I hate you.

There is nothing awesome about being unappreciated.


I'm sick of spending my life trying to be nice to people,
only to be walked on and taken for granted.


I'm done being nice.

Consider me an entire new entity,
Complete with a fist to your mouth,
Or a heeled shoe to the back of your skull.


I'm fucking done.


I went to the mall to return things for money which would go straight into my gas tank and my lungs,
And ended up with a 75dollar Pac Sun gift card instead. Fuck you, Pac Sun.


Maybe I can buy some skinny jeans and a hurley shirt and go hang out with the surfer kids.

.......


end my life.

I'm going to read the next 6 months away.

fuck

Nightmares.


If this is what my world is coming to,
lack of sleep and dreams about being hacked to pieces,

I'd like to press pause now.

and eject.


That was a vhs reference, incase you didn't catch it.

There are times, when I'm squatted in the shower trying to balance with one hand because the other is holding Heather to the side of my face for dear life, that I really enjoy being me.

When I can sit in my basement all alone drinking captain morgan's until I feel like I'm going to burst and feel like I'm not alone at all.

When I have no courage to call that someone, so I keep her on 3way with me so she's there. Moral support.

When I realize that I have 20 something songs sung by her, and I put them on a cd so I can listen to her sing to me in my car.


I wonder what the hell I did to deserve such amazing friends.

Really, Chuck?

I never thought I'd have an ill fated word to say about good old Chuck Palahniuk. I thought hell would freeze over before I'd call his writing "amateur" or, for lack of a better word, Shitty.

Invisible Monsters wowed me. (How I despise the word wow.)
Choke was fucking AMAZING. I read it in a matter of hours without once putting it down.
Diary was, well. Diary was okay. It could have been better, but I didn't want to pour arsenic into my retinas after reading it.

But this. This is horrible. Haunted, how it was a national bestseller I will never understand. It is the most blatantly grotesque, drawn out jumble of words thrown together into 410 pages I've ever read. The man must have been fucking high when he wrote the storyboard.

My heart is hurting right now, Charles let me down. HE LET ME DOWN.

.

fuck this day. fuck living my life. fuck crying all day long and wanting to die.


My sister graced us with her presence today, long enough to tell us that her children have been taken away, rummage through my entire room and all of my belongings looking for something to steal, drink half of my bottle of Captain Morgan without my knowledge and completely ruin any type of "christmasy" atmosphere that we had tried to manufacture.

I instead spent the day screaming, yelling, trying to make sure my shit didn't get stolen (I'm sure something did) and avoiding all human contact. with anyone.

My nephew called me bawling this morning telling me that he had no christmas and santa didn't come, and it just continued downhill from there.

Now, at 5:42pm, I'm going to drive my waste of fucking oxygen drug addict sister, who decided today was an awesome day to tell us she had cervical cancer (LIE) home, 40 fucking minutes, with no exhaust hoping I don't get pulled over and taken to jail for having no insurance, and then drive 40 minutes in the opposite direction to get Danielle's best friend so that I can try to salvage any bit of a good evening for my little sister, who also spent the entire day upstairs in her room bawling, wishing she had a normal family. THEN, come home, take a shower, get dressed, and drive 30 minutes to Matt's house, to try and cheer myself up.


Merry Christmas.

I wish I was dead.

Wow.

Erica had Lily, at 11:40pm tonight.

20 minutes before her own 23rd birthday.

She's 5lbs 7oz and 18inches long. TINY.

Bright blue eyes and a head full of brown hair.

She's the most beautiful baby I've ever seen in my entire life.

I'm finally at home now, after hourrrrrs of waiting at the hospital, and I still can't stop crying. I have never felt so.. I don't even have a word for this feeling. It's magical. When I held her, she looked straight into my eyes and grabbed ahold of my pinky, not even 30 minutes after being born.

I don't know why I hate life so much, when the beginning of it is the most beautiful thing in existence.

My heart is pouring over with emotion right now.

I'm an aunt. Again. To a beautiful little girl.

Lilyana Elizabeth Miller.

There was an angel born today.

That's enough to make me forget my problems for a while.

For good measure

Since I just depressed myself after being awake for a total of 50 minutes,

I must say, that Matthew is asleep right now next to me, and just the sound of his breathing is more comfort than I could imagine.

also.

