| Alter Egos |
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| 04:07am 24/06/2008 |
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Courtney Charm- a woman with dark brown/black hair, a hot body, amazing musical talent and the boldness to say and do the things I could never do, mainly she fulfills my anger and thirst for revenge
I am passive. I hold in most of my anger. I lie, I people please. Courtney says it how it is. She bursts at what ever needs bursted at. She is overdramatic and seen as mean, but she is very happy and fulfilled.
What makes me angry?
Judgment
Abuse
What can I do to change these things?
I need a safe in between Court's way and mine
Skippy Peanutbutter- Blond hair, blue eyes and adorable, she's cute, charming, funny, everyone loves her. She pleases everyone without even trying
Obviously, she is who I want to be. Nothing bothers her.If she is around hate she fixes it. She makes the hate go away with love.
How can I teach acceptance to people?
Maybe just speaking my mind? But is there a happy place to go to to protect me from the pain I feel from abuse and judgment?
Carina Celata or sometimes known as Cherry Kallisti- red hair and green eyes sometimes her hair and eyes are my color, but she acts out on her/my sexual impulses
Again, here I am afraid of judgment. I have slept with 11 men and I am only 23. 7 of them were last year.
I slept with two people in the same day, 4 in one week.
I didn't even want to sleep with half of them.
I want to say no, not because I'm not a nympho, but I wasn't into some of them. I am picky of who I really want to share my body with, but not as picky on who I actually share it with. All they have to do is ask and I give in, because I don't know why. I want to please people.
WHY???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
I hate me. I really don't, but I hate what I do to me.
I'm not going to lie and say sex is emotional. It isn't. But I will say that I want it to be fun and when it's not fun, I shouldn't do it. But I can't tell someone they disgust me. I don't want to be shallow. I don't want someone to not like me. I want everyone to like me.
Dis FUCKIN gusting! |
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| I watched the video. It was sweet, charming, a piece of art. |
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| 03:10pm 24/06/2008 |
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I put it away and left my desk to find Adam. He was by himself in his clean white tshirt with his hands in his blue jean pockets.
"I love it," I told him. He smiled. I looked around to see if Molly was around. The only other person in the hallway was Sammy and she was reworking something on the wall. She was in her paint splattered yellow overalls, so she planned to be there a while. I kinda hoped she'd be done tonight or at least soon. That smell permeated my nostrils and always made my food taste like it even once I left the building. I never knew much about paints, but I knew her kind stank.
"Did you ask her yet?" I asked Adam. He shrugged. I realized she didn't know at all.
"Do you want us to run this tonight?" I asked.
He nodded.
"Try to talk to her. You need her permission." He knew we couldn't run those video clips without her permission, whether written or verbal. If he'd lied and said she agreed, I would have accepted it. I'd know if he lied, and he'd most likely know I knew, but if he had, I would take it. That's my job, if I don't believe him I am allowed to make him prove it or even ask her, but Adam was like a son to me. (I can always change that horrible line of telling instead of showing later)
"I'll talk to her when she gets out of practice," he scratched his light brown hair and looked at me. His brown green eyes were so lovesick and determined.
"Good luck," I went back into production room.
Darlene handed me some checks. I went through and signed each one.
"I got a present for you," she handed me a check. I looked at it. Shocked. It was the first work check I ever got. I stuck it on the billboard with everyone else's embarrassing and/or proud moments that I usually force upon them.
"What's that?" Miam asked me. Her hair was in big puffy pigtails today, so at first I had no idea who she was.
"That is my first work check ever," I told her. "I don't know how that angel found it, but she did. I was 14 years old. I worked for a summer building walking and biking trails in this nice wooded park near where I used to live.
"Coolness," Angela said. She put her arms around me. "I bet you got big tough muscles from that job."
Miam sat down, she was done being social for a while.
"So, Angela," I looked at a piece of paper I'd just been handed. It had everyone's names on it and only a few had topics next to them. "Whatcha writing on today?"
"I'm listening to different types of Brazilian carnival music, maybe I'll write how they make me feel."
"Good, you can review them, maybe say which ones are better for different moods and colors."
"Yeah," she took my hand. "There's one you have to listen to, it will change your life. And I want to paint your nails while we listen. It's a lime song."
"Ok, you can harass my nails after I find out what everyone's topics are," I said. She shrugged and hopped away.
"So, Miam?" I said. "What's your topic going to be?"
"It's me ahm," she said. It sounded like I said it, but she always corrected me.
