Dancing in the Dark

I quit my job. I made Aubrey get up from her nap today to cover my shift. I motherfucking quit. GOODBYE VU. GOODBYE FOREVER. and Don't think I've forgotten about you, Kevin. You'll meet your end soon enough. You thought you could become Vu's ultimate prodigy child and rise above me in rank? hm? HM? I saw your window displays too. You know what I thought of them?? DO YOU? I THINK A RAT COULD HAVE MADE THOSE. oh wait... a rat did make them. LOOK IN THE MIRROR, BITCH.

I have officially snapped. Look what you people made me become. I'M A MONSTER.


I haven't gone to class(es) in a very very long time. I think I'm failing history and creative writing. I can't be forced to write. When I write, it needs to be in the moment, when I get little epiphanies... when I'm afraid of losing a memory. But now, everytime I wake up in the morning, I feel the self-deprecation come creeping from nowhere and I realize I really don't give a shit. I am constantly lethargic and apathetic towards everything. There is something wrong with me. I just can't pinpoint what's the problem. I'm just... dancing in the dark. I complain all the time. I complain about my shit life, my shit job, my shit classes, my shit appearance, my shit willpower....
I've lost the will to get up in the morning. I spend my nights watching Bleach/The Office/Conan/Cowboy BeBop/Always Sunny and playing WoW. Even in another world, I SUCK. I keep dying. I can't escape being a loser. That's my problem. I'm a worthless sack. I hate my life. I cannot stress this fact enough.
I use humor as a defense mechanism, so I know that if I were to actually change my life, I would have nothing to make fun of. I like being this empty meaningless shell - I have to, I mean, I've felt like this for the past 19 years; so I must like it. Otherwise, why would I keep living it?

I wish I was living a life like the people on Always Sunny in Philadelphia. I really really dig, Charlie. I've been called Charlie-esque. Prone to snapping, illiterate, and often sniffs glue. (Elmer's glue.) It just seems like when it comes to humor and pushing the boundaries - they really don't have any limitations. I would like to live my life like that. No boundaries. Constantly doing stupid shit. Drinking all the time. Uninhibited towards everything I do in life.

I'm glad I started this blog. I'm writing again. At first, I started this blog to make fun of Cherlaine, but now that I've gotten the hang of it, it's helping me be more expressive. So even though I am failing creative writing, at least I get points for writing about life outside of class. I've decided to finish my collection of essays. The collection that I've been working on for the past year that I've never been able to finish. Think David Sedaris meets Keroauc meets Jack Daniels (most of the essays have been written when I was super drunk). I'm planning on sending it to several publication houses. I got rejected from The New Yorker at 16, so I'm aiming to get rejected from Random House at 19.
Here's an excerpt from one of the essays. I would love some feedback:

This was intimacy.
This was what I had been afraid of for so long.
He sat up slowly and his lips went towards my throat. He didn’t kiss it. He lightly brushed it with his lips. I held his neck while he continued to examine my neck, my chest, and my stomach without ever kissing it.
His musky scent encapsulated me.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into my ear.
I can always tell when people are bullshitting me. Mirrors never lie. But for some reason, I believed him. I believed him with all the truth I had acquired and learned of in the short span of my eighteen years. I believed him the way I knew that God wasn’t dead.
I left home at eighteen to find “God”. I had grandiose schemes of opening The New York Times and seeing in print that God Is Dead. I had visions of Johanna that Nietzsche was right. That The Joshua Tree album wasn’t complete bullshit; that Bono still hadn’t found what he was looking for. But most of all, I still had that sick hope that maybe I wasn’t alone after all.
Much to my dismay, I was proven wrong. College had proven me wrong. Life, in general, had failed me.
Now, I’m just looking for someone who is just as lonely as I am. It wouldn’t be the greatest love story ever concocted but there has to be something about finding the two loneliest people in the world – a kismet manifestation of meetings where unrequited love makes exceptions for the possibility of connection between two people’s happiness. The happiness part is debatable but it is present. The here of now though, is not.
I wanted him to be the one to save me.
He didn’t though.
I believed him fervently because he didn’t kiss me at all that night. He left after he said those two words. He went back to his apartment to be with his beautiful girlfriend of six years.
And I went back to being Carolyn, a drunk that had fallen in love too quickly with the unattainable, like I always do.





Goodnight, you princes of Maine. You kings of New England.