i should be happy while i'm here. the lake is so big and my room is so full and my family has so much food. i have more friends than i remembered. it will all be okay.

(right now, though, i feel suffocated by heat and boxes and obligations.
and that pesky feeling of not really knowing where i am, sometimes.)


scrubbed raw

everything is clean.

i could go.

i'm just not, right now.

(this is harder than i thought it would be.)


just trying every angle, while i still can.

i wish my hands worked the way i wanted them to.


closing up shop

i want to cry but there are too many people here—



fuck fuck fuck fuck

(i would like to stand on the side of a bridge and scream,
spit into the mississippi,
light something on fire,
shake uncontrollably)


the cafe is closing

stayed out until two last night, walking around the streets of st paul with a friend.
ate pizza and ice cream and (mostly) didn't give a fuck.
should have done this more in college.
need to remember to do this more, post-college.

i like people.
i like people and they like me.

i move this sunday. we leave at night, drive straight through, and get back to muskegon just as everyone will begin to wake up.


fuck phones

i just gotta get the fuck over this;
it is so very hard to interact with anyone, some days.

(it's that feeling you get when you know that you need to call strangers to set up an appointment with strangers to interact with strangers and although you'll never see them again, you worry about what they'll think of you. there are so many things to get wrong. there are so many words that will come out incorrectly, so many moments in which to appear too ignorant or too vulnerable or too "blonde" or too anything. there are so many things that other people can think about you.
but a person cannot be completely invincible. a person cannot be completely anything. gotta remember that.)

i need a script in order to talk to most people.
maybe that's why i like books so much.

wear your nicest bathrobe

i'm thinking about starting a depressed writers' club. i could invite all my closest friends.

"the sad kids writing club:
we'd have meetings if we could leave our apartments."



i have very few close friends.
i think all of my close friends know this, and sometimes i worry they feel some sort of pressure from that knowledge. i hope they don't. but either way, i am so glad for them, so thankful for them, so amazed that i have found people to really, truly care about when i am so often afraid to even look at anything. it's beautiful that they exist and that we found each other.
it is also wonderful to feel understood. that only comes along every once in a while.
i sometimes worry about coming on too strong. it's just that i want these people to know that i really appreciate their existence. mostly, it's that a phone call or a long walk can make life considerably more bearable in a way i couldn't have fathomed.

some things:
reading hemingway short stories (i only seem to read hemingway in the summer)
saying psuedo-goodbyes
having more frequent and more vivid (and sometimes more violent) dreams
screaming slightly less at night
drinking occasionally, but don't tell anyone
moving in less than a week
driving all through the night to get home
feeling more detached
listening to music occasionally, but still not often
writing rarely, poorly, ineffectively. not giving a shit about that, right now.

some days i just want to mash the keyboard; i feel like that would suitably describe some of my emotions.


blood money

listening to tom waits; thinking more about the darker things instead of hiding from them.
maybe this will make me stronger.

i am writing songs that i am not sure about.
i don't know how i feel about the way i am spending my time.

i move back to my mom's house in two weeks;
i move to detroit in two and a half months.

i move so much.
i don't know if i want to any more.

please, hand me down
give me a place to be


this thing

it's just that sometimes, i feel like it's a puppy that i only let out to play for a little while and then lock it back up. why should it be stuck in a cage now? i want to let it run free for a while. i've never let it past the front lawn, but i want to take it to the park. go to the beach. run through the woods. sure, its teeth are sharp and its eyes are cruel, but its fur is soft and it just looks so cute sometimes.

"allye, you have to put that puppy in a blender." - a reminder. thank god for friends.

tomorrow i start drinking whiskey and start chopping up that damn dog.


bright like lightning

i'll miss living on the eighteenth floor.


sameness, weakness, aloneness

most illicit substances make me feel the same;
i laugh and then i get very quiet.

i am currently unemployed (until august; the decision has been made to move to detroit) and sitting around my apartment for the next three weeks or so. it feels good and bad and many things. i am constantly many things.

the saddest thing about leaving here is realizing all the friends i didn't make.
the second saddest thing is leaving the friends i did make.
the third saddest thing is that i am always leaving.

things come in threes.

i don't know why i'm going to detroit, honestly. i think it's just because it's something, and i needed something, and it was so easy to believe in. and i couldn't stay here. not really. i want to, sometimes, but it would be lonely and i feel like i have already failed here, somehow. i sit on my hands too often. i become afraid of phones and people and too many other things, but maybe if i move i won't be afraid of those things anymore (i tell myself every two years). besides, moving is adventurous and i can't disappoint anyone that way, in my head. plus, detroit is in michigan and i love michigan. and detroit is dying and maybe if i believe in detroit's aliveness, i can believe in my own aliveness. something has to be good there. something has to be good.

i just wish i could nurture the few friendships that i made here. i just wish that i could keep people in jars and carry them with me. i just wish letter-writing were still a common practice. i just wish i didn't lose people so easily, like i did last time and worry i will this time.

i took a walk for hours today. i don't know how many. there were so many things to look at and so many things to find. i smell just slightly sweaty. the sun set and i was still miles from home; i don't know where i went or how i got back from parts of it. it felt so good. i do this when i know i am going to leave a place; i say goodbye by exploring.

it is so sad. the world is so beautiful and sad and delicate and a hundred other things and it is occasionally upsetting, unsettling, a hundred other things. it has always been this way. summer always sinks in and laughs at you, nudging you into nostalgia and pestering you to make new memories to feel nostalgic about. i want none of it. (i want all of it.)

i would like to start writing essays...and perhaps spoken word pieces.

the screams have come back.


lesch-nyhan syndrome

what is it that makes some of us want to destroy ourselves?