I washed my hair last night, but haven't brushed it yet. It hangs like satin ropes around my neck.

I cannot find my brush, so it will stay tangled.

~

Work is weird. Lots of politics. I hate politics.

It's probably my fault. I want everyone to be happy, but make everyone unhappy.

How is that even possible?

I will keep my mouth shut from now on.

I think I've been pissing off my boss.

~

I got a new coat.

'New'.

It's a vintage Hudson's Bay jacket. The wool is so thick, so thick. It's such a bright red, it almost vibrates.

"That shit vibrates," Kelly told me. "It vibrates so hard, I can feel you coming from a block away. It makes my back molars hurt."

It's a REALLY bright red. I have never seen a red as bright as this coat.

~

"I wake up in the morning," I confess, "and I wonder: is this all there is? Is this IT? Am I going to wake up every day and do THIS? Forever?"

I have been (not seriously) considering suicide, because the idea of doing the same thing day in and day out makes me want to eat a gun.

"That's ambition," Kelly tells me. "That drive for something more, that's ambition."

"Oh," I say. "I thought that was depression and budding alcoholism."

I really thought that's what that was. I still kind of think that's what it is.

I've kind of gotten bored of liquor, though. I blame G, and running into him this summer.

~

I've been writing up my resume tonight. I haven't written a resume in years. This business, you can largely get work based on merit and reputation.

But I'm writing up a resume. If I'm going to get out of this ho-dunk town, I'm gonna need one.

It's bizarre, looking at my resume.

I have 'can upholster a couch' jammed next to 'expansive knowledge of medieval archery' jammed next to 'has made a child-sized latex ham'.

WTF is up with my resume?

Have I mentioned recently how awesome I am?

YES I'M AWESOME.

~

I'm listening to Allison Krauss and Robert Plant's album, Raising Sand.

It's seriously giving me a lady-boner.

I've been listening to it pretty much a week straight.

Slow grinding guitars, haunting melodies, beautiful mix of voices. Also some upbeat ones, with some banjo in. I like it. You should listen to the song 'Nothin' from it. It makes me want to fuck.

I've also been listening to Rob Dougan again.

I love slow, grinding music, of peculiar mixes. Classical and techno, sweet little girl country with heavy metal guitars. I love it.

~

My hips hurt.

My hips FUCKING hurt.

Unfortunately, my hips do not hurt from fucking.

My hips hurt from over stretching them last time I was at the gym.

You know what I hate?

Being fat.

I'm not really fat, not REALLY fat, but I'm almost 200 pounds now. That sounds like a lot, but it doesn't look like a lot on me.

It probably helps that my work is very physical and there's a fair bit of muscle on this frame, underneath the cushion.

But I *feel* fat. There are some stretches I cannot fully do, because my belly gets in the way.

Maybe I should up my workout to three times a week, instead of two.

Who knows. I don't know.

I feel like I'm falling apart.

~

I was thinking today, as I drove around with James.

I was thinking of G, and his reactions to me. I was thinking about the hundreds of pains and hurts I carry around with me all the time, and I was thinking about the feeling of death that I carry around with me.

I just finished reading Siddhartha. It's a book about Buddhism, I guess, and the life of the Buddha.

At the end, Siddhartha is an old man who has finally understood the cycle of life and has come to peace with the ups and downs of life. And as his friend bends over him, he sees the face of every man, woman, child and animal, in every point in their life, reflected back in Siddhartha's face.

And I was thinking...

I was thinking of my difficulty to let hurts go. Not that I cling to them, or want them, but they're just...there.

I was thinking about the feeling of death that watches me.

I was thinking about feeling awesome.

I was thinking that I have no past, and no future. That I, Rosie, carry everything, all at once, on my shoulders.

The sharp pang of when G first broke me heart, the first compliment I ever recieved, the first birthday party I ever had, the last birthday party I will ever have, the loneliness of losing friends, and ultimately, my own death.

All of it sits on my shoulders, all at once.

I'm not going to lie; it kinds of sucks.

~

Did I mention I tried out for Mensa, for shits and giggles?

I didn't get in. Oh, sad day.

But on the bright side, I tested at about 125.

Perhaps I'll try again next year. I wasn't too far off.

.

Rosie.

Before&After