nicotine is your air

The truth is I should be packing right now. I was only given a few days notice that we are moving tomorrow. I never unpacked my room from the last time we moved a year ago so I'm fucked. I have about two boxes of random pieces of paper and notebooks. I've moved 3 times in the last 5 years properly and moved out a few times but usually I left a bunch of my stuff where ever my parents were. Things are so crazy and it makes me tired.

I really shouldn't be reading a book at times like these but In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan is amazing.


I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.
If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago: Someday asked you a question and you did not have the answer.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was raining very hard.
That is my name.
Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong — “Sorry for the mistake,” — and you had to do something else.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was a game that you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window.
That is my name
Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around.
That is my name.
Perhaps you stared into a river. There was someone near who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could feel this before it happened. Then it happened.
That is my name.
Or you heard someone calling from a great distance. Their voice was almost an echo.
That is my name.
Perhaps you were lying in bed, almost ready to go to sleep and you laughed at something, a joke unto yourself, a good way to end the day.
That is my name.
Or you were eating something good and for a second forgot what you were eating, but still went on knowing it was good.
That is my name.
Perhaps it was around midnight and the fire tolled like a bell inside the stove.
That is my name.
Or you felt bad when she said that thing to you. She could have told it to someone else: Somebody who was more familiar with her problems.
That is my name.
Perhaps the trout swam in the pool but the river was only eight inches wide and the moon shone on ideath and the watermelon fields glowed out of proportion, dark, and the moon seemed to rise from every plant.
That is my name.

In watermelon sugar
Richard Brautigan.

I'm packing up pieces of myself once again in cardboard boxes toting them to where my bed lies next. I don't fool myself any longer. A new setting isn't going to change things. Habits are going to be habits no matter where we are.

What I hate most is finding old journals from when I was 12. How can I fix you when I can't even fix myself. It makes me upset to think that I thought like that. I could never fix him. It's weird though because I still say the same things. This time it isn't about my dad it's about boyfriends who end up having the same habits or close to. Apparently I haven't learned anything since the sixth grade. But there wasn't even anything wrong with me then. Not like there is now. I just wish I wasn't the only one who had some kind of grip on reality. Nothing is going to change. We are going to be a loosely knit family unit wherever we go. There will be no family dinners, no intimate talks, no sharing our problems. What's done is done and I'm not too eager to fix it.

I quit smoking pot. yeah. I hope I don't forget by the next party I go to. That happens a lot. I'm not buying it anymore though.

I'm upset. I'm tense. I smell from working in the heat. I'm sleep deprived. I've been stressed so I've been smoking an intense amount. It's classy.

good night moon.


i think
i liked my entries better
when I
typed like
this