For the first time in ages, I went on a walk during dusk. Since my last walk during that time, I realized that;

I forgot how wet pavement reflects street lights and makes it look orange.

I forgot that the wide range of colors in a Floridian dusk sky would only work on a Floridian dusk sky.

I forgot how beautiful a Floridian dusk sky actually is.

I forgot about the time me and Alyssa wandered about the streets with nothing but a flashlight and lengthened conversation.

I forgot how, despite the emptiness of the streets, you wonder if there are any rapists or muggers on badly lit streets. (Then of course, you remember you're in suburbia and how unlikely that is.)

I forgot how winter's in a few months.

I forgot how much I love winter.

I forgot how the neighborhood seems to glow with Christmas lights up.

I forgot how unfriendly the goddamned cats are. Those bitches hiss at you.

...

I remembered what a forgetful person I am.

WHOOO!!!!!

Viva Cuba Libre! WHOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Abajo con Castro!!!!!!!

Oh wait. He's not dead yet. And if he does die, Raul is younger, crazier and more ruthless. Hmpt...

...NO ME IMPORTA!!!! Whisky y cigarros para cada uno!!!VIVA CUBA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WHOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm laying on my back with my legs open on a splintered park bench. Nobody's around, so I don't care much about modesty. But then again, that's the key. That I suspend in complete solitude.

I stare hungrily upward, white meticulously fades into a soft, greying periwinkle. Close enough to enjoy, far enough to be out of reach. On occasion, I saw a bird gliding by and my eyes trailed elsewhere, but otherwise I was fixated with the sky. It's like a minimalistic painting, but much better. It's actually alive. People never appreciate the sky like they should.

I want to make a resolution to stop getting disappointed, but I wouldn't even know where to begin fufilling that. All I know is that I'm extremely hesitant to leave because I know once I enter synthetic lights and general chatter, I'm not going to feel half as good as I do now.

Today, I am bitter.

I feel a combination of betrayed, disappointed, anger, sadness and inadequacy. I just stop fighting with my mother, whom has dellusions about Bravejournal giving her viruses and whom cannot prononce "mitasanstar". Since early 2003, I've had this online journal and never had problems from my native computer that I can blame it on. It doesn't work that way. Webshosts want you to use thier services, not poison your computers (albeit, it is one tactic that some downloading sites use, but quite doubtful from Bravejournal.) She heeds me to delete the journal. I'm not really a sentimental person, but I do have problems with deleting three years worth of entries; a number nearing the 200 mark. All this during a very sumptuous chocolate cake. And as I've previously stated, stress robs me of any and all apetite. So, poot to that.

Earlier, I got this far-fetched notion that taking my sketchbook outside would be wise. Um, no. Even in a wife beater, I was dripping in sweat. Sitting in heat that only festered my failed attempts for a job...Cursing mentally, I took a long way home. I found myself at the front of my neighborhood. Desperately, I wanted to scream. Instead, I skimmed through Roy and played "Infected" by DJ Irene. I ran about half-way home to physically work out my frusterations. I discovered that running with a 14''x30'' sketchpad is not easy... I didn't stop even after my thighs were throbbing and the rod in my back wriggled excruciatingly.

It's just...Roughly 9% of animators are female. They're paid less than men, whom already menially paid. Is it sexism? Maybe not, because the majority of female animators suck. Shotty art, storylines dripping with estrogen...Despite the fact that my style of art is far more masculine than it is feminine, (yes, art comes in seperate genders, too.) along with my plots and let's even add that I'm a gifted artist and writer; all of this still puts me at a disadvantage. (And of course, I'm too goddamned moral to exploit my gender. Fuck me and my proper and polite upbringing...) Another problem is that I'm at complete odd-ends about the industry. Working at a video gaming store would be the perfect way to learn...learn about the people, the products, marketing...all the things I'm only faintly acquainted with. I even had an inside helper that could get me in guarenteed. And what do I do? I...ugh...I...UGH! IFUCKINGFUCKEDEVERYTHINGUPFORMYSELF!!!11

AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!11111111111111111

I do this CONSTANTLY; I want something really badly, I do all I that I know how to get it, and somehow, in some crazy way, my efforts turn around and bite me in the ass. I am my own walking, friggin' plague.

And now, thanks to me, a friend of mine is taking my job. Because I'm a complete imbecile, and because I can't bring myself too...because I... *screams again*

I don't know why I keep going after the things I really want in life anymore. This is my third huge failure, this year. The third thing I really wanted, something I fought for. I never fight for anything, and it's like whenever something counts or will make a positive impact in my life, I try but I just can't...

It's making me dislike myself. Just a smidge, not by much, I guess...because it's questionable just how much power I have over everything. I just...forget it. I'm drawing a picture now. At least I know that there are somethings in life I can count on.

I am developing a loner complex. I'm paying far too much mind to a single quote from a dead Greek guy. Poot on me.

My mother is sleeping behind me while I struggle to type softly. The room I'm in is dark, minus the bluish glow emitting from the moniter and cold with a light musty scent. I've slept horribly throughout the day and now, sleep evades me again. I am in the state of my birth, a mere block away from my first home. Tracing memories of my early life is difficult, so few exist in my present state.