I know that when he wakes up, and his first action is to reach his hand out towards me and give me that "c'mere" gesture,

I'll feel better.

I give up.

I unintentionally reflect on my childhood at random times during the day. Mostly when I'm asleep, I think, because I wake up really nostalgic and just wanting to rewire my brain into that of 5 year old.

I have the weirdest memories of my youth. Sometimes it makes me wonder why, in my right mind I would want to go back. Relive a lot of the hell I went through. I guess those few, amazing, childlike magical moments that are sporadically placed between vivid scenes of screaming and breaking glass and crying and alcohol.. everywhere, are enough to make it worth it.

You know, I'm really jealous of Danielle sometimes. She was 7 when my dad died. 7. Though she WAS old enough to grasp the fact that we were losing our father, and I have not a doubt in my mind that she was detrimentally affected by it, I'm pretty sure that it hit me a bit harder. I'm also sure that means she doesn't remember much of the 7 years BEFORE he got sick, which would mean she doesn't remember how shitty our lives really were.

We of course got money for his life insurance when he died, and some kind of monthly check from social security. Kind of our government's way of saying "Your husband/father died. Sorry. Cheer up. Go buy things." Which my mother in turn took for, "Heyyy, your husband just died, go on a rampage and drink a lot and do drugs and don't come home for a couple days. Traci is a freshman, she can take care of Danielle for a couple months."

That wasn't even my point. Danielle has always known money. I'm sure she doesn't remember when the ceiling in our dining room was literally falling in because my dad lost his next THREE checks to a bookie, betting on football games and races and fights and god knows what else. I'm sure she doesn't remember wearing neon colored mis matched clothes from the goodwill or being embarrassed when daddy stopped to get a TV or a vacuum or a fan or a desk or chair or a couch or ANYTHING out of someone's GARBAGE, because, "Hey, It might not be broke."

I'm sure she doesn't remember when my mom got robbed and her face got all fucked up, cause she was on the north side of youngstown at 3am buying "things" from a 400lb black man she introduced me to as Big something. Rob, maybe. I don't remember.

And I know god damn well she doesn't remember cringing in the passenger seat of my mother's car, watching the speedometer near 100 as my mother sips a beer and crosses lanes on the freeway in an attempt to get there before the guy leaves. OR being 10 years old and grabbing the steering wheel because you're almost certain you're going to slam into that concrete barrier, only to be smacked in the mouth and told "NEVER grab my steering wheel again. You could have made us wreck."

I'm pretty sure all she knows is losing my dad, and living without him. And having money. And being given everything her little heart desires. Football games and movies and school dances and concerts and shopping. A cell phone since the 7th grade and being absolutely certain that she'll be presented with a car on her 16th birthday. These are the things she knows. Those are the things I didn't.

What I DO remember, are hearing "I hate you" screamed a lot. Fights. Running, barefooted, to the payphone to call 911. Children's services interviewing me. My daddy telling me, every time I got hurt "You cry too much. Walk it off. Be a man." Dropping my mom off at the jail. Visiting my dad in the jail. And in the recovery clinic. Talking to the men he was in the clinic with, and one of them impersonating the Lion from wizard of oz. My dad unplugging some wires from my mom's car so she couldn't leave, and teaching me how to reconnect them. Or him stealing things from OUR OWN house. Or living in 150 different places. Or him telling me I need to stop going to that church down the street because he thinks that guy has a "hidden agenda". Or being so excited that he was at my choir concert, only to go on stage and see his seat empty, and go to the car after the production to find him passed out in the driver's seat with a beer between his legs. My uncle John pouring an entire beer over my head, for amusement. My mom stabbing my dad with a fork. Shooting him with a water gun as he screamed obscenities into my mother's face. Him forgetting me at the store. Or at his friend's house. Him calling to talk to my mom, but never to me. Waking up to people passed out. On our porch. Or our living room floor.

I have to stop now. This is getting depressing.

Sometimes I wish I could just erase a majority of my memories.

But then I guess I wouldn't really be me anymore.

appropriate

I just realized, that no matter how much life makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon, I have the most amazing people in my life, that would pick that eyeball off of the ground, and shove it back into my empty socket, after dusting it off on their lapel.

