Que la musique conduire votre âme ...

I feel extremely positive today. I realized how much of my life is in my own control, quite profound for me.

The day job is getting better as long as I keep my long term goal in mind.

Enjoying the simplest things everyday.

Some girls don't dance to the beat of the tribe.

Chapter One. Look.

Look.

I'm woken by the decaying morning air coming through the small grate of my window. The cheap linen of my sheets bundle at my waist as I rise up, only to great a grey sky peering in. The room looks especially dismal today as I step onto the grain of the carpet, another day of rain. A sense of wonder comes over me; unsure of how to feel about this I get up too make coffee. I am reminded of how much I want to replace that coffee pot, glass ones always burn the coffee, a taste that won't leave my mouth till the afternoon.

The linoleum keeps peeling in the kitchen. Is it water damage? I bet the sink is leaking again, you get what you pay for supposedly. In New York your not paying for luxury, your paying for a life. My kitchen chair creaks when I sit down in it, a reminder that stand-stills are uncommon in this city. I'll be out of here soon enough.

My shower runs hot. If someone else uses it in the complex, cold. It spits at me while I try to manage it's temperature. As I stepped in, I see someone in the door way. I pull back the curtain, hard enough to here the snap of one the hooks crack and fall to drain of the tub. No one is there. Too live by your self for as long as I have you begin to feel the ghosts of your memories haunt you. "Not now, not in the shower, let me rest." Thinking out loud can also happen, as hearing the sound of any voice is better than none at all.

The cat needs to be fed before I leave. I haven't seen him in ages it feels. Concealing himself under the couch with the forgotten settlements of my day, he's so timid lately. I wish I knew what time it was, I can't be late. If I'm late I'm wrong, if I'm wrong I will never be accomplished...therefore what is the point in life?

I miss the News, the TV burned out years ago I think. I can't remember when, but I miss feeling connected. Am I suppose to work today? Everything feels so heavy. I should lay down.

When did I make the bed? I must be more productive today than usual. I curl up the sheets between my legs, I begin touch myself and turn my eyes towards the window. I squint to see a figure fluttering outside. A diminutive grey bird is struggling to be let in. As I climax I ask myself, why work so hard to be let in when all I want is to be set free?

Je veux que tout ...

I am terrified.

I tried to quit my job. The words actually left my mouth.

Now reality is setting in and I realize I can't actually go through with it.

Am I always going to be a hopeless romantic shop girl? Or will I truly develop as an artist and begin to create my own universe.

Till then, till the day I leave my place of slavery, I have to work hard. If I won't be recognized for the work I've done, I want them to at least regret losing me at work.

This may not happen. Whatever.

I want play, I want to touch, I want to love, I want to see, I want to feel, I want everything.

Give it to me.

D'essayer de gagner votre amour

I debate whether I'm upset that no one reads this, or relieved.

I'm trying to write out this short story and it fucking sucks.

I live in a constant conflict of interest.

How many times can something break before it becomes trash?

I am really fucking pissed at the moment.

Yet I feel that writing this and then reading it tomorrow will only anger me more.

There are days when I want everything to shut off and I just can't reach the switch.

If I'm not the one, then I'm just another one, so I would rather be no one to anyone at all.

I'm going to eat some tuna now.