I've been up all nights. I've been painting and dancing and chain smoking and watching early-morning birds skitter-flitter through trees.

I found a dead puppy in the woods. It was lying on a plastic bag and just its head was buried in the ground. I was high at the time, which I think made the discovery more horrifying than it normally would have been. The creepiness of finding a dead puppy was compounded by the grossness of nearby used condoms and clothing. The moral of this story is: um, I guess there is no moral. Now excuse me while I go throw up.

So just as things are beginning to work out, I'm leaving. I've lived in this city for most of three years and for most of those most of three years things were really horrid. Everyone dying or going insane, drugs drugs and more drugs, attempted murders and actual murders and rape and robberies and abuse and skeezy motherfuckers everywhere. I made the worst decisions and the worst friends. I did everything wrong in every way. I'm scarred now, angry now, afraid now, tougher now, prettier now, ... what was I saying?

Everyone has to grow into themselves and their lives. My old friends have all become so beautiful and I'm proud of them. The three years we've all been away from our hometown have made us into new people and I'm new too but I wish so much that the growing up process wouldn't have been so turbulent. All that's happened will never leave me. I wish it would leave me. I wish I could start over. I will start over. When I'm gone from here I will be newer than ever and I will do everything the way I should've done it from the start.

I solemnly swear:

To never own a car
To never live in the suburbs
To never purposefully hurt an animal
To never give up on everything

oh difficult difficult everything

There are so many things, art-wise, that I am having trouble learning myself. Drawing perspective correctly, for instance, baffles me. I am wonderful at copying details of a single item or two, but the mathematical spacial whatfuckingever components of placing several items in perspective in a room have got my mind going in circles. This has got to change! What will I do with myself? Explode, probably.

For the first time in months, I feel good. I feel great. I'm painting again. I'm writing poems and I'm singing and I'm playing my guitar and I'm going jogging every morning at 6 am. I haven't showered in days and it's awesome; I love being disgusting and covered in paint because strange men don't pester me when I walk around outside wearing only a bikini top and running shorts.

This morning, a young homeless guy asked me if I'd like to buy a poem for 50 cents. I told him I had no money on me (the truth). He gave me a poem anyway. It was a decent poem, short, written on a bit of scrap paper. I like that. I like him. Tomorrow I'll see if I can find him again and if I do I'll give him a whole jar of change.

I did it. I walked out on my job. I had to. Irresponsible? Maybe. Ethical? I think so. Why? Because I was becoming a terrible person. I had only worked at that club for two months and it was turning me into a manipulative, lying bitch. I was learning how to sell myself just as much as I was learning how to sell drinks and as it turns out I am a hot product. The problem is that I do not want to be a product and I especially do not want my ass to be a product. I am not kidding; men would drop money on the floor so that I they could see up my skirt while I bent over to pick it up. I took their ass-cash willingly because I kind of like money. I'm really not ok with that and I had nearly fooled myself into believing that I WAS ok with that but in a moment of clarity (or panic) I said to myself "I have to get out of here" and so I did, mid-shift, and never came back.

I celebrated by having a shitshow giganto at my house. It was such a good party. The best party. I defiantly wore a frilly old dress (inherited from my grandma) because I've had it with miniskirts and bustiers. I still had boys clinging to me like flies but at least they were not clinging to my ass because frilly old dresses don't allow asses to make appearances (and I'm quite ok with that.)