way to go, scab-stache.

"Please."

I left feeling anything but happy, anything but cheery and smiley. I left feeling alone and scared of that truth--born alone, die alone. I imagined that life was going to be beautiful with beaded doorways and tapestried windows. I imagined that I would love to be alone. After all of it, finally alone. But, I am scared because at the end of it all, I am the only one I can rely on, and there is no one in the world that I trust less. I wonder sometimes if I love people because I cannot love myself, or if I cannot love myself because I love people. One can only be devoted in so many ways, to so many people, to so many lengths. I can only be stretched so far with nothing but two arms. I like to believe that I am happier... and maybe I am. I don't scream at myself, I don't burst into tears, I don't hurt like I used to. I just feel uneasy. Maybe that's an understatement, but I want to feel as if everything is right in the world and my many-faced God will carry me through. I know doubtlessly and I love endlessly, but everything comes in degrees. So many directions with immeasurable potential floating somewhere in undiscovered planes. Only a God with many fingers could point us in the right direction, knowing that whatever road you take is the one you should take. Still I feel that "should" is a dirty word. Everything is as it's meant to be. Created to be perfect with flaws that are not flaws. I wanted to cry, wanted to scream. I wanted to hurt again like I've been hurt, but it's worthless. I am so much better than I used to be.

I have not always loved you as sweetly, kindly, and doubtlessly as I do now. I have no remorse for the years of which there are so many, those years in which I did not know you as I now do. But, I have taken words from your mouth and whispers from your skin. I have taken soft horse-hair brushes and painted the flush on your cheek with pale tea roses, softer than any silk. I have wrapped your neck in foxes, like a halo of renewal, like a crown of destruction. You have been my bride and I have felt for you.

no one is awake but us.

It's been three days and I've made over a hundred and forty dollars in tips alone. I don't even know what to do with myself. I could work just two and a half weeks and pay rent at this rate. It's absolute madness to actually be making good money. I guess it's pretty stereotypical that I've dropped out of college and become a waitress. I secretly always wanted to try being a waitress, but everyone told me it wasn't the job for me. Somebody has to be wrong, and I hope to high heaven it's not me because I actually like this job. It feels rewarding, even if some of the people I deal with are bitches and sons of bitches. Seriously, I want to smack some of these people, but I don't because I really do love just about everyone. I wouldn't be so spineless if I didn't enjoy bending over backwards to please everyone.

I need to start keeping track of the moneys I am making. I mainly spend money on gas, tobacco, and espresso these days. That's around two dollars for espresso daily, a little over three for tobacco every four or five days, and ten on gas every two or three days. Sometimes I will pay for food at Jan's, but mostly just gas, tobacco, and espresso. I am the most strangely high-maintenance person I know.

I need to decide how the hell I want to keep my hair, as in how long I want it to grow before I hack it off again. I don't know if I'm prepared for the massive mess of curls that my hair always becomes.

Today a regular customer pinched my arm and I just did what I always do: smile and laugh.

I don't have the urge to escape like I used to. I still want to see foreign places, but for now I am working towards a place of my own and that is enough. I am not as stray anymore, not as nomadic. My travels have ceased to be about experience and have taken an edge of urgency. I have to get from here to there, from one place to the next. I have goals and I don't know how I feel about giving up a life without points. Just in these past few days and weeks, I have come to measure my life by monetary means. I know that I earned close to one-hundred dollars in just these past two days and I know that leaves a two-hundred and seventy-five dollar gap between my present and my potential. I want that apartment so bad. I can feel it, spreading under my skin like the smooth bark on a dogwood.

I will hang mirrored tapestries from the walls and beads from the doors. I will layer the floor in cushions and rugs. I will cover the tables in ashtrays and potted plants. I will grow flowers in the windows. I will make it a home.

I need a home.

sometimes i dream i am not alone.

other times i dream i live by myself.

most times i can't tell the difference.

bahahahahahaha. I made over fifty-five dollars in tips alone. what the butt.

at this rate, I will actually be able to afford an apartment. gahhh.

this mix of reality and things working out is just too much to handle!