"Sorry," I said.
"It's fine," she looked embarrassed for correcting me.
"Whatcha working on for today?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said.
"Want to interview an aspiring young artist fellow student?"
"ok," she smiled, her love for art overtook her shyness for a moment.
"Good, get out in the hallway and track down Sammy, she's a redhead in paint splattered overalls, should be painting the wall still."
Miam nodded and went out in the hall.
I walked over to Anaka's desk. She was photoshopping a picture of her face into a picture of Venus on a conch shell.
"Write any imaginary people's diaries lately?"
"Yes," her face got full of life like usual.
"Want to start one for the paper?" I asked. "We can do a serial."
"Really?" Her dark almond eyes looked like those of a cartoon puppy.
"Yup," I nodded.
"Whatcha doing?" Kyle leaned over me. I looked at the list. He was supposed to write about some yummy recipes.
"Did you finish your recipe reviews?" I asked.
"Yup," he said. "And I classified them from bland to delisheriffic."
"Good for you," I handed him the list. "Find out what the rest of your classmates are working on."
"Sure," he took the list proudly and saluted me. He bounced towards Shawn, who was gluing CD cases together, possibly making a box.
I left the production room and passed Sammy and Miam in the hallway talking.
"Why don't you girls go outside for a bit to talk," I bustled them towards the double doors.
"Ok," Sammy laughed and wiped her hands off on the front of her paint splattered grey tshirt. She whispered to Miam who looked at me and smiled.
I walked down the hall to the puppetry studio.
"Ah," Jo Ann hugged me. "Show these kids how to put on a good improv show."
I felt in my pockets, I had a pen, a pencil, a rolled up tissue and a bottle of Tylenol. I pulled out the pen and made it start singing jibberish. The pencil came out and cooed. They started dancing and swirling. Then the pencil started yelling at the pen and ran away. The pen all alone started crying on the tissue. It pulled out the bottle of tylenol and downed it, crying. It fell over. The pencil came over and cried on the pen. The pen woke up and they danced again.
"Wow, emo pens," Jo Ann laughed. "I'll always love this woman."
"Doing an improv for carnival?" I asked.
"Yeah, figure the first year students need to learn how it's done."
"Good," I said.I turned to the kids. "Remember, to make a puppet, all you need is a stick." I mocked Jo Ann's affinity for shoving a stick in the back of anything to make it a puppet.
"Just kidding," I said. "You don't need a stick." I sat down. "Now, show me what you got."
Soon I saw shoes being kicked by balls, wallets eating and drinking and singing pop songs, and books pouncing on innocent little cell phones.
"Great job, you guys, maybe you should be teaching this class." I ruffled Jo Ann's blond head and went to the water room.
A group of students were playing waterbasketball, two girls were practicing with water puppets in the plastic kiddy pool and Molly was in the whirlpool with a group of girls doing waterballet.
I watched the slick movements of the dancers as they moved as pieces of a whole. I focused on Molly, seeing her in a new way, seeing her solo as Adam showed her in his art. Her eyes were alive with emotion, her thin nimble body was full of strength and dexterity, everything from her wet hair to her curved, useful feet made her marvelous. I looked to each one, all similar in movements, yet different in hair, face, shapes, each could be the focal point of someone else's art. Here, art was inspiring art. My favorite kind.
Molly caught me staring and waved. I waved back and walked on, leaving the pool room. Somehow I knew Adam hadn't told her yet.
I went to the simulation angry poets society. It was an old coffee room made to look like a coffee house. There was never a lack of music students playing something depressing on their bongos or guitars while a lonely poet screamed words of pain, anguish, fear and betrayal to others of his or her tortured mentalities. one understood the true torment of the others, but they all needed this sanctuary to gather.
"You scooped out my eyes and left them forced to watch as you reached down my throat and ripped out my heart, still beating, ready for you to kick, to jump on, to gnaw on the juice, my passion, you squeezed it out into a smoothie which you downed gleefully. Then my eyes watched as my body stood, lacking its heart, it could do nothing. An empty carcass moved through life. No eyes, no heart. Only pain. Thank you, Mom."
"Thinking of a card to write for mother's day?" I asked Gabe, the boy who'd just read that.
"Mother's Day?" he said. "I don't believe in celebrating conformist holidays."
"Oh, but I bet she'd love it," I said. "I'm sure she wants to be part of your creative surges."
"She doesn't understand," he said. |
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