I'll never be her.

Sometimes I get wrapped up in my brain and pause on certain moments in time; those moments are still images that I can't burn without leaving a silhouette of a memory that is there to haunt me.

This blog drives me crazy. I never know what direction I want to take it. I find myself wanting to post very personal things on here and I don't because I feel like I have this tough, 'i don't give a shit' persona that only exists within me on occasion but always on this blog. It's not that I'm afraid of being vulnerable, it's just I always find myself blogging in those moments where I'm feeling sky-high and shove my low moments to the wayside. Then, of course, in those moments where I'm not feeling my very best I turn to my blog to write and find myself with no direction or course to take those moments. Those moments borderline don't make sense and certainly don't fit within this blog. I suppose when one loses direction in a blog, it becomes nothing more than a diary. My blog is without focus, without purpose and without logic. I write because I want to write. I guess that's it.

I'm in one of those moods where I'm being an absolutely stupid and stereotypical girl where I'm looking in the mirror and thinking I'll never be good enough. I'll never be her - if you know what I mean. The one that got away, the one that meant the most, the one that is actually the one. You know, her. The one whose name you default to in your sleep. her. that one. the one that isn't me. the one i'll never be.

It's funny how much a couple of drinks can make you think - and it's funny how much that thinking can effect so much in such a short period of time. I hate it. I hate thinking. Sometimes when I'm losing my mind and I'm not remembering words or things I just did, I get happy knowing I'm losing my god damn mind. It's like finally, my brain is letting go, and then I find myself rethinking all the things I didn't want to, all the things I wanted to let go, all the things I wanted to forget about forever. Suddenly here I am, reliving it all over again.

I am so bothered by so much in this world. I'm bothered by people's actions - and lack of actions. I'm bothered that I can't come to terms with certain things and I'm bothered that I have to. I'm bothered, just in general at this point.

I have such an incredible life, and don't get me wrong - not even for a second - I am a very lucky and fortunate person. In this world of bullshit, I have it easy. I have it easier than 99.99999% of this world. I have it all. If you write it down, I have everything a girl could wish for.

So what's missing? And why do I feel so empty?

Slutty Bikini.

I ordered this stupid fucking slutty ass bikini a million years ago. Well, apparently it decided to finally show face in my mailbox yesterday. So, thanks for finally showing up.

Okay... Change of plans.

I feel like since I woke up this morning, I've had entire change of life-plans.

I hate when I feel like updating but I can't because I don't want to jinx anything. Well, fuck!!!

Boyfriend and I have big plans. That is all.

Why?

Am I wasting my time again?

The Great Escape.

Sometimes I feel like the only person on the internet brave enough to post pictures of themselves looking like a pile of wet, steaming dog shit. I guess if I am not worthy of being looked at without a made up face, don't bother looking at me at all.

Anyway.

Withdrawal is a bitch. Not drugs, not alcohol - but rather, life withdrawal. In specific, Spain withdrawal. I'm going back this year, and on the same days I was there last year. Strange how an entire year has passed right before my eyes. I've done so much since my last visit.

I wish school was something that kept my interest long enough that it could consume my life in a mentally and emotionally positive way. I do it, I do it very well, then I get bored to tears because what I want in life doesn't come with a .edu e-mail address. I do it because I feel obligated, not because I want it. Life is short, and life is too short to be tied down to a life you don't want. I admire my friend Jeffer in many ways, he lives the dream pretty well. Just packs up and goes, and I admire that a lot about him. He puts his happiness first - and that is the dream: to be happy. The other day we were talking about how we're just going to end up old people surrounded by no one other than our dogs, and we're okay with that. There's more to this world than inanimate objects and life is a journey that is only completed when you die.

"Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off." - Tyler Durden (Fight Club)

"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." - Tyler Durden (Fight Club)

I am planning my great escape - and I'll be gone before you know it.

From couch to bed.

I'm feeling healthy again.

Of course I finally feel healthy on a Sunday when there's absolutely nothing to do. I haven't worked out in weeks and I feel like a flabby pile of shit and this is depressing. I went from doing my marital arts nearly every day to being couch ridden and unable to breathe without help from an inhaler or an insane amount of purple drank, which just made me sleep away the coughing. Then I'd wake up choking, and that was bad news bears.

So now that I'm better, my muay thai trainer is too busy for me, my jiu jitsu studio isn't open, my dog is being a lazy pile of shit and doesn't want to run with me, my boyfriend is working on his project car... and i think he's sick of me because i haven't left his bedroom in a week and i am over-all a cranky mother fucking bitch.

Now when I come home and hang out at my house I get stir crazy and don't know what to do. It's like I really don't live here anymore, so I just sorta sit on the couch or in a chair downstairs at the dining room table and rot. My bedroom stopped being my woman-cave and I'm running out of options to satiate myself for the day.

I guess I'll go back to molesting Yelp. That's the only thing I've been capable of doing the past couple of weeks. I AM BACK TO MY NORMAL SCHEDULE AFTER TODAY.