what is ablog anyways? my brother has this thing called live jurnal and he thinks people read his comments. so that is what i am doing for i am bored and im in prague and my flight to london leaves in 2 hour. hmmm.... what to say what to say....

fuck this.

lol thnx, but thats just nex pics im not that hot in real life + how do you know those are real pictures of like, the real] me? what if those are just pics of my niece? or my neighboor? or the little 14 year old girl i kidnapped and im hiding in my basement closet who i forced to pose for pictures with other girls in my attic closet that i took from their peacefull suburbian homes becouse i thought they could pass as member's of her clique? what if i'm a 43 year old balding fat man who lives with his mom becouse she drinks in the mornings so its just more peacefull?

but its ok, lol, i'll tell you something about myself.

i drink in the mornings.
afuckingshitload.

[/right]

idont know who keeps opening the door but its ok becouse even though i'm pretty sure im catching hypothermia, its completly worth it becosue eveytime i go to close it again the breeze shoots me in the face and i can smell the aftersmell of rain. and now that im wearing dry close, im so warm yet so refreshed by the wet floor on my naked toes. the tips or my hair are stilll wet, and today, today was the best day. today, when everything went wrong, when i sat on my bedroom floor not crying jujst trying to calm down to stop my throught from wanting to scream in pain, today when all my plans went to shit and on top of everything, i was reminded once again that mariah carrey is still number one, it started to rain. and when it started to pour, nothing else bothered me. i love the rain. this much. i left the party to walk ome in the rain, and when i grabbed the first cd i saw, i thanked god for making it the oc mix one, becouse even when your walking alone, kissing in the rain songs are exactly what i needed. everyone stares.everyone stares at someone walking down the stret soaking wet with the biggest smile on her face in the world. i dont even know why that is the way it is, the only point is that every single rain drop, makes my day. rain is like a shower for my mind, where all the usless problems that make me stressed are just rinsed off becouse nothing can bother me when its raining. raindripsmakehappytripsinmylittlemessedupworlofmin​e. but i cant stay awake. im to tierd now. and im letting brady sleep in my bedtonight becosue im so scared of having another nightmare tonight like eveeryother night, i just dont want this happy trip to end.

hail rain.

"Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines,
He wrote a poem,
And he called it “Chops,”
Because that was the name of his dog,
And that’s what it was all about,
And his teacher gave him an A and a gold star,
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door,
And read it to his aunts.
That was the year Father Tracy took all the kids to the zoo,
And he let them sing on the bus,
And his little sister was born with tiny toes and no hair,
And his mother and father kissed a lot,
And the girl around the corner sent him a Valentine,
Signed with a row of X’s,
And he had to ask his father what the X’s meant,
And his father tucked him in bed at night,
And was always there to do it.

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines,
He wrote a poem,
And he called it “Autumn,”
Because that was the name of the season,
And that’s what it was all about,
And his teacher gave him an A,
And asked him to write more clearly,
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door,
Because of it's new paint,
And the kids told him that Father Tracy smoked cigars,
And left butts on the pews,
And sometimes they would burn holes.
That was the year his sister got glasses,
With thick lenses and black frames,
And the girl around the corner laughed when he asked her to go see Santa Claus,
And the kids told him why his mother and father kissed a lot,
And his father never tucked him in bed at night,
And his father got mad when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a piece of paper torn from his notebook,
He wrote a poem,
And he called it “Innocence: A Question,”
Because that was the question about his girl,
And that’s what it was all about,
And his professor gave him an A and a strange steady look,
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door,
Because he never showed it to her.
That was the year Father Tracy died,
And he forgot how the end of the Apostle’s Creed went,
And he caught his sister making out on the back porch,
And mother and father never kissed or even talked,
And the girl around the corner wore too much makeup,
That made him cough when he kissed her,
But he kissed her anyway because that was the thing to do,
And at three A.M he tucked himself into bed,
His father snoring soundly.

That’s why, on the back of a brown paper bag,
He tried another poem,
And he called it “Absolutely Nothing,”
Because that’s what it was really all about,
And he gave himself an A,
And a slash on each damned wrist,
And he hung it on the bathroom door,
Because this time he didn’t think he could reach the kitchen

."


-the perks of being a wallflower
read the first half yesterday
eyes hurt to much for second half[/right]