Just to mark, that screenplay is really sloppy, but I will clean it up for the final project. I am working solely on content at the moment.
Posting it here because it isn't ready for my writing section yet. Comments welcome.
---
INT. on A GIRL’S SLEEPING FACE – DAWN
Dark but lustrous, the city glowed with an uneven, hazy, cloudy light. The breaking dawn of the fluorescent lights broke even on her forehead, stirring her, slowly, into wakefulness. The sound of a RADIO PLAYING A SONG is heard softly in the background. The girl looks at her clock before falling back asleep.
CUT TO A DIAGONAL SHOT of the girl getting out of bed. It is later in the morning, but still very EARLY. Murmuring to herself, she rouses herself from the bed, slipping from beneath the lime green, childish sheets and stumbling out the door.
FOLLOW the girl to the bathroom. STOP FOLLOWING as she enters. SOUNDS of the WATER RUNNING and TOILET FLUSHING, followed by someone BRUSHING THEIR TEETH is heard before the girl comes back out, looking more refreshed.
INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY
FOLLOW the girl into her kitchen where she prepares a bowl of cereal. CUT TO her sitting in front of a television and turning it on manually, as she is sitting that close. SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS start playing.
After a while, the girl looks over at her phone. She reaches for it and turns it on, dialing a number. THE RINGING is heard before someone picks up.
GIRL: Hey Mom.
MOTHER: EMILY? Listen, I can’t talk right now, your step dad and I are picking out drapes for the living room.
EMILY: (Scowling with disapproval) I don't want to hear about John.
MOTHER: Well I'm sorry Emily but you can't avoid him or our lifestyle forever. He's your stepfather, get used to it. Don't underestimate me I know what I'm doing. ... Now I have to go, we're meeting up with the salesman. I'll call you later.
EMILY: It isn’t fair that you pretend like nothing every happened with Dad.
MOTHER: You know I don’t like to think of that. ... Now I have to go, we're meeting up with the salesman. I'll call you later.
Mother hangs up abruptly, leaving Emily on the line with an empty look. As if she’s about to start talking to herself, she realizes better and hangs up, going back to her cartoons.
INT. TO A QUAINT COFFEE SHOP – DAY
CUT TO Emily leaving her upper middle class apartment, locking it tightly. She walks off scene.
FOLLOW EMILY as she walks down the street. CUT TO FOLLOWING EMILY as she enters a coffee shop. The coffee shop is a closed space, small but quaint. As Emily orders her drink, the CASHIER rings her up and goes to prepare it.
SWISH PAN around the coffee shop in EMILY’S POINT OF VIEW. Stop for a moment at a couple having a conversation.
GIRLFRIEND: Do you love me?
BOYFRIEND: I love you like there’s a chapel on a hospital.
The girlfriend LAUGHS and leans in to kiss the boyfriend. CUT TO Emily looking away embarrassed, but also envious. She has a slight blush on her cheeks as she politely averts her eyes. As her drink is prepared, she glances back at them repeatedly. The cashier takes notice.
CASHIER: (Ringing her up.) $4.25 is your total. Out of five? …They’re here every day, googling at each other. It’ll be a sad day when something bad happens to them.
Emily looks up at the cashier with a surprised look. She nods and turns to leave, leaving the coffee shop in haste, forgetting her change on the counter. We see Emily walk around the building from the windows in front of the shop, disappearing from sight.
EXT. DOWNTOWN – DAY
FOLLOW Emily as she steps off a bus in the middle of a downtown area. It is a somewhat chilly and gray day, and it’s not too busy. Mostly homeless or poorly kempt people are shown.
Emily walks into a plaza building, taking her time as she walks along the catwalks and exits another building almost on the other side of town. As she passes by some shops, she notices a MOTHER #2 and DAUGHTER figure shopping for clothes together through a shop window. Looking at them enviously she stops to eavesdrop on them.