By their, I mean Heather, who is the one sole being in this world who can turn my horrid fuck filled life into something that has potential. Something that makes me smile when I think about the future. Something that, in retrospect, isn't so shitty at all.

The next six months of my life are going to be dedicated to finding that happy place I've been looking for my entire life. That happy place that Heather had in her pocket the whole time. That place where I'm not such a piece of shit, where I'm accepted for who I am, Where I can say anything I want and not be judged. That place, where I'm loved unconditionally. That place is with my best friend. Where I need to be.


Ohio, go fuck yourself.

California, here we come.

Justttt for Heather.

I delved deep into my sketchbook for the mere entertainment of one heatherbdoodles, because basically, describing these hideous drawings in great detail just wasn't enough to justify them. So.

Enjoy. I am an idiot. And this is what I sketch, when I'm laying in my bed at night, wondering where babies come from.

I like to think devil like creatures spend most of their time seducing half naked women into smoking the herbs with them. ...



Also. I'd like to point out, that mr. farmer, well. I just decided to rename him Smiley. Now get your clothes away from his clothes, damnit. Their touching again. ewe.




"I have to say that is a damn good gorilla." lmao



Sarah Palin; Making me hate alaskan women since 2008.


You know you love Barack. Don't be frontin, nigga.









"GRAPES ARE NOT TRIANGULARRRRR, TRACIII" ... assholes.





I'm an asshole.


ANDDDD. A picture of my dog, honeydoodles, for good measure. and cause she's cute.

untitled

I'm starting to think I only write blogs when I need to complain. Which is bad, because I write in a raggedy little notebook all day long, knowing not a soul will ever read it.
Why is it that I'm so hesitant to write in this little white box? Why is it that knowing that pretty much no one reads this, but that it could be stumbled upon and my words twisted and judged give me a mini panic attack every time I think about it?


I don't fucking know. Nor do I care anymore.

I'm pretty sure I've joined the ranks of unemployment once again. The funny thing? My mind hasn't even registered it yet. And I don't think it will until my alarm goes off in the morning and I get up and dressed to go nowhere. When I'm tossing and turning tonight and damning the world because I can't sleep and I have to be up.. I'll realize, I don't have to be up at all. But I will be. Just like I have for pretty much the last 72 hours. Because as much as I'd have loved to believe it, I, apparently, am not a masochist. I don't enjoy pain. I don't enjoy my ear being infected and my jaw feeling like it's being cracked in half.
My throbbing is now accompanied by vomiting, which could either be a sign that the 3+ entire bottles of aspirin/ibuprofen/Motrin that I've been taking is finally taking it's toll on my liver, or just the simple fact that that much acetaminophen, mixed with stomach acids and no food for eh, about 3 days sitting on your stomach lining is probably not a good idea. Either way, Thank god for not being to sleep. It means I get to vomit more frequently. How Joyous.

There were Christmas cards in the mail today. From Florida. From my grandmother. One for Danielle, One for Mom and Larry. The one with my name on it.. non existent. The same woman who has neglected to send me a birthday card since I turned 18 has now written me off of her Christmas list, too. Maybe she thinks I'm dead. Fuck florida, and fuck her.
I hate Christmas. I hate the holidays and everything they represent. This year will be 7 years since my dad has been gone, and every fucking time the snow falls I feel like I'm 14 all over again. Every Christmas morning I feel like I'm waking up to a half dead father and a Christmas that doesn't feel like Christmas at all.


I should start learning the dreidel, and marry a jew. No more Christmases.

Now if you'll excuse me,
my face has an appointment with the toilet.

Erica Christine

Words cannot describe how proud of you I am. Look at how far you've come, dude. You went from "half time", to full time mommy. It's so crazy to think about, and I am so excited for Lily to get here. I'm writing this before she's here, but who knows, they may have her outta your lil belly before you read it.
My Keener, a mommy. And Mr.Miller, a daddy. wow. You guys are going to be amazing parents, I can see it now. You and your arts and crafts, Adam teaching her how to play FPS's before she can walk. ahaha. You will be amazing.

I have known you my entire life. There aren't a lot of memories I have that don't in some way involve you. I'm going to attempt to reminisce some of them. Bear with me.

