As of today my shit is in order and I have made a check list for my life for the next year. I am pretty excited about that.
I was going to move back home with my mother. Than realized I will more than likely shoot myself in the forehead.

So in turn these are my plans:
Check- Bought a car.
Check- Stop going out as much.
Check- Save all of my tips to pay for car and insurance.
Check- Read more.

Starting in April:
-Start school End of April.
-Pick up second job.
-Book at least $800.00 a week.
-Buy a house.

Starting today:
- Take dirty coat to dry cleaners
- Wash sheets
- Take Oliver for a walk to the park

Life is good.

I feel like I'm going crazy. I have not left the house today. I've smoked three cigarettes. I've been on the computer almost all day. Bored senseless!
I watched Nick and Nora's infinite play list and Step Brothers. Both good.
Last night I watched P.S. I love you and Ashley and I decided to rent House Bunny.... Yeah one of those nights. P.S. I love you.. Awesome. House Bunny.... Maybe for like back ground noise or something.... Really what did I expect?

It is my day off and it snowed. I'm totally bummed out. I left my phone charger at work last night. When I got home I realized it was missing. I had to drive over to kaylyn's to call work to make sure it was there and not laying in a parking lot. I feel like a have a ton of things to do today, really I am being lazy about the small things.
To do list:
Finish washing my sheets
Go to the gym
Drive to work sweaty and pick up phone charger
Cont. to try and be approved for a loan from the bank for a new car
Clean my room

Really this is what I have to worry about today and I just can't seem to get going. Oh and I applied to go back to school today. I'm going to take one of those trade school trainings to become a medical assistant. Doing hair just isn't cuttin it. I have been looking to buy a house and in order to be approved I need to be making like $200 a week more. So I'm off to school... again! Two very different professions but hey maybe the doctors will like stilettos?

Read after almost a year. and not reread.

I knocked on the door, half in the bag, tears running down my face and snow covering my shoulders. You met me in your pajamas and wearing eye glasses. I didn't even know you wore contacts. No words were exchanged you grabbed me and wrapped your arms so tightly around me I could barely breathe. I apologized 100 times over again as you laughed and said you knew it would be me. We went to the living room and smoked, your partner came from the other room looking confused and worried. We poured more drinks and unloaded. My friend and I joked the next morning that it looked like I punched myself in the eyeballs. As I stood in the bathroom that morning loading on eye liner I made a decision. Somethings are not worth your tears.


Less than 12 hours later I received the worst phone call of my life. I coasted on fumes until I hit your street and then I saw the flashing lights. Something you see in a movie that makes your heart skip a beat. I began screaming I pushed my way through the pigs until I saw your partner and my partner in crime. There he stood 20 years older than meand as white as his bathrobe that was draped around him. I grabbed him as though you did to me less than 12 hours prior. He fell into my arms.
And this is where I typically stop thinking, my mind goes into over drive. This is what keeps me up at night this is what allows me to stare off into the black space that I enjoy zoning into.
The sight I don't like to think of. the last memory I have of you. the first memory i have of a dead person. The noises of a zipper. the thuds then zip. The front door opened 3 hours later and you were out of our lives.

Holidays.

The holidays always seem to trudge up emotions that you never seem to have on a day to day basis. Like going home. "home" . I guess it is nice to be able to go over to my moms house in which she surrounds herself in a house that is a third of the size of our old house and every bit of furniture that she owned. I guess that makes it feel like home. Only the kitchen is too small for all of us to sit and talk. The dogs are attacking each other and you can see the neighbors through the windows. I took my brother home and went on with my search. I found myself turning onto that same back road and bottoming out my lease as I neared what I was hoping would still be there. The house was black even though a man and his wife now occupy my old safe haven. I peered into my old window, still no blinds ( I never understood that). I backed up and went up the drive way and pressed the 1617. I knew everything would be the same. Smoke filled air, presents all over the floor, bottles of wine and the t.v. on way too loud. I've walked into that same house for the past 19 years but I never felt more at "home".

The Red Drawer

I once wanted black, red and white. I surrounded my walls in colors that worked together, made sense and made me proud. I left the salvation army and worked my way to higher end stores. I worked my way from a one bedroom apartment to a two bedroom house. I worked my way from a receptionist to a hairstylist. I worked my way from back home to a real home. I worked my way from a girlfriend to a friend. I brought with me black, red and white. I brought with me baggage, luggage and a broken frame of self. I worked my way into a new home. I worked my way into a smaller bank account. I worked my way into better friends. I worked my way into a better hairstylist. I worked my way back into me. 

I have stripped my sheets. I have stripped my photo frames. I have stripped my ipod. I have stripped my jewelry box, and I have stripped my red drawers. I have stripped the black. I have stripped the red. I have replaced it all with white. 

Delay

There is another man who walks the same block smoking cigarette after cigarette. He looks a little like David Bowie. He always has on a tan colored trench coat, fuchsia gloves, navy blue slacks and orthopedic black shoes. I can tell he walks to the corner store and chooses the cheapest hair color they sell. The name would be something like frosted fox or golden fawn, something very 70s. He then walks home,  he still lives with his mother. Or alone with a strange pet, like an exotic bird from the amazon, that he won in a bet. He may just own a cat. A big fat orange marmalade cat that hunts mice. I can picture the way his house smells. No he lives in an apartment. Nothing has been updated since the original design of it, not even the blinds. Nor have they ever been dusted. The only time anyone ever touches them is when my David Bowie doddle-ganger is spying on his neighbors. Just like I spy on him, he studies them. 

Though every morning he wakes up while the sun is coming up and warming the window panes unleashing the wicked smells of the urine stained carpets. He sits on the edge of the same bed he had his first sexual experience in, scratches his belly and reaches for the ceiling as he tries to cover his mouth. But instead just gleeks all over his thighs and stands up.  He walks into the bathroom, he has stopped standing he rather sit on the toilet. He tucks his dick in the seat and leans his back against the cold porcelain tank. He wiggles as he finishes and stands up, bends over to the toilet paper dispenser and tears the smallest amount off. He then dabs the end up his penis and turns around to face the vanity. What a weathered face, as a child he thought smoking made you look older. Now he is 54 and his skin sags and  he looks 15 years his elder. 

He shakes his head and walks into the kitchen. He has not been to the store in over a month, but every morning he still opens the fridge then the cabinet. Starring into the empty box as though maybe someone was here and brought him left-overs. To no avail, again. He takes a seat at the four cornered table that he stole from the Albanian couple downstairs that moved out three years ago. Then reaches for his soft pack of Kent brand cigarettes and a book of matches that were left in the main door entrance of his apartment complex. He inhales his first hit and his lungs fill full of smoke. His capillaries tighten that much more and he thinks to himself "What am I going to do today?".