MOTHER #2: How’s Zach doing anyway? He’s been motivating you to do so well in class and in soccer.
DAUGHTER: He’s great, he really is. I really like him, Mom. But… I don’t know. I think he wants to have sex but I’m not ready for that yet.
MOTHER #2: (A little shocked at her daughter’s openness.) Just be sure to tell him that you’re not ready. If he respects you as a woman he’ll back off. If not, I think you should look for someone else to hang with.
The mother squeezes her daughter’s shoulder, who looks back and smiles.
DAUGHTER: Oh, this is cute. I want to try this on. And those pants you picked out earlier, that’ll be a good outfit. And Mom, I know what I’m doing. I won’t do anything stupid. I’m done making you feel disappointed in me. I’m ready to make you feel proud.
MOTHER #2 (Proudly.) I know sweetie, you don’t need to tell me that. I know already.
Emily quickly moves on, frowning. She enters the older part of downtown and comes finally to a large, eloquent building. She enters it with a look of contempt and boring routine.
INT. PATIENT’S WAITING ROOM – DAY
The room is white and filled with books and toys for children. Emily sits on a couch looking a little uncomfortable. Off screen a DOOR OPENS and a WOMAN speaks.
WOMAN: You can come on in, Emily.
CUT TO Emily sitting on another couch in a small office.
EMILY: Hi again Jane.
JANE: (Smiling.) Hi Emily. Feeling good today?
EMILY: Well enough, more or less.
Jane settles back in her chair. Emily stays huddled in the middle of the love seat, her eyes not meeting Jane’s. She is looking out the large window and at the pictures on the walls.
JANE: Let’s get started then. How’s living on your own going?
EMILY: It’s fine. A little lonely. I was thinking of getting a cat or a dog.
JANE: (Nodding approvingly.) Good! Responsibility is good. I’m glad you’ve found the will to take that initiative on your own.
Emily smiles a little weakly.
EMILY: (Looking directly at Jane for the first time.) I haven’t told my mom yet.
JANE: About these sessions or something else?
An uncomfortable pause settles in the room and Emily’s eyes move about the room again.
JANE: (Understanding.) It’s okay, Emily. I believe there’s something deeper going on here for every time you’ve visited me. I’ve noticed a pattern.
EMILY: (Sighing.) It’s been almost half a year and just now you’re making a diagnosis?
JANE: (Very patiently.) It’s difficult Emily, but it’s hard for me to know what’s going on when you won’t open up or be honest. And your case is unusual. Usually if someone can’t open up to their therapist they stop going, but you keep coming back. I know you want to talk about something, but we just need to be patient and wait for when you’re ready to take that step.
Emily SWALLOWS loudly.
EMILY: It’s so quiet in here.
JANE: Well, you can talk or I can, but I’m not turning the music on like I usually do. If you open up to me today I’ll turn it on the next time you come.
Emily sits in the couch, looking down at her lap, trying to decide what she wants to say, but it’s obvious she wants to say something.
EMILY: I saw a couple today in the coffee shop when I went to get my usual drink… routine, you know how that all goes.
JANE: (Hesitant.) If you’ll allow me, what drink did you get? Coffee?
EMILY: (Shaking her head, not angry at the interruption, but rather relieved.) No, I don’t like coffee. I get this drink, a caramel cheesecake. It’s really good, especially with whipping cream.
JANE: (Nodding, even though Emily is not looking at her.) Okay, sorry, go on.
EMILY: The girl asked if the boy loved her and it reminded me of … a lot of things.
Emily suddenly silences herself.
JANE: Did you think about Martin?
Emily nods.
JANE: When was the last time you saw Martin, Emily?
EMILY: (Scratching her head, messing up her hair.) I think it was about two weeks ago. We kind of got into a fight and I didn’t want to see him and I told him that. He made me really angry.
JANE: How?
EMILY: He said something my father used to always say.
Emily licks her lips and plays with the ends of her hair.