- Singing on picnic tables at ridge lake. We were the shit.
- The waterslide at Ridge lake. Over and over and over again.
- Ace. He wanted us.
- You.... shaking... the.. cardboard house.
-New Year's Eves at your house on Roanoke. Our parents scaring us with "It" and that damn freddy Krueger mask.
- That New Years eve in like 7th grade when we got drunk with Kayle Dean and screamed "We didn't die!!"" in the streets.
- Making a bajillion cakes on Tracey's easy bake oven. for hours.
-Tracey's sandbox.
- Gladiators on your swingset.
- Our parent's mysterious flower behind your garage.
-Your cherry Tree.
-dustin and Tara's trampoline.
- Me breaking your eyeball. ;\ sorry.
- When we thought Danielle was stealing our parents.
-Walking to save a step with like 70 cents and getting necco wafers.
- Buying DJ "toys" from our excursions to the plaza.
- The creek, and the dead paper boy.
- Beating up the boys.
- That time I peed my pants in your driveway on Roanoke.
- Exploing Mill Creek all the way to the SouthSide.
-Smoking in your upstairs bathroom on Roanoke, when Devin was just a baby.
-Convulsions.
-Half time and Part time.
-we were out of school for like 3 weeks because of our pink hair.
-Your dad's bedtime stories.
-That time you were a present for Halloween. ahahaha.
- Steamrollers.
-you and Amanda's joint birthday party. The boot.
- doubletalk.
-When we caught your kitchen on fire. "SMOKE!!!!"
- The abandoned houses. Both of them.
- Patrick.
- Sneaking out with Ashley.
- Sneaking out in general.
- Working together at Wee Care.
- The GIRIFF.
- Old greg.
- Turtle hunting adventures.
- That time you pushed me into the fire camping. Yeahhh I will exact revenge one day.
- Sneaking out of the all night skates.
-"driving" wherever we wanted in your driveway.
-The 420 rocks.
- That time you threw up on me. and that girl.
-Klonopins.
- That time I threw up in your bushes.
- Our fight. LOLOLOL
- Eating an entire box of crunch berries.
- Not letting the spoon touch the bowl. Or our teeth.
- carrying me out of Cosmo's.
-My light up boobs.
- PITCHFORK!
- The moment you told me my dad had died. I can't imagine having to say that to my best friend.. yet you did. You held me, and told me it was going to be ok.
You were always my rock.
-The day you told me you were pregnant.


Ah, man. I could go on forever. But I'm going to stop now. You are about to be 23 years old. You're about to have a beautiful baby girl. You, my best friend, the person I have known my entire being, are all grown up. We are adults. Look at yourself, Erica. At all that you've accomplished and are still striving towards. You have grown so much and I am proud to say that I have a best friend who is not only my carbon copy, but who is my sister, my blood. An amazing person, going to be a wonderful mother.

Happy Birthday, Erica Christine.

I love you.

Shoot me now.

Dude. Why am I so horrible at doing things I promise myself I'm going to do? Keep writing, not miss a day of work, "take care of that tooth", not let anyone make me feel small, keep up on this blog. I really am unreliable, man. Wow. I'm sorry. I'm going to apologize now. This blog is probably going to be a shitfuck of self loathing and terrorism. Minus the terrorism.
On a sidenote, I am listening to Flight of the Conchords and it's cheering me up a little, I guess.

Again. My tooth. My fucking tooth man. TEETH, I should say.They're fucking, ruined. Again, the fucking hospital. AGAIN. I swear they are going to know me by name by the time I actually get in to see a dentist. I don't think, honestly, I've ever experienced a pain like this. It is like something is literally drilling through my jawbone. Like Someone has taken a jigsaw to the outlining of my jaw and given me some kind of drug to keep me awake. I slept about 4 hours last night, because every time I fell asleep, I woke up LITERALLY 15 minutes later with a throbbing jaw. A fucking pain that makes me cry. It makes me fucking shake. I wouldn't wish this pain on someone I hated, for christ's sakes. Fuck america, fuck our healthcare system, fuck the world. I don't even know how I'm typing this really. I feel like theres some kind of african ritual going on in my head. fucking shoot me now.

