It's 5:25 pm and i just got back from the most forgetful dinner ever. Corn dogs pudding and mashed potatoes, thats what i ate. And i didn't enjoy it, not really. I want to make ramen later. My room smells terrible like weed. I found out that my ex best friend Megan is living with my ex Ben now in his parents' garage, she's pregnant and works at walmart. Stupid fuckers who don't go to college and get pregnant when they're 19. Must've been her birthday present, or his. Thank God not mine, and when it is mine i don't want it from him anyway.
Love I get so lost, sometimes
days pass and this emptiness fills my heart
when I want to run away
I drive off in my car
but whichever way I go
I come back to the place you are

Love, I don't like to see so much pain
so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away
I get so tired of working so hard for our survival
I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive
Peter Gabriel, huh.
So much more amazing in words that in song. I don't know why. True poet's heart. Speaking of poet, my soul has been writing more songs than i remember. It's insane. I can't wait to go home and get more me. Or whatever that means... What does it mean? What do i mean. The only things i know right now is i have dry eyes, my room smells like weed, i lost my lighter and am too cold to go get one, and I am stoned. I love the feeling of being stoned. I've missed it so... Last winter was so wild. I am like a pot-smoking guru. It's true. Weed is an amazing thing that shouldn't be taken away from people. It should not be illegal. Anything that feels this good without treating me bad CAN'T be bad. It's just not fair. I don't understand it. It's all a bunch of misconceptions. I bet if politicians smoked pot, they would no longer ban it. Only the people who don't know how amazing this is would ban it. I feel so good. I feel so important, so... In. Amazing. Like i have something real to say. Like i AM real. I AM real now...
One with the music, the words, the soul escaping through my speakers. It isn't fair, they shouldn't be able to steal the souls. They should never let their souls out at all. I want to protect people from my soul, my writing. I don't want to lose any of it. It makes me angry. We should all keep our souls to ourselves. Oh wow, i feel like i miss Trevor. Silly, i do. I do... And Brandon. Why do i think of this? I know. "Wish you were here." My fault. I'll change it... No, i can't change the past. I can't change anything i've done, i ought to keep it here. The damage's been done. I am questioning myself. Who i am, what i like, believe in, dream of, live for. I just don't know the answers, not the ones i really need to hear. Of course I know I'm Anne, of course I know I like Spaghetti and Blondie, Sublime, and the Stones, and smoking pot, and my friends, of course i believe in a creator (?) of course i dream of wealth and successful books, of course i live for an education, an occupation, a husband.
But what do i REALLY live for? What is my purpose? What makes me who I am, and who is it i'm trying to be?? I just don't know. And no one else can answer that question for me.
I am seriously convinced I have lived a previous life. I am convinced when listening to late sixties, early seventies music, and i remember a feeling of a memory that is not one of mine today. It's like, well, dreaming, remembering a dream. But one you know you've never had, at least not in this lifetime. It amazes me. I honestly feel deep down inside that it's not the first time i listened to this music, and may not be the last, with this soul. The thought pleases me. I really feel a need to go to London. Well, i shouldn't worry, I will! I also want to trip. Someday I really will. Off of more than weed, coke, or meth. Is it possible for one to truly love an object, something without a soul? Not a vampire, or anything, but like, a drug or a flower, or a painting, or something? And if so, what does it mean??
When i toke, i don't long to belong to a group, to be just like other people. When i toke, i think about what i like to think about, and don't worry about not talking about my needs with all my friends, i know people like me will come to me soon enough. And i love me the way i am enough now, that it's not life-or-death important whether i find them immediately. That's the thing i really miss Amber for. We really had some good talks. Well not so much good, but we were very philosophical. My life is like a storybook. A good one.