EMILY: He told me, ‘Emily, you can be anything you want to be if you’d just try once in a while.’
JANE: But that’s a positive thing for him to say to you, Emily. He was complimenting you.
EMILY: (Suddenly defensive.) It’s something my father used to say to me. All the time.
JANE: How was the relationship otherwise?
EMILY: It was fine for me. But he used to say he didn’t like it that I’d never… do anything with him.
JANE: I remember this, yes. Sex and the like.
EMILY: Yes… sex… and ‘the like’.
JANE: He was good to you, though. He took you out to dinner and movies and on dates. You liked to enjoy those.
Emily nods as Jane speaks, looking up at her through her lashes.
JANE: (Continuing.) It seemed things only went awry whenever he touched you in any intimate way or whenever you two were left alone for too long. Am I right?
EMILY: That’s the reality of it, yes.
JANE: Okay, so we’ve established that. What else happened today that you’d like to tell me about?
EMILY: Umm… When I was walking here I overheard a mother and her daughter having a conversation. It wasn’t about anything but it sticks out in my mind. It made me feel… like my mother doesn’t care.
JANE: (Pursing her lips.) We’ve talked about your mother before. Why do you think your mother doesn’t care about you?
EMILY: (Shrugging, looking out the window.) I’m a disappointment to her, I think. She and Daddy split and they bought me that apartment and she remarried not even two months after that. I think she was having an affair with her husband now. I can’t understand why she’d cheat on Daddy, he never did anything wrong. But umm… I look like her and I talk like her and I don’t know what I did for her to not like me like other mother’s like their daughters. We never bonded…
Emily has been staring out the window her entire speech, most likely unaware of how much she has been saying. Jane is scribbling notes as she goes on, nodding and looking pleased with herself.
EMILY: Daddy and I bonded, though. But Mom and I just never clicked even though we looked and acted so much alike. When Daddy and Mom divorced they wanted me to choose which one of them to live with… I wanted to live with Mom so maybe we could bond more but I couldn’t abandon Daddy. He needed me. He always needed me… he told me that a lot. He needed me. But since I couldn’t decide they put me in that apartment, and that’s about the time I decided to come see you.
Emily moves her eyes to stare at a copy of Starry Nights by van Gogh on the wall.
EMILY: You should put The Scream or The Cry in this room.
JANE: (Blinking a little at the abrupt change of subject.) Why do you say that?
EMILY: It would fit my mood really well right now.
JANE: (Looks a little puzzling at Emily before clearing her throat.) Why don’t you tell me a little more about why you decided to come see me and about your father?
EMILY: (Looks at Jane dead on.) It’s easier for me to spill my guts to a total stranger than it is to talk to my mom. She doesn’t want to talk to me… she’s too busy building up her new life with her new husband in her new house and soon enough she’ll have new children. I’m just a burden. You listen and ask questions like a mother should. And Daddy isn’t around anymore, but I … could never really talk to him about boys or anything.
Emily sighs and slumps back in the couch, seemingly exhausted from speaking so much.
JANE: How come you couldn’t talk to him about boys?
EMILY: Just… because I couldn’t… that would be awkward.
JANE: We’ve never had such an enlightening session before, Emily.
Emily looks out the window again, tears swelling and then disappearing from her eyes.
EMILY: I know. It’s so hard to contain this. I saw this TV show the other day and it got me thinking, but I don’t know what to think about what anymore. I’m lost and I hate it so badly. … I really wanted to see Martin last night, to call him up and tell him to come over and hug me because that’s what I needed. But he wouldn’t approve.
JANE: Who wouldn’t approve?
EMILY: Daddy wouldn’t.
Jane shifts in her seat, leaning forward towards Emily.
JANE: Emily, you realize that your father has been dead for almost two weeks now?
EMILY: I know, but I still feel him around. He oppresses me sometimes… and other times I wish he were there again.
Emily frowns as if she is trying very hard to concentrate.