My take on the inferior sex has fallen right back into the non existant pool of thought. I'm not exactly sure why in situations that should be heartfelt and handled with the utmost respect, men always cower and proceed to turn into five year olds. Even the most mature of men will turn into the playground bully, poking you with a stick and throwing your every flaw in your face so hard that your cheeks turn red, or grabbing anything that they can on the way down, Any root that they think will give them that last bit of dignity, but in reality is their last breath of air in the drowning of your relationship.

God I'll never understand it. As much as I hate the lonliness of being single... The sleeping alone and the not having that one person to talk to, and I pretty much know that I'm probably going to get a little depressed and lonely, and that I'll second guess myself, I'm almost positive I made the right decision. It feels right, I was looking for a way to do it for about a week, and he gave me that reason. I would never have in my wildest dreams thought he would have said some of the things he did, ha.. but I'm glad he did, because they gave me that little push, so to speak.

I'm peacin out of this bitch. I'm gonna go sit and wait for my mouth to stop hurting. Except it's not going to. So. I'm going to sit and be miserable. yay me.


God life. WHY DO I HAVE ONE?

If you answer that question I'll give you a hundred bucks..














when I win my first pulitzer.



wink.

hey

Hey, hai, whatup.
Remember me?
Dissapointment. Code name unreliable?
The core of me is in so much pain right now that my extremities are literally shaking.

I called off today. That's me, a let down. I can't even sleep. I can't lay my head down for 60 seconds without my whole face pounding. I can't even fucking concentrate on making my brain work.

Im going to finish this when I can breathe again.

Santa.

I'm on my lunch break, so this is going to be short, and sweet.

I previously thought that I REALLY enjoyed the taste of vodka, until I spent half of my night getting up to put it on a cotton ball and shove it in my mouth.

Andddd had to take my lunch break early because my tooth hurt so fucking bad, and all I wanted was to shove vodka into my gums. seriously.

My dentist appointment isn't until February 19th and I really don't see how I'm going to be able to put up with this pain until then.
Thank you, fucked up health system, for fucking me out of insurance. I have to go to the free clinic, hence my long wait. People in Youngstown are poor, yo.

My workday is going extremely slow for some asinine reason, and the snow is pouring down like a damn avalanche. It took me 15 minutes to get home, when it usually takes about 7.
Thank you, rose colored Cadillac in front of me. Maybe if there wasn't a 95 year old woman driving you, you would be going the 45mph that your tires can take you, instead of the 14 you were actually going. Use your new tires to their advantage, old lady. Jesus.

In other news. I saw santa today. And told him what I wanted for Christmas. A new life. lolol. But seriously. Hilarity ensued.

See?


The experience as a whole would have been an amazing one had "santa" not been a 50 year old guy names Cezar from the produce department who kept insisting that I sit on his lap. I did not. I have a little dignity, people. Come on.



Regardless.

I'm going back to work now. Then to perilessly drive through the snow, all to cuddle with Matt for a few hours, get up at 6, drive BACK home, and go BACK to work.

I'm a pretty awesome girlfriend.

bai.

Things.

There are some things that will never cease to perplex me.
They will forever sit on my brain stem, taunting my mind with their awfulness.
This is a lame attempt at a list of these things.

Those orange circus peanut candies. They are the consistancy of sponge, they taste like ass. I do not get it.

People who eat until they are morbidly obese, and then cry about being fat. I know its hard to lose weight, and I am in no way knocking the chunky people here, but if you eat until you literally cannot move, I feel no pain for you. None.

100 calorie packs.
If I want 3 packs, then it's not really 100 calories, is it?

Lying. About anything. Or everything. I don't need to explain this.

My strange attraction to House. I want him. I don't get it.

Stealivg other people's lives, stories,manuerisms .. Be yourself, people. A carbon copy of another person isn't very original, is it?

Why a tank of gas equals 4 hours of my wages.

Why its so much easier to fall asleep in someone's arms, than it is when you're alone. Im not complaining, im just sayin.

People who like to be so close to the back of your car that they're basically touching you. Jesus christ, move the fuck back.

Why its never really old people in those motorized wheelchair cart things at walmart, but always really fat people who just don't want to walk.

Why walking into my home immediately puts me in a shitty mood.

Why there aren't hover cars yet.