When I was picked up by my sister's godmother (a woman whom is quite like my sister; lively, messy and has a profound ardor for liqour), I peeked through the window of the car. I saw a city that had seen many, many days. Streets were dirty, grafitti caked on withering billboards written in Spanish, (I suppose the Cuban community still thrives...) aged cars. Although it was not conventionally beautiful, it was humming with character. There's something about this place; or really, most places I travel to-- I end up feeling more at home there than in a community that has been mine for well over a decade.

Upon arriving to my temporary residence, I saw that the decor had scarcely changed since my last visit in 2001. Yellowing photos up to 30 years old hanging on the walls. Odd. The interior of my home has had complete plastic surgery in five years. Ma put in new light fixtures just a few weeks ago.

It all got me to thinking. Back at home, whether it be called the South or just a more modern place; everything is built to be later destroyed. Houses are built with D-grade (at best) building materials. Nobody brags about punching a hole through the wall because just about anyone can do it. Relationships are built on a similar, shabby material--Only to break for trivial insecurites; whether it be because he didn't put the tolit seat down or because he went down on a hooker during his vacation in Tijuana. Everything is overpriced and nothing is really worth that much. Within ten minutes, I realized that people up here are more polite, dress more respectably and carry guitars everywhere.

It was such an obvious change, being in a place where all of the homes had to be at least 50 years old, some of which being even over 100! And people still live in them, despite termite problems or peeling paint or whatever. The idea of my house living to be just 30 is ROFL-worthy. Given the frail quality of the economy in Florida, nobody will want to buy property that is sold three times it's value price. With all the good reason, mind.

I feel disgusted because I know that I too have become victim to this disposibility. The couple that I'm staying with have been married for something like 50 years. Supposedly, I'm an intelligent person; but I just can't see how two people can stay together that long anymore. I've been exposed so long to people disposing one another; in friendships, in romantic relationships...the entire concept no longer makes sense to me anymore. I'm not even pinning this on my parents divorce, because it seemed to make a little more sense just a year ago. I know that I would like to get married if I met the right person, but I no longer think I'll find the right person. Or rather, a person that will suit every stage of my life. What's happened to me? I've always been cynical, but this is really bad. Why don't I have faith in people anymore?

I wish I could meet people that were brought up completely different from me. That, or at the very least, fought their unattached upbringing. I need to learn how to be like that, instead of being completely remorseless and unfeeling for other people.

I don't even know if I'm making sense. I don't even know if it matters. And I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that despite all of this, I'm still pretty content with life. I'll consider it a good thing, at least until I've hurt someone with my lack of compassion.

Hmm, now that I think of it, I think I do have liscence to call it a bad thing...

Oh well. I'm still happy. Leave me be. I'll figure it out. Eventually.

w00t! I'm FINALLY sinking my teeth into some White Castle goodness! The excitement!

Earlier to day, I lost it...You know what I mean...8 inches...

...

...

...

Of hair. I cut 8 inches of my hair off. I'm still getting used to it, but I'm pretty satisfied. I'll try growing my hair past bust-level some other time, but certainly not during 90 degree weather and 80% humidity.

I'm bursting with artistic inspiration, too. I have to remember to bring my sketchbook and colored pencils with me. My art has evolved significantly since school has ended.

Life is good.

I'm beginning to dislike this layout. I'm particularly bothered by the lack of smoothness in the outline of Lee's face. I'm thinking about a layout that's blue, white, brown and burgandy--but I really don't like the sound of that palette. I do like the idea of bricks, though.

If Omar doesn't call me back today, I'm calling Henry myself and finding out what the fuck is happening. This is getting ridiculous and it's not fair to anyone.

Oooh, I'm so vauge. Thank God my life isn't a nearly as exciting as I make it seem.

If not, whatever. I'll go up north, see the sights, meet my friend from the internet (that's real safe for a girl my age...) visit my grandfather's grave, and drink some stellar hot chocolate.

I'm disappointed in the way my summer's turning out, but I'm taking it better than I thought I would. I always want more for myself, though. I'm just waiting for the time that my efforts actually bring me somewhere positive. Until then, I have to settle. It's the hope that thing's will change my way that gets me to sleep at night, what keeps me content.

Gah...I want to take a knife to my hair!

Should I give up my vacation for my (dream?) job?

The vacation that my mother planned two months ago and had been looking forward to since?

And mention how my mom has had it rough these past few days and really deserves it? (If I back out, should I offer compensation? (A picture? A raincheck?))

I face impending guilt.

The possible job offering that...I haven't quite told my friend about yet...

...The friend that was trying to nab it from me...

Should I negociate with the manager if and when he offers me the job to take nine days off?

Will he say nevermind or admire my salesman-like approach?

Gawd, I don't know.

It's really weird when I want something that isn't guarenteed to me. Firstly, because that rarely happens, and secondly because I become anxious about it and worry if I'm losing...I don't even know what. Losing something...

Also, because I have a record of not getting these things that I fight for...In fact, if I do get this job, I'd be the very first time.

Oh, the worry...