EMILY: I’m confused. That TV show I saw and what I know are different things. I don’t know who to believe about what. It’s why I see you…
JANE: Your father’s dead, Emily. You need to move on from that. Martin seems like a good match for you. If he wants to have sex and you’re not ready, tell him that. If he respects you as a woman he won’t approach the subject again until you bring it up first. If he continues to press it, you need to give him a good talking to about manners.
Emily smiles weakly, and chuckles.
EMILY: He is dead, isn’t he?
JANE: Your father? Yes.
EMILY: I can’t remember how he died.
JANE: It was tragic for you, I know. So attached to your father, left with the parent who you feel doesn’t appreciate you enough. It was a natural death, Emily. There was nothing you could do to stop it.
EMILY: Maybe if I had given in to him a little more he would have taken better care of himself.
Jane suddenly pauses. Emily doesn’t mind the silence and sits looking at the Starry Nights picture above Jane’s head. It is almost as if she is looking up into the heavens for something that might be there, trying to absorb every detail of whatever is there.
JANE: Is there anything else you’d like to say, Emily? It’s been 45 minutes.
Emily blinks and looks at Jane, then at her lap, seeming to be going through a regressing period.
EMILY: No, I’m fine. That’s all I want to talk about. I have another appointment in 15 minutes anyhow.
JANE: I’d like to see you again if that’s okay, Emily.
EMILY: Okay, but I really don’t have anything to say…
JANE: Tomorrow we can talk about your father and what he did to you.
Emily looks at Jane with a startled look. She blushes and nods before getting up and slipping out of the room quickly.
EXT. STREET – DAY
Emily is walking down the street hastily before slowing down. She has her hands stuffed in her pockets and her tongue darts out of her mouth to lick her lips every now and then. She is looking down at the street until she comes to a sign about a funeral home.
CUT TO a shot of the funeral home, which is nothing spectacular but not in the poor house either. There is really nothing scary or creepy about it.
FOLLOW Emily as she walks into the funeral home. CUT TO a face shot of the ASSISTANT who looks up and then at her planner.
ASSISTANT: Are you Emily?
EMILY: I am.
Emily approaches the desk. The assistant smiles at her. She seems to have an air of sadness with large puppy dog eyes and a heavy set body and face. She looks kind.
ASSISTANT: Well your mother’s already paid for it so you don’t need to worry about that. It’s only half-engraved at the moment, but you can see it early if you’d like. He’s already set in the casket for the sermon in a couple of hours. I’m very sorry for your loss.
Emily looks out into the graveyard before looking back at the assistant. She suddenly looks bitter and angry.
EMILY: Don’t be. He was a life ruining bastard. I just wanted to know when the funeral was, and now I do. Consider this a conjugal visit.
Emily hesitates, the assistant having gotten a weird expression on her face, as if she thinks Emily is crazy. Emily stands a little straighter and firmer.
EMILY: I don’t need to see what else he’ll be lying under. Thanks for your time.
Emily turns and leaves, taking her time to exit the building.
Okay so in addition to what I posted last time in this blog, I was trying to decide between two titles:
Conjugal Visits
or
Dark but Lustrous
I will have to finish writing it, but here's the down low:
---
A young girl, about 18 years old. Her parents split and she had to choose which to live with. Choosing neither, her parents set her up in an upper middle class apartment in a nice part of the neighborhood. She doesn't feel comfortable in it and she doesn't exactly fit into that kind of lifestyle.
She still watches Saturday morning cartoons with a large bowl of cereal. She decides to call her mother.
"I can't talk right now, your step dad and I are picking out drapes for the living room."
"I don't want to hear about John (or whatever his name will be)."
"Well I'm sorry Emily but you can't avoid him or our lifestyle forever. He's your stepfather, get used to it. Don't underestimate me I know what I'm doing. ... Now I have to go, we're meeting up with the salesman now. I'll call you later."