Why I look funny in every color but black.

Boots with the fur.

Black licorice. If you like that taste, take shots of jager.

Im too tired to keep going. I shall add to this later.

ode.

Though we did not crack
From the same troubled womb,
I call you sister.

And if you should appear on my doorstep,
Heart torn fresh from her roots,
Understand I would then break my own
And offer you the other half.

Though we live so far apart,
We live together, all the same.

Refusing to shrink our voices
To fit smaller minds,

Ladling souls from rivers
With our bare hands,
To teach their worn, heavy souls, to float.

Welding our skins,
With beeswax and gathered lighting.

We are women who are willing
To love alone in the dark,
Lock our hearts in eachother's chests,

And touch,
Like our fingers
Invented it.

- Jeffrey Mcdaniel. 2005

Awesome.

Why I'm choosing to write this now, while I'm waiting for the iron to heat up and I have literally 50 minutes before I have to be at work, I don't know. I do know that this situation was the last thing on my mind when I fell asleep, and you, YOU, were the first thing on my mind when I woke up this morning.
How I got turned into the juvenile one in this situation is beyond me, seeing as everyone who knows me even in some remote sense knows that I am not one to lower myself to the kindergarten standards of others.
How I got turned into the bad guy, I will never understand. Yet I'm not here to sway your conclusions or change your outlook on this entire situation. I'm just here to state whats on my mind.
I will apologize until my lungs are spitting fire for making you feel like you were the center of some tsunami like attack on a small village. I didn't mean to back you into a corner, I didn't. I simply felt very violated, and I thought you could maybe give a bit of insight into a situation in which I was clearly the target, not the aggressor. You are the only one in the world who's be let in on things that no one else has, and knowing that, and knowing that I've entrusted you with secrets I would never tell a soul for the last almost 3 years of my life, I thought maybe you could give me SOMETHING that I was obviously missing. And still am.
I honestly apologize for not believing you, though I'm still not sure that was even the case. My heart believed you wholly. My mind was just raging so hardcore that they failed to register with one another. And I DID believe you. I did. I believed every word you said, I just know that manipulation has an amazing way of fucking with good people, as the world has shown us in the last two years.
I'm writing this because I am NOT a fucking hypocrite, contrary to popular midwestern (mainly Nebraska) belief. I will not be a hypocrite until I lower myself to such a juvenile manner that I am standing face to face with the person that turned my world upside down so many times. (And so many others.) I am not a hypocrite until I do something earth shattering. Something that will make someone else cry like I did last night, Something that will make someone else feel like thier best friend withdrew from thier life when they really needed ehearts and advice, to calm them a bit.
And you know what, I wouldn't do that. It's very easy to say things in the heat of the moment, but when you get to the edge of that cliff, and your about to jump, something in your head screams no, your heart stops beating if just for a moment, and you re-evaluate the entire situation. I have nothing of gain in this imaginary scenerio. I can only lose. And I have. I have lost any last ounce of pity or respect left in my blackened heart, I have lost someone who I still and will forever consider my right hand, the most important ventricle pumping blood into my heart, and I've lost a bit of dignity, for merely saying the first things that come to my mind.

The taste of revenge is tempting, but those of us juvenile enough to actually ever experience what that taste is, are the fools in this situation.


I will not be the girl standing in the corner, watching as lives are destroyed and dying a little inside with every shattered heart, and I refuse to be the girl taking the bottom jenga block out of her life to watch it crumble around her. I am not a monster. I have no gain from watching someone else hurt. I have had many chances, and could easily destroy two years of one of the best screen plays I have ever seen written in someone's head, but I refuse.

Why?


I AM NOT A HYPOCRITE.
Retaliation is for children.
Revenge is for the weak.

If this is you peacing out of my life, I don't really know what to say. I simply don't understand someone else's lies ending the most beautiful friendship I have ever experienced and I cannot grasp my life without you in it. Especially at such a detrimental point in time. You are my left ventrical, and my chest will be an empty cavity without you there filling it up.

I'm sorry for every word I said last night that could have been taken as an attack. I am.

I love you.




This is my, waving my white flag. And if that isn't sufficient, I don't know what else, beyond ceasing to exist in your life, I can do.


I have to go to work now.