spelled his name right; i do not have my dear book with me for reference.

my lonely malady is ebbing and i cannot begin to explain the significance of this, so i will not begin. just like T.S. Eliot, it is impossible to say just what I mean! i wish my cold was following suit. it is still thick in my lungs and walking along the Mississippi River at night in February dressed in a flimsy blazer [that smells of crawfish now] did not help my condition. i guess i am in a worse place than i thought because at my reluctance to consume some horrid liquid medicine [i cannot swallow pills easily, at all], my mother started to bring up death. colds and death have never been juxtaposed in my mind before; this scared me and i took the stinky medicine. i do feel better, though. i suppose i won't die.

i am no Lestat, i tell you. i am no New Orleanian. the place is not mine, i think. i have never seen voodoo shops closed in between churches with the names of saints. i have never seen Mardi Gras beads hanging from the necks of cherub statues. i have never seen a tap-dancing corpse receiving kisses from the laughing elderly [makes one think]. i have never seen a jazz funeral, i have never seen a place with quarters that look worse than the neighborhoods of jackson.

aside from all of that, New Orleans is, of course, beautiful. Always has been. i love the palmetto trees, the colourful, tall, brick buildings with their wrought-iron galleries, starkly white cemeteries, where famous war heroes are buried with the locals' relatives. i cannot remember the name, i think it is Flemings' Cemetery, is where some scenes of Interview with the Vampire was filmed. the place is very beautiful and in dilapidated shape. the tombs are all knocked over from flooding and all surround an Indian [Native American] burial mound that has a single white cross marking a European grave there. it might be Jean Lafite's wife, but i could be very wrong. anyways, they say the ghost's spirit gets no rest there in the burial mound, because it doesn't belong. how cool! sounds like some of the tales told in Mississippi about the Witch and all.

i think that i will upload some pictures, if they turned out okay. if not, i will just take some more next week, or so. that is all, for now. au revoir. let the good times roll! laissez les bons temps... whatever.

fever musings.

i feel as if my brains are boiling; indeed my head is hot, and the backs of my eyes ache.
also, i have a cold in my chest that my friend offered to cure with a hard punch in that area. mmmm. lurve.

thought that it was med-induced, but cough syrup and its acetaldehyde do not cause fever, i think, only depresses one slightly. so i am and have been all day a high, crooked-walking zombie who shakes in her chair while her head is coved with a blue hoodie.

if you do not know this about me, now you do. i take meds to get to sleep, and last night, i woke around four A.M. crying over my loneliness. my louse-ass father pissed me off and i was generally having a miserable time on Valentine's Day. now i have two new, fresh cuts decorating my wrist. ah! i feel like i am walking those winding and half deserted streets that j. alfred prufrock invited us all down.

on a lighter note:

• mmmm... thad j.


• yay! my legs are shaved!


• got letters from Tulane and Washington and Lee Universities
  
• new orleans, here i come!

another first.

notice the oxymoronic title? well you should have, and if you are going to be a reader of my journal, you are going to have read me meticulously. i am probably typing to myself right now, as i have no 'friends' and will not have any until i decide to add them. B.C. is the only one i can think of. i am such a lonely soul.

loneliness is no fun, especially on the eve of such a romantic holiday. i hate Valentine's Day for that reason. how dare the calendars mock my loneliness! i can't even be lonely in peace... which would make me not lonely... but, whatever. you get it. whoever you are.

this is my vanity speaking, but i am too attractive to be single. or maybe i am sadly mistaken. or maybe looks do not matter. or maybe i am typing in circles [and efficiently over my point]. the fact is, i am terribly alone, and that is the one thing that i hate to be.

i wish with all of my heart that tomorrow will not bring me more sadness. mon dieu, i want larry. he's probably out shopping for his girl, right now, the girl who should be me. like the stark title of the theatrical performance i saw last night--Love Hurts. in the back of my mind, i see him able to do the things for me i have always desired [like roses and candy tomorrow], but Life is pulling in the opposite direction.

i wish She had just pulled, and pulled, and pulled so that i had never met him. broken hearts are too heavy, and i have had more than i can bear this past week, or so.

maybe i should just fall... and lie down.