Her mother hangs up, then she will go for a walk around downtown. She'll take the bus and overhear some conversations in the mall between a mother and her daughter, talking about very trivial things. She'll look enviously on their relationship.
In a coffee shop (probably before the bus/downtown mall scene), she will see a girl and her boyfriend sitting and having a conversation. She will politely avert her eyes, but look on every now and then as she waits for her order. When she gets her order she will sit back to them, or will leave quickly. I haven't decided yet.
A few other things will happen as she makes her way across town. Maybe one or two things, bits of conversations and such. Afterwards, she will enter a funeral home (the final destination). The woman or man will look up from the desk and s/he'll say, "Are you Emily?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"The stone is half-engraved but you can see it early if you'd like."
"This is just a conjugal visit. I don't need to see what else he's going to be lying under."
Figurative and not necessarily to be taken in a necrophiliac connotation. More like, "I'm just here to see if I can get fucked over again even after he's dead." But we're not sure if the guy is dead or dying.
Um. Thoughts?
Dark but lustrous, the city glowed with an uneven, hazy, cloudy light. The breaking dawn of the fluorescent lights broke even on her forehead, stirring her, slowly, into wakefulness.
Murmuring to herself, she roused from the bed, slipping from beneath the lime green sheets and stumbling away.
She walks out of her apartment, turning to lock it before tucking her keys away in her bundled jacket.
---
I'm going to be turning this into a screenplay later. I just... need to dream more.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, blinking at her from bleary eyes.
Taryn’s eyes widened slightly, a look of stone passing over her features. “No where. The bathroom.”
Geez.
And the CD came! At last! Finally! Rejoice! Hooray! Huzzah! Let the bells toll out in dulcet tones!
It came, to my absolutely divine surprise, four days earlier than expected.
The CD is called Infinity on High by Fall Out Boy.
While people like to diss FOB and call them nothing but a bunch of emo kids, I would have to say that that isn't true. While the bassist is probably the "emo" one, the others are just geeks/nerds. Patrick especially. The bassist is the only one with suicidal tendencies.
The CD is fresh, it's new, and it's sturdy. I don't want to skip any tracks, but there are some I can't stop listening to. There's even love songs on here. It's amazing! And inspirational.
I have been trying to survive January (which was a horrible month, by the way), and migrate into February with high hopes of this CD. I am so glad it was not a letdown. But, it didn't even occur to me that it would be.
I'm sorry that the CD leaked weeks before it was even released. I didn't download it. The only songs I had previously were two of their singles, The Carpal Tunnel of Love and This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race. I waited to listen, and I am so happy for it.
I fell asleep listening to their music and I dreamt of another screenplay. I have been writing screenplays a lot lately, mostly turning old stories of mine into them. My teacher wants to submit some to some Sundance Festival thing and see how they do, but I doubt I will get anywhere with that.
Anyway, this CD is simply amazing. Go buy it. Even if you're, like, 35. Buy it. I was playing it earlier and my mom even liked it (but she kept having to ask what he was saying). It was weird, but humbling.
I will be cleaning my writing section to make it easier to navigate. It's just too difficult to deal with all those categories when you're looking for one specific story.
Hopefully I will be able to get more active with WC, because I love this community so much.
23 days until full blown inspiration comes.
I love that band.
My story has no plot, but I finally put some humor into it.
An excerpt:
Shivering, she stepped out of her apartment, locking the door with shaking hands and some difficulty. The iPod she wore around her waist, her earphones secure and her feet aching for movement. With a deep, shuddering breath, she ran down her stairs and turned left; not normal for her, as she usually went right, into the city.
She ran from the city for whatever reason; because of regrets or because she didn’t want to smile. The darkness enveloped her and she felt the sting in her ankles as the heat of her body overtook the cold. Her blood pumped wildly in her veins and she felt suddenly excited and exalted, ready to take on any battles. The music in her ears drummed a heavy, inspiring beat, and she ran all the faster for it, her fingernails biting her palms and her teeth grinding to fight the exhaustion. Taryn was not ready to lose the battle.
