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FluffyTheRedOne
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Name: Gabrielle Joy
Birthday: 12/23/1987
Gender: Female
Interests: pop culture from the past few decades (i want to learn about this so people stop looking at me as the baby), psychology, various cultures and religions, mythology, science fiction, and whatever other cool things float across my line of vision
Expertise: Correcting other people's grammar and spelling.
Occupation: peon
Message: message me
AIM:  fluffytheredone
Member Since:
3/1/2005
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| I just re-read my last xanga post. Who knew that eight months later i would still feel the same way minus the alcohol? I still wish i had a therapist, although i probably wouldn't be calling her at midnight because i really just have one very specific, not especially urgent thing to talk about. (Don't bother asking what--there's a reason i want a therapist.) I still wish i could reinstate a journal as my number one emotional outlet, but i absolutely can't. I held a pen above a notebook for about half an hour last night, thinking about how much i wanted to write exactly what i was thinking, but putting it on paper would make it readable. The fact that what i was thinking was not in any way secret didn't change how afraid i was that someone would read it without permission. I did put some of my angst into the beginning and middle of a short story. I can't find an ending. I still want to be the person who's not like everyone else, and i still feel like i am just like every other Valley girl. Only now i think maybe i am starting to act a little bit like the person i want to be. Maybe. On good days. Not surprisingly, acting like the person i want to be depends on having a functioning vehicle. My sanity and self-esteem have been based almost entirely on the condition of my car since i was 17. Maybe that would make another interesting subject to talk to my imaginary therapist about. | | |
| Once upon a time i had a journal to write in, i had a therapist who was paid to put up with my crap, and i had a car so i could always get away if i needed to.
I could totally use a therapist to call up tonight. Even more than that, i could totally use a journal. I couldn't use a car though, not tonight.
I used to have this idea of who i thought i would be. I was sure i wouldn't be like everyone else. I thought i would be the girl who does what she thinks is right and who doesn't fall into the same life that everyone else has. But i'm not that girl. Tonight i'm the girl who wishes she had a therapist to call at midnight, to complain about how she can't deal with her life.
I don't know if i've had one too many or one too few. I guess i've had to many to remember exactly who i am and who i want to be. (Too many drinks or too many experiences?) I've had too few to forget everything. I wish i could forget.
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| This is my boyfriend's phone conversation that i overheard. By the way, his name is Joe.
"Hello? Uh, no, this is Fred. Who's calling? Um...yeah, i'll let him know you called. Thanks."
Yeah, they were looking for money, so he told them he was Fred. They believed him. I guess it's that easy after all.
So that's bill collectors--tune in next week, and i'll tell you how to deal with telemarketers! Oh wait, i already did that. Nevermind.
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| I don't have a car. The truck is uninspected. The reason i don't have a car is that i don't have any money, so i went to clean a house and then go to work. Driving the truck that's not inspected.
So i got pulled over, the cop asked if the reason the truck's not inspected is a money issue. I told him yes. In fact, i told him, the only reason i'm driving it is to clean a house and try to make some money. Then he wrote me a ticket, which pretty much devours the money i made cleaning.
Later that night i fell to pieces at work and cried in front of everyone for no apparent reason. (Oh, but there was a reason, wasn't there?)
My driving record would look fine if it weren't for all the tickets for no inspection. How is that fair? The cop warned me that i could lose my license if i don't pay it in time. I'd be in great shape if i weren't poor. What am i supposed to learn by having tickets thrown at me? Every day that i work i put every dollar of tip money into the gas tank so that i can get back home. Every time i drive up there i risk getting a ticket that will actually cost more than the money i'll make at work that day. Isn't that just incentive to not work? I mean, if i'd be better off sitting on my ass, why don't i just do that?
There is something i learn by having tickets thrown at me: the world is really that fucked up. I wish i wasn't living in it.
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| "I still don't know who Richard is."
"Yeah.... Well, we're just about to not find out."
I stayed up past midnight so i could watch the first episode of the final season of the best show ever. True to form, i laughed, i cried, i threw up a little, and now i'm all wound up.
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