ohhhh lordy. she's done it again.
Wilco is amazing.
I just had a ton of caffine packed into a pill.
PILL PUNCH!
Yea, I think it's kicking in now..so I should probably return to my paper.
But see, this is the problem.
Caffine pills let me stay up to finish homework.
But they also make me want to run around and yell and scream and laugh.
They make me happy. I think I'd rather pop caffine than alcohol. I don't get dumb, I just get energy and happiness.
Pop alcohol. I just imagined having millions of alcohol pills laying around. You wanna blow some alcohol, man? Dude, it goes straight to your brain. One snort, and you're flippin fucked. Alcoholics and pill poppers are the same thing! whoa. what an idea.
That's like the alcohol candy I had.
YEA. that's right, alcohol candy. My sister sent me polish candy when she was in Poland, and it was AMAZING. and very good. And full of alcohol. Yes. Alcohol. So I decided that the best thing ever would be those little chocolate candies that held a shot each. It'd make the whole "don't take candies from strangers" even more scary. Drunken school kids poppin shots everywhere. Poppin! Oh. Now it mixes and makes sense.
I'm going to still ramble. Because now I know I have energy. And I have time to spare. And and and...caffine.
These are the times I'd love to run down the hall and see Adrienne or Rachel or someone or something that could just giggle with me. Giggling girls. Seriously..I miss it. But enough of that mush.
We've all heard it.
Ella wants summer. Ella loves her friends from home. Ella is me.
Oh joy, I like using my name in third person.
I feel so..three d. No, four d.
If Ella uses herself in third person, is it 3-d? Because when Ella doesn't use her name in third person, she's 3-d though. So wouldn't it be four-d?
If the above thought was actually coherent and intelligent, it would possibly be a good sign that I should finish my philosophy paper.
But I won't.
That's right. I'm going to be incredibly bitchy and write a huge post about nothing to clog everyone's friends filter and to do it all for no good reason at all. Except caffine.
Caffine is my reason.
One time, I convinced everyone around me that the reason we couldn't go in the office was because they accidently let out purple chickens. Purple chickens? Yea, the lab was testing some new medicine on the chickens, turned'm purple, and suddenly they were out of their cages! Shit son. Yea, those were good times.
HEY. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS THOUGH. OKAY? SO IF YOU WEREN'T READING MY RAMBLES ABOVE, PLEASE READ THIS AT LEAST. (fyi, it was written when I was thinking about how I possibly needed to add some monologue to a play for a class, so it's the first copy of a possible monologue)Tell me if it totally sucks. Please. I realize I haven't shared any of my creative writing in a long time, so I wonder if it's bettered, sucks, etc.
Imagine your whole life is a bad trip. Not just that night when you played with acid on your tongue. But every morning, lunch, and evening was one fucking bad trip. Everyone is staring and everyone is glaring and everyone is after you. And imagine meeting the “hero of your life.” That someone you know is gonna pull you out of your despair. Out of your bad trip. And you see him there, after 17 years without him. You see him staring into your eyes. Staring into your eyes like you’re the only person standing on the ground. Like you’re the only one standing on the entire earth. And his eyes are piercing into yours and calming your fears and soothing anything that could ever go wrong. You only want to feel him wrap you up at night. Hold you close. Calm you fears. Take every single wrong thing that ever happened and turn it into gold. Imagine his crystal blue, perfect, amazing, eyes-staring into yours. He is everything and anything and something and nothing all at once. He is yours and he loves you. He loves you. His skin loves you, his eyes love you, his hands love you, his whole body loves you. But his heart doesn’t love you.
No. His heart doesn’t love you at all.
He says it does, that every part of him does. But not his heart, not one centimeter of his heart loves you. You don’t know this at first-you just see his loving eyes. His sanctuary for you. You see everything in those eyes. And you give into those eyes. Love to the hundredth degree in every moment you feel him near you. He protects you. He’ll never leave you and things will never go wrong.
Then something horrible happens. And he’s on you. He’s on top of you. He’s…(trail off, distraught, acts if if composing herself.)
And then you miss your period.
And you’re waiting on nails and thorns.
One day late.
Two days late.
Three days. Four days. Five days.
By the sixth day you wonder if you should tell him.
You wonder what even happened.
His sweet eyes and his warm hugs, they’ll understand, right?
And you’re standing in front of those perfect blue eyes, and you tell him. You’re late. A week late. And his eyes turn fireball red. They’re lasers and they’re burning into you and all you can do is stand there. Suddenly you’re on the ground-his fist indented your face. By the time you wake up, he’s far gone.
What do you do?
You blow lines till you can’t breath straight. You drink until you’re liver aches. You smoke until your lungs are tarred. You do everything you can think of to reject your bodies disobedience. You do everything that doesn’t make any sense. How could he? How could it? How, how, how..
When the doctor says you were pregnant. That you were pregnant-what do you do? I just sat there. I just kept reading my magazine. I just…sat there. And when they clean that dead baby fetus out of you, are you supposed to feel different? Are you supposed to feel like a murderer? Are you supposed to feel anything?
When the doctor says you were pregnant. Does he know who the father is? Does he know who your father is? Does he know that your father was its father?...Does…(looks down, gathering themselves.)
Are you supposed to have your father’s child?
Was I supposed to have my father’s child?
Is anything in life suppose to happen? Was he (looks to stomach and rubs it) at one point…supposed…to...happen(stares down in sadness..light fades off).