She rounded the corner of a bakery sharply, and was met full force with another person. Her nose met full force with the person’s chest, or what she thought was a person’s chest. She fell back onto the ground, her nose freely bleeding. She touched the warm liquid gushing from her, blinking the white, dazzling lights from her eyes, up at the so-called ‘victim’.
He was carrying a box and he threw it down and ran to her, asking if she was okay. She removed her naked hand and saw it covered in blood, and then felt her nose. Bruised, bleeding, but not broken, she decided. The person she had run into was a dock handler; he was piling boxes into a truck and she had run full-force into a crate full of calculators.
Her eyes hurt and it was difficult to blink properly. She heard someone moaned and realized a moment later that it was her. She sat up as the man patted her to wakefulness. She frowned and then winced in pain, tears swelling slightly in her eyes.
“Why the hell were you running like that?” the man asked her.
With a dazed expression she looked back at him. “What kind of question is that?”
He frowned and lifted her to her feet. “What do you mean, ‘What kind of question is that?’ I was just minding my own business!”
Taryn felt for her nose to make sure it had not fallen off, then wobbled on her feet before leaning against the building. She looked up and read, “Bittersweet Bakery.”
“I mean…” she swallowed blood, gulping. “Why are you loading calculators into a bakery?”
“Well, uh… I read the directions wrong, see. Sometimes I get a little confused. Dyslexia, I can’t really help it.”
“Maybe you should get your addresses written in numbers and not letters.”
“I didn’t ask for any sass and can’t help my disease. There’s no need to be cruel.” He bristled before turning away to pick up his crate. He looked at it and commented, “You left a swell mark in the wood, though.”
----
The irony of a dyslexic man loading crates of calculators into a bakery because he read directions wrong just tickles me pink.
I'm writing for NaNoWriMo. Be prepared not to see me for a while.
I follow very closely to what the lead singer of Fall Out Boy, Patrick Stump, does. It's not an obsession. It's not a serial killer kind of thing. It's not even really a fan-girl thing. Screw the other band members; I just want to know what Mr. Stump is doing.
I think Patrick Stump is the best looking of the group. I have a thing for the slightly-chubb
His voice.
Some may think the lead singer of Panic! at the Disco has a good voice (whatever the hell his name is), but they are wrong. His voice is nice and smooth with just a bit of a treble to it, but where's the real emotion? It's just a bunch of notes off a page. That is obvious.
So, I follow closely to see what Mr. Stump has been up to; specifically, I don't care much of his personal life. I care more for his career and what songs he has sung in recently. He's probably got a girlfriend and is completely happy. Well break my damn heart. He's 21-22ish and I'm 17. Not. Gonna. Happen.
Doesn't mean I can't enjoy his voice and his development. From his first 'big' CD, that being Take This To Your Grave, his voice was still being formed. It was hesitant. It was weak. It was gorgeous.
Then, in FUCT, he was better. He sounded more like the guy from P!ATD, but with a more manly voice and less "I'm just doing this to impress you". His voice was strong, it was ready. It was beautiful.
Since FUCT, I have been in love with the band. I was for their first CD, but it wasn't the gut-wrenching emptiness in the pit of my stomach as it holed up into an electric ball of excitement that FUCT gave me.
Fall Out Boy is not my 'type' of band. I do enjoy punk rock and alternative, but the emo stuff and pop punk does not appeal. Okay, your mother died and your father left you. At least you didn't have to go through what Shasta did. Get over it.
The reason why I like Fall Out Boy so much is because OF Patrick Stump. I have a serious reaction to his action (that being, his voice). His progression over time has been amazing. His new songs he sings in... put simply, gives my ears an orgasm to listen to. Especially in "Don't Wake Me Up" with The Hush Sound.
I get goosebumps. I get shaky. I get breathless. This is a good voice. This is what makes the song. This is what I love so much. This is a song that can belong to any kind of music, it being rap, emo, hardcore, new age... whatever. It fits.
