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scene 1.

I miss nobody is a title I made up awhile ago,

this is not that writing, its something worse:

I am a weird-mess  I don't really know much about writing but I want to explain something that never stops happening  to me, over and over. This is like everyday I can remember and I wanted to let you know I am no-good. I listen to violently happy, unhappily waiting for something to happen. I am not good at anything and by reading this will let you know why.  don't tell me what to do. I am nothing. I am no one, a weird mess who misses the first time she got to turn to dust.

Velouria: I forgot that my skin is attached to my bones and everything connecting to it. It hurts pulling your skin off piece by piece. I hate that someone else hates me because they read this. I hate that velouria hates me and she could say it with ease. 

Here is a note cupid left on my dash after he bashed my rear window in:

What would be easier than a love. Someone’s love. I never know? I know a lot about having nothing to say. Like a someone in love, its like that song. Its like someone not like me and someone who looks lovingly. Someone with a heart that could burst in an instance. Seeing the right person for the first time. I see nothing. No one. I wish I knew what happened in my past life to curse me like this? I wish I knew who was so lucky in love it was like a walk in the park or whatever could be easier than that? I wish I knew her- the girl so possessed by love it falls into her next life as a pitiful curse that makes love like a toxic waste factory. Something to be avoided. A simple style and a simple tone, maybe she’d arrive with the right voice and hear her prayers get answered. What month is it? Is it at all likely she could die of heartbreak or just plain boredom? Heart-empty. 

Or maybe it was me who left it?

Here is my mistake: letting everyone know what I think.

 

I am good at nothing, let's make no mistake thinking I wouldn't know that already.

i want you out of my head. I can feel the headache coming on. You think too much. You think too hard and I feel it right in my temple.

scene 2.

I go to school and see nothing but every mistake i ever made. Am I like someone in love or someone else? let those forget-me-nots forget-me-good. I want a chance and maybe I broke the mold.Too many flowers and a hard pour of liquor.  An overnight camcorder filming nothing. That’s my shower. A pour of nothing, nothing pouring, a spout of nothing, to fill the nothing with an oversized and heaping serving of nothing. Extra-mundane and a nothing-- to satiate the hearts desire-- for anything better than nothing.

 

I vomited that evening when my roommate was gone. I threw up because I drank a few bottles of wine and maybe mixed some ambien with it. That routine went on for about a year during my thesis year.  Nothing happens in my life that makes me not want to end it. I actually don’t remember if that habit was that bad? I know a lot of people are like that. I don’t know if it was like a bad thing. But I also don’t remember what was happening. I once went to a bar and had a conversation with a 82-year old man and he gave me his number. I was not high that evening but I got home and I was. 

 

a lot of living seems like watching a bad movie that you can never bother to get up and leave from. Am I in the shower? Is this water really hot or is it just really wet and maybe nothing is actually warm. Everything is just a dream and I try to wake up. Maybe I am too conscious. I tried waking up from being awake last night. I couldn’t get myself to wake up because the nightmare wouldn’t stop. I wish I knew what the nightmare was and where my night routine began. I had a little too much to drink and I kept vomiting until I passed out on the floor near a cleaned up pile of puke. I had a lot to drink because it’s exciting to feel sick sometimes. 

So thanks to nobody, I miss nobody. Nobody, you make me yearn for more. Or me? Nobody’s got it and I caught feelings for nobody. A certain nobody. 

 

I have a dead body that hasn’t yet died. I have a body that is considered dead for a little than alive a little later. A dead body is what I’d like. My body is a dead body waiting for the moment it gets to be dead. I want a dead body. I want that dead body to feel like a cold wet fish with a nice cold wet hand on top of it. Like a dead body with a wet dead hand. A dead hand and a dead-er body.

She’s nothing but sad lying down on the bed and hearing nothing but the cart pass by with her dinner tray and a cold carton of milk and a few sleeping pills and maybe something to help with her head. It was December when that all ended. I remember the Christmas movies playing. I made a few friends and remember that maybe we all got too soft. That’s what we decided generationally everyone is a bit softer than the last. That soy-boy wasn’t a phrase that reached the psych ward until that December. I wasn’t sure if I should make a call or sit with all the ex-heroin users if they want to listen to more mazzy star. 

scene 3.

 

I finished my book that week. I drew some blood. It came from my arm. I felt a little dopey. I couldn’t feel much that week. It could have been longer. I went outside for a bit. I am danger in here and out. No thanks, get me out now while I can remember what my own face looks like.

 

I honestly liked that period of my life until I got too paranoid to enjoy it.

I wonder if that’s fine to be a little fried now?

Nothing happens in Oregon. I walked to Pre’s Rock. I walked there and then realized that everyday is like that. I had no one to impress. I walked everywhere. I got lost a lot. 

I don’t really remember college. I do remember one evening I went to the local hippie grocery store and bought stuff to make spaghetti. I also remember I bought a mop and then started mopping the kitchen because there is nothing more fun than mopping the kitchen floor if you are stuck in a town as exciting as Eugene. 

scene 4.

"ON LOVE": Is it falling over and spilling your drink in their lap and then slipping over to say sorry. Is it something pretty and weird? Is it a bitten apple and a lick or a bite?  Is it a little late or little too early. What’s wrong with this story but a big fat zero in its replacement. Facetious lie or just lying awake at night. I don’t know what you mean and I don’t want to remember anything sweet, just something nicer than a f*ck off. I want to f*ck off. I want to run as fast as possible down a hill and tumble hard and feel my bones break. Maybe a hard push and a kick too. A big oops, like a tumble and a headache. You’re a broken mess. You’re a bit pushy. You’re dumb and funny. A little ugly. A mess— no doubt no one wants to be with you.
 

What’s no pleasure other than I want to go shopping and my arm forsakes the activity. Stopping me to do the only thing that makes me feel something. No sum larger than 50 will ever make it past me with a doubt of its destiny. A destiny that could be heeled, square toed or strappy. A shoe is like a purse. Filled with regret and love all at once. It’s like a designer ash tray. A yucky tote and a big upside down FU. It’s like a dream come true to walk to school in a 800 dollar pair of shoes. No one wants me to know that my shopping habit is a delight to hear about. Its like knowing a movie star, except its just the shoes she wore. I love you Clint Eastwood. With a smile like that.  

No one expects me to be young and respectable anymore. I tattooed enough gibberish on my body that I think I can get away with nearly any form of disappointment now. I am a disappointing girl. If I were a boy, I would still be a little disappointing. But I think these tattoos would probably make more sense on a young man than me. 

final scene.

 

I am bored a lot of the time. I manage my stress levels with doing something that might hurt me or kill me. Or leave me seriously injured. Sometimes walking down W burnside to see if I get scared is enough to keep me walking until the sun comes up. I once saw a homeless man swinging a metal street post at 6 AM. I also saw a man committing suicide in his car. So I don’t know how safe the streets are with me in them either.

I can see a lot wrong with my personality. I have little motivation to contribute to society and I don’t really care to make myself useful. To anyone. 

I am pretty much an ingrate and I have no talents. I am not good at anything in a way that makes me stand out. I know it could be worse and I could be a lot dumber and ‘less spoiled’. Although I don’t know how that would be true. I am not spoiled I have a shopping addiction and something like manic depression.

 

So maybe I want to know what will happen until it happens.

I want to know who’s dead-- Is it me or the person laying in front of the mirror?

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