I never talk about myself flat out when I write. I never say, "man, I just want to fucking sleep." or "damn, I have the worst headache in the world" or even, "can I just hold your hand for a bit and pretend the surrounding world will evaporate just for a little while and it'll be all right and we can watch the sunrise over hills and look at stars that won't ever fall on us, unless we stare too hard and for too long?". I never say those things. I twist it, I twist the fuck out of it. Maybe so it'll sound nice and pleasant to all of your (meaning the one person I know for a fact reads this blog, but hey, who blames me for hoping) ears, but I never want to. Some of what I say I want to be brutal, harsh, mean. It never does though. I feel incompetant. There. Most of the time, I do NOT feel up to standard. I want to, sure, but things hold you down, and I get lost in them.

All right, real talk time? I'm a massive hypocondriac. I freak for the tiniest reasons. Now I'm sitting in bed, taping on keys, and I have the most painful cough I've ever had with a fever to go along with it. My ear hurts, I have cuts and bruises from making tables and getting slapped with wood and the soles of people shoes on my calves while being rammed against a wooden stage while watching a band I know very well and feeling like an intruder while watching them play. I feel like every nerve in my body has been sawed off and now they're just raw endings that feel everything and don't relent to bring a warm, nice feeling. Just the bad ones. All I really want to do is have someone sleep next to me (but if you touch me anywhere other than my hand, I'll fucking kill you) and lightly press your fingertips to mine, because that's all I can handle right now, and you understand, don't you?

And I said all of that just to say I think I have the swine flu and I'm not okay with dying and I'm pretty scared and maybe I'm a baby, but I don't really give a shit, because I'm terrified of anything and everything that has any type of sickness to do with it. My chest hurts a little, and I have lung cancer from the polution. Heart hurts? Mild heart attack you just experienced, Madeline, well done for surviving it. And you better not take a hit, not do any drugs, take a sip of alcohol because you'll freak out and you'll die. C'mon, you have to know that drugs can freak you out, they talked about paranoia in health class, you'd get it bad. So there's your reasoning in a shiny brass bottle. I'm happy for you. Perfect.

And then sometimes, I'm really, really, calm. I don't worry about getting there on time, I listen to my dad when he says, "we'll get there when we get there.", even though he only says it when we're going somewhere that doesn't involve him and has something to do with seeing people I would like to see, but that's okay, because he's my dad and I have to be okay with it. I'm his daughter. I can roll my eyes and linger behind him, urging him in my head to hurry. hurry. hurryy. and watch him pack up his computer at 8:22, giving us eight minutes to get to school, when really it takes almost fifteen and I'm already late, and I've already missed tutoring- my free, easy ride through my crazy calculus class with a man who yells that we are dumb shits and that's we're always doing wrong things. Oh, we're also disgusting monkey's if any of you would like to know. But then, when we're in the midst of it, I can figure that it'll be okay. I can relax, let things happen when they happen. And sometimes I wonder if I'll turn into one of those people who forgets when to be there and what the very concept of time is, showing up to parties hours late and not noticing dissapproving stares from everyone. That would suck a whole lot. I'm not okay with that either.

And that's all I ahve going on, and that's not even what's happening RIGHT NOW. Isn't that horrible? There's way, way, way, way too much to write or type or tell and we probably won't have another conversation like this for a while, because I simply don't think I'm up for this type of challenge again... not for a while, at least.