Should I ever be able to ask Mr. Stump face to face about how he feels about being a singer... I would feel so lucky. I don't need to marry him. I don't need to fuck him. I don't even need to touch him. A conversation would more than appease me. That, or a song called, 'Emily'. That isn't about heartbreak.
So there, you have my explanation. The first musical voice that could make me feel sick, make my knees water, and put that empty feeling in my stomach... and make me love it. Patrick Stump.
[Mitul] is my soulmate.
I'm sick. :(
I ache.
I need chocolate.
That is all.
Hmph. I remember being happy. Good times, those.
It's so rare now. Sex doesn't make me happy. Boys don't make me happy. I seem to be blowing through life with no regrets and no remorse. Fuck anything that moves and break any heart I can. Tear up lives and hope for the best.
I think I just want everyone to love me, but I don't want to return any of that love.
How much messed up can I get?
Intelligent, witty, quirky, beautiful, what have you. I abuse myself and myself likes it and then hates myself afterwards, and then I fight amongst myselves.
I want to go in one direction. Happy, carefree, no worries, good grades, a good boyfriend.
I want to go in another direction. Brutal, remorseless, a new boy every week, filling the pockets of curiosity and honestly answering myself, "Is he any good in bed?"
I feel one direction is for the lying good girl in me and the other is for the honest slut in me.
I don't know if I love him anymore...
But I do.
It's Good Emily versus Bad Emily again.
I want to go on a roller coaster ride...
But, first, burn me in the fires of my own confusion.
So tired of this "It's only good if you wrote it with a broken heart" crap... ugh. Emos! Everywhere! Write something happy!
HAPPY!
... HAPPY I SAY!
"You are not worthy of any of the seven depths of Hell."
Bruises covered the soft flesh of her body. Her skin wept tears of blood and tried to heal itself. The welts left on her back and neck had been red and burning hot.
That is how I remember her. Beaten, but still strong; dented, but still straight. Her eyes focused on nothing, clouds echoing in the depths of them in horrible memory. Mouth twitching to repress the cries, eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration, trying to keep the past away from the present, fingers fidgeting with the button of her jeans, trying to stay out of imaginary trouble. Her feet planted firmly, holding up the rest of her structure in prideful arrogance.
Shivering like she was cold, whimpering at loud noises and raised voices. She was so far away from me. She would not break.
The map before me had been drawn on. Lines upon lines, curved and straight, thick and thin, they led to different places but came from the same location. Though I was miles away from her, I could still smell the salty tears on her face; taste them on the tip of my tongue, where I would lick them up from her neck. She would drown in her own sorrow if not for me.
She had done nothing wrong.
Who else spent 4th of July and the three days after it hurling into their toilet?
Didn't think so. Life sucks.
If you cut yourself, I DON'T CARE, don't go pushing it into my life!
... grr.
I got inspiration, now I just need motivation...
Love... hate... roar.
Nooow I get to do the fun thing and give excuses!
I've been first, extremely busy with school. It is testing time, and although I do not have to take the standardized tests this year or next, I have 'block hours' for school -- meaning I take about 2 hour long classes each day. And with all that, comes a -ton- of homework, busy work, and projects.
I've also been focusing on my car. The Jeep I'm driving is having a few problems, and my insurance is acting funny. And lately, I've been having some allergic reactions to -something-, but we don't know what, yet. I have to go to the doctor's to find out!
Add that with some personal stress of life with boys, friends, and overall ... stuff... let's just say we have a very busy Emily who wishes she could magically make more time!
I should be returning more regularly over the next two weeks, and then I am being shipped off to my dad's on the 1st of April for about a week, for Spring Break. I think he has Internet, but I'm not sure... if he does, it's slow, so I won't be using it much.
Whew. Okay. I hope that explains somewhat of my absence...
Sin of Lust Results is now up. Congratulation