"i can't be your friend right now," is a line i know all too well, chuck bass. you'll get over it, i promise.

there's no time like the holidaze time to really feel how far away and disconnected from my friends and family i really am. we've got each other, and if it weren't for him, i'd be packing my things and on my way back to the south i know and love. but here we are, and here we will persevere. we will be jolly and merry. we will eat, a lot.
the tree is up, the garland is lit, the leftovers are stored and the christmas tunes are playing. it's seventy five degrees, still and work and life must go on. and it doesn't feel anything like christmas time. so, family and friends, if you're reading this, make me know you haven't forgotten about us. 'cause i haven't forgotten about you.

no matter how happy i am, how content i am in the present, how much i love him and always have.. why will the past never leave? and how can you forget it? all of it? every, single heartbreaking instance, every fight between friends, every night that left you drunken and broken in more ways than you can count and more ways than you care to acknowledge? they're always there. they're always just below the surface of the memories that i supress. and i come back to today and i remind myself how happy i am, having left it all behind and how in love i am with the man i've always wanted. but i won't ever, ever forgive myself for those nights. for that hurt. for the broken nights and broken hearts i helped create. still, sometimes i scratch deep below the surface and i delve into tangible tokens of those past experiences. of the people i've lost, in life and otherwise. some are never coming back and some i never want back and then, some, don't even matter because you can never replace them and they're not on this earth to have back. to recreate those broken nights, or better still, those broken mornings. and still, dear readers, i turn to you, i turn to the screen to tell you. though i shouldn't be telling anyone, because, really, i shouldn't think it. but i do.
all that said, even if you promised me all the money in the world, i wouldn't trade it. it got me here, it got me to him. it got me to him.
well, actually, i'd take him there with me. i'm really broke. so.. maybe an offer less useful.
anyway, it doesn't change the fact that i've caused them heartbreak and pain and because of me they, too, can reminisce about broken nights and fights and bottles and blunts and blood. and i can't ever take that back.

Ahh... The sigh of relief that is fall.
Oh, how welcome it is. Unlike the crying child in exam lane one.
Tweed blazers and scarves and Clinique Black Honey Almost Lipstick... the list goes on. It's really strange not being in Arkansas, though, and sad almost. There's not a more lovely and perfect place (in America) than Arkansas in the fall. I don't care what you say about the Northeast and Northwest.. I believe you, I'm just still right about Arkansas.
I've refashioned some old ballet flats with grosgrain ribbon and insoles and the dusty pink color is so wearable.. I wasn't expecting it but they're so comfortable it's like not wearing shoes and now I wear them everywhere. The little bow adds a touch of whimsy, even. What better whimsy is there than grosgrain whimsy? None, better, I say.
Also, I've been slacking on the fashion parts, or any part, really of Alice D. Millionaire. I'm having trouble devoting the time and attention that it takes to have a educated opinion about fashion, regrettably, and am thinking of morphing it into a cooking blog.
We'll see where this season takes us.. So far I could've posted about a beautiful plum tart, the most perfect chocolate cake with spiced frosting and a most delicious and fall looking roasted root vegetable 'rustic puree' aka mashed and whipped because I don't own and immersion blender or food processor. But it was tasty!

originally posted via livejournal 2007.01.14 at 22:58

dont know what to do. i dont know what to do.



i act like i'm tough and i can take it when inside i'm crying. i'm crying out for help and to be loved and for someone not to break my heart. my spirit is so close to being broken, to being shattered, to being smothered forever, never to return. i fear for my future. that people will never know the rachel that had passion, that had love, that had happiness not based upon her surroundings and situations. i once was a lovely girl, i was. i cared about people and i cared about myself. i don't know that lovely girl anymore, the one that had genuine creativity, the one that had genuine passion for life, just to live life no matter what the circumstances. the only girl i now know is the one that wants a blunt to forget about it all, that wants a shot to drown it, that wants a boy to cover it up, that wants, that wants, that wants. i don't desire. i don't yearn. i just want want want. fuck that. fuck me. when will i be happy? when will i be genuine? how did this happen? how did i become this shell of a girl? this shell of a person? i don't even remember. i killed all those brain cells back in high school. and here i sit this night wishing i could do it all again. wishing that it were that easy and that i didn't care. now i care and i can't stand it all. i can't stand this sitting here by myself night after night. i can't stand this watching my friends become alcoholics, worse and worse, day after bloodsucking day, this great decay. my decaying heart, my decaying senses, my decaying thoughts, brain, being. i don't know what to do. tell me what to do. i don't know what to do. i don't know what to do with myself. with my heart. with my head. with all of the love that i have to give. i want my heart back, bitch! that's all he was. why didn't i see it? how many of you told me so? and now, here i am again. crying to you, dear computer screen, dear readers. i'm so sorry to you all. i use you and throw you away just like i have been. thrown into the wind, not cared about unless i can provide pleasure. and how i love to bring pleasure. how i love to get you off. no, not him, but you. yes, you. it's you i love, not love, but cherish. i cherish that you care, not him, but you. yes, you. it's you i want. could you be the next him? if you treat me like he has, no, it's not you, you're not him. if you treat me how i deserve, you could be. i feel you are, i don't know why. i don't even know you, yet you could be. how could it be? i don't know. you've done something to my brain. you do something to me.. something deep inside. i used to love music. did you know that? i used to love art and music and life! i used to have passion! for living! for hurting! for feeling! where did it go? what happened to me! i'm washed up! never again will i be that girl! for that, i only have myself to blame. i let myself become that shell. i let myself be stomped on time after time. and not cyndi lauper style. hard style. stomped into the ground. down to middle earth. but not rivendell, mordor. flames and all. death and all. pain and all! i used to be lovely, now i'm nothing. now i'm failing. now i'm not trying. now i want more than anything to get out. to be finished. to get back to life! can you help me, dear reader? can you help me find the girl i used to be? you all know that girl, otherwise you wouldn't be livejournal friends. i know you know. question is, do i? do i know that girl anymore? i do i just know the blunt smoking, pain numbing, shot taking imbecile of a girl, shell of a girl, watching television, reading magazines, not caring, just hurting, not caring, just wishing, wishing for it all to go away, wishing for it all to subside, wishing for you to be him, for you to take it away. when really i have to be him. i have to take it away. i have to do this. myself. on my own. but will you be there to help? will you be there to stand beside me? oh, oh my dear reader, how i would love it if you would.