I just had a ton of caffine packed into a pill.
PILL PUNCH!
Yea, I think it's kicking in now..so I should probably return to my paper.
But see, this is the problem.
Caffine pills let me stay up to finish homework.
But they also make me want to run around and yell and scream and laugh.
They make me happy. I think I'd rather pop caffine than alcohol. I don't get dumb, I just get energy and happiness.
Pop alcohol. I just imagined having millions of alcohol pills laying around. You wanna blow some alcohol, man? Dude, it goes straight to your brain. One snort, and you're flippin fucked. Alcoholics and pill poppers are the same thing! whoa. what an idea.
That's like the alcohol candy I had.
YEA. that's right, alcohol candy. My sister sent me polish candy when she was in Poland, and it was AMAZING. and very good. And full of alcohol. Yes. Alcohol. So I decided that the best thing ever would be those little chocolate candies that held a shot each. It'd make the whole "don't take candies from strangers" even more scary. Drunken school kids poppin shots everywhere. Poppin! Oh. Now it mixes and makes sense.
I'm going to still ramble. Because now I know I have energy. And I have time to spare. And and and...caffine.
These are the times I'd love to run down the hall and see Adrienne or Rachel or someone or something that could just giggle with me. Giggling girls. Seriously..I miss it. But enough of that mush.
We've all heard it.
Ella wants summer. Ella loves her friends from home. Ella is me.
Oh joy, I like using my name in third person.
I feel so..three d. No, four d.
If Ella uses herself in third person, is it 3-d? Because when Ella doesn't use her name in third person, she's 3-d though. So wouldn't it be four-d?
If the above thought was actually coherent and intelligent, it would possibly be a good sign that I should finish my philosophy paper.
But I won't.
That's right. I'm going to be incredibly bitchy and write a huge post about nothing to clog everyone's friends filter and to do it all for no good reason at all. Except caffine.
Caffine is my reason.
One time, I convinced everyone around me that the reason we couldn't go in the office was because they accidently let out purple chickens. Purple chickens? Yea, the lab was testing some new medicine on the chickens, turned'm purple, and suddenly they were out of their cages! Shit son. Yea, those were good times.
HEY. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OF THIS THOUGH. OKAY? SO IF YOU WEREN'T READING MY RAMBLES ABOVE, PLEASE READ THIS AT LEAST. (fyi, it was written when I was thinking about how I possibly needed to add some monologue to a play for a class, so it's the first copy of a possible monologue)Tell me if it totally sucks. Please. I realize I haven't shared any of my creative writing in a long time, so I wonder if it's bettered, sucks, etc.
Imagine your whole life is a bad trip. Not just that night when you played with acid on your tongue. But every morning, lunch, and evening was one fucking bad trip. Everyone is staring and everyone is glaring and everyone is after you. And imagine meeting the “hero of your life.” That someone you know is gonna pull you out of your despair. Out of your bad trip. And you see him there, after 17 years without him. You see him staring into your eyes. Staring into your eyes like you’re the only person standing on the ground. Like you’re the only one standing on the entire earth. And his eyes are piercing into yours and calming your fears and soothing anything that could ever go wrong. You only want to feel him wrap you up at night. Hold you close. Calm you fears. Take every single wrong thing that ever happened and turn it into gold. Imagine his crystal blue, perfect, amazing, eyes-staring into yours. He is everything and anything and something and nothing all at once. He is yours and he loves you. He loves you. His skin loves you, his eyes love you, his hands love you, his whole body loves you. But his heart doesn’t love you.
No. His heart doesn’t love you at all.
He says it does, that every part of him does. But not his heart, not one centimeter of his heart loves you. You don’t know this at first-you just see his loving eyes. His sanctuary for you. You see everything in those eyes. And you give into those eyes. Love to the hundredth degree in every moment you feel him near you. He protects you. He’ll never leave you and things will never go wrong.
Then something horrible happens. And he’s on you. He’s on top of you. He’s…(trail off, distraught, acts if if composing herself.)
And then you miss your period.
And you’re waiting on nails and thorns.
One day late.
Two days late.
Three days. Four days. Five days.
By the sixth day you wonder if you should tell him.
You wonder what even happened.
His sweet eyes and his warm hugs, they’ll understand, right?
And you’re standing in front of those perfect blue eyes, and you tell him. You’re late. A week late. And his eyes turn fireball red. They’re lasers and they’re burning into you and all you can do is stand there. Suddenly you’re on the ground-his fist indented your face. By the time you wake up, he’s far gone.
What do you do?
You blow lines till you can’t breath straight. You drink until you’re liver aches. You smoke until your lungs are tarred. You do everything you can think of to reject your bodies disobedience. You do everything that doesn’t make any sense. How could he? How could it? How, how, how..
When the doctor says you were pregnant. That you were pregnant-what do you do? I just sat there. I just kept reading my magazine. I just…sat there. And when they clean that dead baby fetus out of you, are you supposed to feel different? Are you supposed to feel like a murderer? Are you supposed to feel anything?
When the doctor says you were pregnant. Does he know who the father is? Does he know who your father is? Does he know that your father was its father?...Does…(looks down, gathering themselves.)
Are you supposed to have your father’s child?
Was I supposed to have my father’s child?
Is anything in life suppose to happen? Was he (looks to stomach and rubs it) at one point…supposed…to...happen(stares down in sadness..light fades off).