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Without you, today's emotions would be the scurge of yesterday's. - jessi [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]

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Without you, today's emotions would be the scurge of yesterday's. [Mar. 16th, 2004|11:54 am]
[mood |offended indeed]

I just stumbled apon something I was obviously not supposed to see.

I feel like something sacred has been ripped away from me.
Something that completes me has been handed to the public and they've been told to rip it to shreds. I'm very aware, all of a sudden, how fast my heart is really going, and how quickly my palms can start sweating. And how quickly I can go from content to irate to crushed to maddeningly depressed.

Apparently I am capable of human emotion.

I feel slightly offended that I even think to exist in this world as a complete human being without my emotional attachment to memories. It's so surreal, you know? People talk about how painful, how upsetting, it is.

But they never talk about how it makes you go numb and have out of body expiriences.
Or maybe I'm just that one person who goes crazy with even the slightest hint of betrayal. I'm so confused.

Scared heart's desire, given to another.
That's a line in a poem that Brittee wrote for Jesse. It made little to no sense to me at the time, but that was 9th grade.
I'm all grown up now.
All grown up in my Cat in the Hat pajamas, wife beater, drinking my pseudo-cool coffee drink.
Holding my teddy bear, crying my eyes out over circumstance, watching Laverne and Shirley. Squiggy was so the best.
I really am a grown up now, because I stopped caring about the people who love me.

I feel sick to my stomach.

"You mean she would rather imagine herself relating to an absent person than build relationships with those around her?"

"I had two heart attacks, an abortion, did crack... while I was pregnant. Other than that, I'm fine."

Amelie. Le Fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain. I'm so rusty on my French.

I wish I was a cat. What do cats have to cry about? Nothing. Not my cats anyway. They are lazy, and fat. They sleep all day and play all night, their food is brought to them every morning at seven-thirty, and they don't feel the urge to get drunk.

At least I don't think so. I wouldn't really know what it's like to be a cat, now could I? Maybe Phydeaux isn't watching the birds from the window, maybe he's thinking that if he jumps just right and lands on the rose bush he'll die faster than if he were to try and poison himself with Drano, a la Mae. (Who swallowed Drano, lived, and is miserable because of it.)

I don't even smoke, and I want a cigarrette like nothing else. Goes to show what my nerves are like.

Happy 9:30 am everybody!

Don't mind me.
I should probably have learned my lesson by now.

"An ounce of loyalty is worth a pound of cleverness."

I guess that's true.

Emotions are a lovely thing to bless a seventeen year old girl with.
Sometimes I feel entirely too sorry for myself.