How open can I get on here? Who reads this anyway? Each day as the amount of viewers grow, I stare at the number like it will tell me who's lurking. It's fine, this is what it's here for. This is what I want. I'm just nosey when it comes to these nosey things.

Vicodin. Oh you lovely, available, easy drug...how I love the dazy, numbing, distant feel that you give me.

I sit here quietly in my quiet room. Boy With A Coin by Iron & Wine is softly playing from my desktop. This song takes me back to the Daly City apartment. Hell, maybe it even takes me back to their Fair Oaks apartment. Nonetheless, I can imagine us four in the mini van, singing, debating, smoking, whatthefuckever. Our mini van stood for so much more than what it really was. It got us to and from Hayward and Sacramento. It transported our bikes, our things, ourselves in the rain and wind. It all began with that big, blue van. And it kinda all ended with it too.  We all move on, some faster and easier than others.

Just when I thought I knew myself to the "T", I discover more things that totally explain myself to myself.  And that, my friends, is what life is all about. I love that I know myself well. It's comforting. Against popular thought, I like typical and predictable things because when you live a stoney life like I do, it's just easier.

Please never forget that I need black and white in order to get the point. And please know that I am actually trying really hard and know that I am being a good, good, honest girl for once.