My house doesn't feel like a home & it's starting to bug me. So many empty walls & spaces & corners to fill & I don't subscribe to the whole "more stuff is better" thing, so it's just ... very cold feeling. Lonely feeling. I don't know where to start to fix that.

Where have I gone to?

If I could only answer that. It's a serious question, too. I'm not in a funk, it's just that I don't think I know who the fuck I am anymore. Was perusing my first online diary earlier today & thinking that I don't know that girl anymore.

She did get the violently indigo blues, but could also be so fearless & free & here I am, chained to work & struggling to deal with this "grown up" life I never thought I'd choose.

There are things that bother me about myself ... number one being that I don't even LOOK at my guitars anymore. Don't think about 'em or get the urge to pick them up & feel that familiar weight on my thigh. It's odd. Even acknowledging now that I don't play them doesn't stir up any longing to do so.

I don't decoupage anymore either. That was the one truly artistic thing I loved losing myself in. Could spend hours on & I haven't peeked at my scissors or Mod Podge for more than six months.

I only enjoy life when I'm drinking lately. That's a bit scary, luckily I don't drink very often (especially if you take the Poppy of old into account). Nothing stands out or strikes me as funny or prompts me to smile much unless I'm having pints at The Pub (not much of a home drinker). So while I'm not fearful that I have, or will, become an alcoholic ... I'm fearful over the fact that something has happened which drained the life right out of me. The life that apparently comes out when you add Guinness. I didn't used to need anything added to be a tub of gooshy fun. Really, I'm not kidding.

I used to be positively bubbly (even without adding bubbly).

Annoyingly so at times.

Right now I'm so fucking blah that given the option I'd stop hanging out with myself.

I wrote long ago about missing my spark & apparently it's on hiatus again. Maybe it comes & goes without notice, I can't say, but shit.

I eat chips & salsa for dinner three nights a week people... even my lust for whipping up gourmet meals has for the most part gone away.

I'm boring the pants offa myself here.

Suggestions?

Have I realized that THIS is my life, from now on? Have I come to terms with coming to terms with the not so bright future? Where the fuck did my optimism go & did it take the boogie outta my step with it? Have they abandoned me for greener pastures & not so jaded fields? Are they strolling hand in hand through exciting foreign lands whilst I wile away my days slinging shampoo & pimping fat-girl panties to the masses?

Speaking of fat-girl panties...

I quit smoking again. Not that I had wholly started the chimney routine again, but I was smoking more than just while drinking. & enjoying it with much gusto, like a long lost lover, my American Spirit lights in their cheery yellow box, ahhh taste so delicious & give my idle fingers something to do... until yesterday, at lunch, when I tried to stop breathing at Safeway while shopping for peppermint iced tea.

Just stopped being able to breathe.

Was breathing & deciding on a frosty beverage when there came a tickle in my throat, directly behind the uvula & to the right a bit. Started coughing & abruptly stopped inhaling & stood there preparing to approach a stranger while making the universal sign for "i can't fucking BREATHE here!" by crossing my palms across my throat, but then I remembered... "shit, fat-girl panties in my purse." I had bought a couple pairs of very cute, burlesque-esque panties & needed a smaller size (for once) & they were in my purse, with tags on.

It shouldn't have mattered, but during the twenty five or so seconds I was struggling for breath, thinking that's what I get for smoking, all I could think was that as soon as I passed out they'd check my purse for medications or something (of which I take zero) & instead find two pairs of very fucking cute fat-girl panties & it mortified me.

I kept coughing & trying to inhale & NOT have a panic attack & grabbed the first decaf (mind you I didn't stray from that wagon even in the moment before my demise) iced tea I saw & opened it & started guzzling until the tickle subsided & I walked shakily to the counter, purchased the tea & a pack of gum & headed back to work. Visually shaken by my lack of oxygen.

There was a homeless man, about my age, with writhing dread-locks sitting on a bench & I asked him if he smoked & when he said yes I fished my almost new pack out of my purse & handed them to him.

"Are you sure sister?" he asked.

"I just quit," was all I could say.

I've got an itchy armpit, but thanks to Tom's of Maine it smells like apricots so I'll forgive it.

I don't know what to wear to Beck tomorrow night.

I didn't even worry about it, but Suki called to make plans for leaving tomorrow afternoon & asked what I was wearing (we have similar taste in clothes & often show up wearing the same thing ... occupational hazard of being friends with someone for 21 years) & now that she asked I'm all worried about it. I would've just thrown on my "yay-i'm-not-at-fucking-work-&-can-wear-jeans jeans" & my favorite karate t-shirt, but now ... should I be dressing up? To see Beck? Gah!

I painted my nails with my favorite purple polish (Studio 54 by Creative Nail) tonight & that didn't even really give me the giddy-goo-gahs as it usually does. *there's just something saucy about freshly polished nails that makes me feel intensely girly in a way nothing else (except cute panties) can & i suppose it's the fact that i chewed them down to nubs for the first 25 years of my life* WHERE on earth have my giddy-goo-gahs gone?

I want them back.

I only have to work four hours tomorrow. I should be sleeping.

Why do I feel so self centered?

Isn't that what online diaries are for, being self centered? Writing about self?

Giddy-goo-gahs. I tell ya ... I'm on the fucking hunt.

:blowing my speakers: Ryan Adams ~ I See Monsters
:feeding my head: Elizabeth Kostova ~ The Historian
:rotting my brain: old Teen Girl Squad episodes

*man oh man, i could sit here all night, while Hotel Chelsea Nights echoes off of these empty white walls & fills me with something close to hope but closer still to sadness mixed sweetly with my empty bed*

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