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"Hope
Rides Alone".

How apt.

It's just you and I, Journal. We're alone tonight. No one's on MSN, no one wants to talk on the phone. It's worse because I woke up so late; I just know I'm going to be agitated around 11.

Well, Journal, I ask my Japanese one retarded questions, feel up to some?

1. Do you miss me, when I go away?
2. Do you care if I listen to new music, every single day?
3. Are you getting sick of me formatting the beginning?

I can already tell you're not in the mood to answer.

I suppose I'll dive in to translating, again. I don't have anything else to do; I was hoping Joe, Taylor, or Shivanee would be on.

I bought a new wallet today; it fits all of my cards. I think it's bigger than the old Pink Floyd one. Leather, as usual.

More and more, all I ever want are things designed for men.

At Group, there was a M-T-F and a F-T-M person. They were both new. I stuck with the F-T-M one; he talked to me a bit more, and generally echoed my potential future as a trans man. The M-T-F had an irresistible smile.. but.. didn't like reading, so my interest kind of waned at that point.

I love how I'm like cruising up to anyone femme-like, checking them out, and acting over-the-top to keep their attention on me. "Oh me? I'm totally eccentric and funnnn."

I am so jonesing to fuck someone, hm?

I keep bouncing between dazed confidence, and outright self-loathing. I either think for sure, someday, I will meet someone right for me; someone who can handle the crazy, or help me will it in to submission. On the other hand, I'm a 120lbs girl living within the flub of 140lbs. I know -- sounds like barely mentionable difference; on me, it means stretchmark city, and a double chin.

I'm just too goddamn weird, sometimes.

I think it's like the look in my eye; my eyes always look dead and hollow to me. Either that, or glittery and dangerous.

Sometimes I seem that kind of mix to people that scares them off: I have a fucked up sentence structure, peppered with bigger/curse words. I seem to have a flair for metaphor sometimes. A gift for disturbing imagery.

I always distance myself from the Me that everyone else sees; public Me tries too hard. Personal Me sits there, ticking away, thinking about anything and everything.

None of my paintings have sold yet. Did I mention that they hadn't put them all up? I give it a month; whatever doesn't sell in a month will go on my wall. I'll bring new paintings per/mo. Keep things fresh.

$350 would have been the total take from the 7 I left there.

I had really been hoping that I'd get some of that soon.

You Missed:

*DISCLAIMER
* WHO TF IS ALL THIS??!
* INTRO, 2
* NAQ

Backlog:

Circa 2010