Since I have been commissioned by his Imperial Majesty Kyler to update my blog, I shall do so promptly. (Kyle, for future reference, I am not ever going to be this nice to you again.)
It's getting late. I sit here in front of the computer, my mind threading itself out and reeling itself back in again. The brief period of security I had is slipping away, but I'm grasping for it. I know I can hold it if I just try to stick it out a little.
There are funny things running through my head.
Jory's little sister Lydia playing with my punk Hello Kitty keychain, chanting "I'm going to China! Aimee, look, I'm going to China!"
A tall brown-eyed boy whose face I remember all the time.
Heidi's SANDY shirt.
The end of Cruel Intentions, with Ryan Phillipe being hit by a car. Me laughing and my mother being appalled.
The Great Wall of China, lit up at night, trapped forever inside a postcard Tiffany sent me.
Why anybody would ever name their child Ginger or Flora.
Being kissed, and being kissed well.
Three hundred dollars by December third. Three hundred dollars, a down payment on the beginning of the rest of my life.
Why I just need a hug from someone right now, just because I'm lonely. Preferably, somebody who cares about the loneliness and wants to make it better.
How odd it was that Alex never knew clinical depression was a chemical imbalance in your head and not a plea for attention.
Little pink-peach pills.
A very tall boy whose face I can't remember at all.
Green aprons and Christmas trees... Happy Holidays from Robert's.
Not talking. Not having anything "more important" to do. Just arms and a free moment to listen to a heartbeat that's not mine.
Moving out. Moving away. Going away.
How lucky Sarah is to move someplace new.
People writing checks. Endless checks, checks, checks. Blowing on the ink to dry it, is everything current, can I see your driver's license. Please.
"Why shouldn't somebody love you you're wonderful you're gorgeous you're a brilliant writer you're funny and talented."
Why Jory decided to be my best friend, dammit, because he might have been a good boyfriend in another lifetime.
That the previous statement should not shock you as much as it probably did, because I didn't mean it that way.
That I have far too many journals that will never get filled up.
Spider bites and amputations and Academy Awards and I wonder what happened to the characters in that commercial (did he ever learn French?) and Lemony Snicket and Milano cookies and Shakespeare and singing outside a window and rock climbing and hollow and roses and letters and wishful thinking and never enough time to say what I want to say the right way...