True story!

This really happened, and I have no idea who did it. It wasn't Megan O. or my temporary roommates.

No, really. Don't.

The thing in my right hand is supposed to be a pear. Seriously, don't ride your bike like this. I'm cruising for a bruising, and not just of my fruity snack.

I am not feeling settled enough to write anything substantial, but I should mention that I have had a lot of stuff going on the last week and a half and have a lot more going on this weekend. Mostly good things, but still, my head may explode.

10 for 21

-Interstellar 5555 (The pilot's hair is amazing! I wish mine looked that awesome.)
-Allan Hough and serendipitous SF connections
-homemade oven fries
-temporary roommates/big slumber parties at my house
-Ray's serving beer
-my new, half-assed tattoo
-Derek's bug collection
-vegan mocha
-red wine with ice cubes (yeah, i'm trashy)
-Cursive "Staying Alive"

L.B.F.

No, don't worry, I didn't almost get hit. Have a good weekend.

For Will.

Don't worry, y'all, I'll probably post a comic later today. Just need to get this off my chest...

I thought that by the time most of my friends were in their mid-20s, early 30s, we would be over this. That I wouldn't have to deal with it.
But why should I have? It's still something I struggle with myself. No one else is any different, no matter how 'together' they seem to have things. We can put on our masks and I can laugh and joke over drinks about how shitty this year has been. And I may have forgotten all those months of putting matches out on my arms, putting razors to my wrists.
But it's still there. With adulthood, it morphs into other things. I still can't sleep without alcohol, can't breathe without cigarettes. Small deaths that leave no marks. I can't look at this face in the mirror every morning and think, this is a life worth living. I can't see what others see, no matter how many times I am told I am loved and amazing.
But that's the same thing they all did. I count myself lucky that only one of them succeeded.
So there is no room in my life for these thoughts anymore. If I can't keep living for myself, I will do it for the people I love and who love me.
Because I don't have time anymore for anyone who doesn't love me, including myself.

Yet another comic.

Apparently God or whoever decided I needed to grow up this year. So ... uh, thank you, but I'm good now. I'll just make due with the crippling depression for the rest of 2008.

All my love, Kirby.