Sleep helps. Friends help. I still don't want to go back to boring old conventional me -- and I won't. This is going to confuse the hell out of my mother, but you know what? It's NOT HER LIFE.

Hungry.

Must.

Eat.

Breakfast.

What sucks? Life. The Universe and Everything.

Fuck it all. Sometimes I feel like leaping from a tall building... namely the one I live in. I can picutre my body sailing through the air and landing in a splatter of blood and bone on the pavement. Why can I imagine this? WHY DO I?!?!? Somebody tell me because I don't know. I hate me. I hate how little I've become. I hate.

I hate this meaningless life we all lead. I hate the pressures of family. The pressures of society. The pressures of my own FUCKED UP brain.

I hate my journal with all it's meaningless drivel. Everyone else seems to have something REAL to say... or maybe I just skip over the journals like mine because they're so fucking boring.

Whatever.

Even this writing, coming from all this pain and ugliness is nothing more than drivel. Words don't have enough feeling for what is going on inside me. That's probably why I've been screaming and crying for the past 20 minutes.

There's just WAY too much going on in me.

George says "go to sleep" and goes off to play FUCKING Q3. He says he loves me. I wish he'd show it or leave me the fuck alone. Cuz maybe that's what I need to be but don't have the stinking guts for.

I thought all this melodramatic shit was supposed to end in your teens.

I'm still a teen. In my late 20s. Fuck.

No more trying to be witty for me. I'm just not. I'm just a screwed up, needy, whiney teenager looking for someone else to make me happy -- or to blame for me not being happy already. Loser. Shut the fuck up and do something GOOD with your life.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I feel like this? Short answer: lack of sleep and challenges to my "world view". I don't even have a world view of my own. It's been painted on to me by my parents, my past lovers, my own stupid NEED to feel like I belong somewhere. Is THAT why I want to be "married". Because nothing else I've done has made me feel like I actually BELONG anywhere.

Adoption leaves me with holes. Questions.

Where are you Birth Mom? Do you love me? Am I part of you? Are you part of me?

Married wouldn't fix this.

Only I can. And that scares the FUCK out of me.

Trying to gain my own world view. This is one of the most painful processes I can imagine, emotionally. What the hell?!? It's like George tells me about working out. Your body basically wants to be lazy and go along as it is. You start pushing it and it starts hurting.. tyring to make you stop... but if you don't stop, if you keep going, it'll eventually get used to the new level of intensity or it will break down. I figure it's the same with my psyche. My brain. My whatever-the-hell-is making me feel this way right now. I've pushed it past it's limits and it wants to go back. Back to boring. Back to "let's get married and have a family" back to the status quo.

I don't want the status quo. That's what this is about. I could wimp out and go back to being boring old me - funny on the surface, 'carefree' 'happy'. Whatever.
I'm not going back. I want to be FREE to be ME. Whatever this ME is or becomes.

Deal with this psyche. I'm going to MAKE you.

Get some sleep... or stay up forever until you die.

Funny how typing this works it all out in a way. I might not even post this. But why shouldn't I?

George does love me. I know this. He doesn't have to prove it.

Crazy mo-fo..

Now I can sleep.

There's not much to say. I take a day off sick and it turns out sunny. Damn are they ever gonna talk at work. I finally dragged my butt out of bed. I'm all bundled up warm to avoid the dreaded DRAFT *shudder*. Drafts give me cramps. Cramps make me double over in agony and moan as though I were the undead. I avoid drafts at all costs. I wonder if the undead all have massive cramps?

I may even take my bundled up self into the kitchen and attempt fudge today, since it's sunny... but the only recipes I have confidence in and can find online at Skaarup's are in IMPERIAL. Completely. Ounces? How the hell many cups do I need? Tell me millilitres! Tell me milligrams! Anything but ounces. I tried this recipe last year -- thinking that a "can" would be the same size up here. Nope. WAY too much liquid in last year's fudge. It never set. It never even came close to setting. It was liqui-fudge. Maybe I'll write to that Skaarup's place and beg them for metric. If they truly think the world should make more fudge, maybe they'll oblige. Ya think? Maybe Nanaimo bars are more my speed this year - they were my emergency backup last year...

Having only the 25th and the 1st off over the holidays really sucks. I have the weekends off, too... but it's just not fun going to work on Monday having Tuesday off and being right back in there for Wednesday... at 7AM. Could be worse. I could be on the 6AM shift. Again. For the fourth week. I actually like the 6am shift, but it makes being lazy out of the question. I can't easily take the bus that early in the morning and riding my bike for 45 minutes in the cold December air when drafts are the absolute enemy isn't a great option, either.

I'm worried that people are going to think my homemade gifts are cheezy and lame. Not "big" enough or something... I hope not, because I put a lot of time, effort and heart into Christmas this year -- way more than other years when I went out and spent way too much money. I guess this goes to show you how programmed I am with the commercialism of Christmas. "If you're not spending Billions ® on your friends for Christmas © , you don't really Love Them ® !" *cringe*

Self doubt, cramps... hmmm I wonder what time of the month it is?

Journal of the day... more like journal of the week... Last few times I tried to update.. blog died. Ah well... c'est la vie. La vie, today, involves a great deal of cramping. Silly me forgetting my pills near the end of the pack. Ugh. Oof. No work for this girl tomorrow if the pain and puking don't get any better by morning. I hate the bad months.

On a lighter note, I finally mailed my Christmas cards and packages -- so all you who are receiving snail mail love from Heather will be getting it shortly (Canda Post willing...)

I'm going to go get some White Spot. I need comfort.