I spent two and a half hours crying at a bar alone...tonight...on Christmas day...over my father...My mother text me and asked me to call her...the first thing she said? "I'm sorry. I miss him, too, sometimes..." Yeah...So pot should be legal...that's all she does that renders her judgment so much that she makes me openly sob at a bar...My dad? He killed himself...while he was high on pot...in front of my little brother and I...so lets just legalize that shit because no one ever does anything stupid while high.

I'm not sure why this is now on my blog, but it is... This is why I hate weed. WTFEVER.

Lately, I've felt like a champ. Inside, I feel like a champ.. Yes, I am stressed about finals and work and money and Marcus. But for once in my life, I feel like the friends I have are friends I would love to keep.

The friends I have now don't judge me. They like who I am when I am sober. They love Drunk Me. It's so incredibly weird to feel like I have FOUND me. But I have. I don't want to change. Everyone knows I don't fake ANYTHING and it feels amazing to be accepted for that.

You've been on vacation for a week again...I had my fifteen minutes of fame. Not that it was a big deal. I get that once a week these days, vacation or no vacation.

Do you know what I want?

I want you out of my life or in my life. I want you to make up your fucking mind or un-makeup your fucking mind.

I am tired of remembering the discussion of children and a family. These petty games are driving me mad. When I mention another man, you go out of your way to mention her. It makes me want to vomit.

My stomach flips and rises to my throat when friends speak of their persons...Everyone seems to think that the best will prevail. I know this isn't true.

I know what you thought of me. We've had this discussion too many times. I'm beginning to think, not without evidence, that maybe I was TOO perfect for you. Everynight I ensured dinner was on the table or at your job. Every single time I made sure you paid the bills on time since you were so forgetful. Every errand, every time I flat ironed my hair and touched up my makeup. Everytime I struggled to make sure I was beautiful for you. It didn't go unnoticed. You told me the other day that you never saw me with a hair out of place. You never worried about what you would eat that night or how you would get off work to go to the bank. You never worried about a thing when you were with me...

Okay, I lie. You worried about keeping your secrets from me. You did your damndest to make sure I never found out about Amber or the bartender or the waitress...or...

I was too clever for you. "Blind faith," you'd say every time I came to close to unearthing your nasty truths.

I'm not done...I'll never be done. I am pathetic. I am what you have created, a loyal, beaten dog...

3am

I'm not lonely. I am not sad. I am realizing that those emotions are futile. Whether by the hand of God, fate, or karma, I am fucked...I feel I cannot control my own destiny. If there were a religion that proposed that what happens happens and whatever good you do will make up for that bad, I would be that...Maybe I am ignorant. I don't know. I believe in God. I believe in fate. I believe in karma. I believe in Obama. Nothing matters these days. I feel that no matter what I do, I am destined to be what I am. I feel my choices, however bad or good, will get me to the place I need to be.

But is that the right belief? Is that what my grandparents want for me?

I am tired of being depressed. I am tired of feeling like my decisions don't matter in the long run. I am sick of my job because...Because I feel like I am better than that fucking job. I feel like when I surround myself with fucking ambitionless idiots, I drag myself down. I want to quit. I'd rather be a loser amongst people going somewhere than a winner amongst high school dropouts and teen mothers.

Forgive this rant. It's October. My blog has proven that I have SAD. I blog it out. I've made it this far. I refuse to die now.

I'm in my dark place. There's nothing that has changed recently causing me to go here, but I'm here regardless.

Part 1

There are writers. There are bloggers. Annnnd then, there is me. I once considered myself someone that might be able to compete in the world of blogging...That is until I realized that I don't blog so much as keep an electronic diary of my drunken ramblings and distraught musings. There was also a time I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could create the great American novel using my experiences and struggles. Now I know different.

When life was good, I thought it was horrible. All the arguments and the cheating and the confusion made me a better writer. The things that I put on paper during that whole tumultuous affair were better than anything I can create now. Regardless of how I try, I simply can't come up with that kind of dramatic literature.

Which leads me to my next thought, if I cannot come up with even a short story decent enough to post, what makes me think I can compose 25 pages of prose for my writing sample? I can't, but what other option do I have? Law school is too expensive. If I take out thousands of dollars of student loans for law school, there is still no guarantee that I will have a job. With my grades the way they are currently, I'd be lucky to get into University of Phoenix. (hardyharhar, I jest. Surely that pathetic excuse for higher education would take me...) Grad school, though so pretty and promising on paper, seems to be just out of reach. LSU's MFA program requires an undergrad GPA of 3.2...Sound simple, right? Not so much. Due to all the F's and D's from my first two semesters of college, I have to make a 4.0 each semester to even attain that GPA. I think that asking me to work 43-50 hours a week and maintain an A in each class is simply unreasonable. I am trying. I really am, but it seems so futile.

I'm not even sure why I give a damn anymore.