Journals

Three days. Three days and I'm eighteen, as far as anyone knows. And I don't know what happens afterward, not really. I mean, I know I'm not going anywhere. Mom needs me, Caleb and Dean and Lullaby... well, they don't need me? But I think they'd welcome the help.

So, whatever I don't know? I know that much; I'm staying here. Knowing more would be easier if I knew where everything with Caleb was, which is stupid of me. Like I should be planning my possible future based on a guy. Retard.

I can't believe I never thought of it before. There's a way, there's someone I can take. If Medea believes in me, if she'll help me do it? I know I can.

No one's going to miss them.

The past few days have been fucked. Seriously fucked. Went on a school trip, got cut off and attacked by demons. Not the best way to spend a few days locked away with a few people you care about and the potential girlfriend.

Can't sleep. Can't eat. Can't go for a walk (fuck you too, moon). Can't focus on a page long enough to make two words make sense. Can't practice, if I do 'Stallion Tramples the Face' stance one more time I'm gonna break my own legs.

Can't block out Skye when she got grabbed, feet kicking ruts through the snow and down to dirt, like a kid making a snow angel. Can't stop hearing the way her scream got ripped away, filled in with eating sounds preceding every jet of blood. Can't tell my mom, or anyone. People would think it was werewolves, and I can't let them think that.

Home. Locked in my room. Back to writing lists.

I'm not good enough.

Dear Diary,

Guess what? Tomorrow is Thanksgiving! And cute little pictures of chubby Pilgrims and Indians aside its going to be a lot of work! I have to bake the turkey and ham (that's Reiz's favorite!) and do all sorts of other good Thanksgiving-ness. The nice decorated man (who's hanging out in the Lamplighter parking lot and gave me a pretty necklace. Yay! Necklace!) might even come too!

So I was supposed to start school today, but I couldn't get out of bed. I wasn't being emo--just too stiff and, y'know, the blinding pain. My head's better, but it'll be a while before my legs are back to normal.

taylorstwits spending 2 nights in a haunted nut-house with people who really don't like me? gotta love forced interaction. *headdesk*

posted from TweetDeck

I used to keep a diary. I guess I still do, from time to time. I still have the journal - it sits on my desk. So many of the pages are blank. I can't risk them being read, so anything I have to say, anything I need to write down, I do it on paper - and then I burn it.

Dear Diary,

I am grumpy now so I will make this short. (And then I will go stomp on a miniature version of Tokyo rawr! Just kidding, I like Tokyo. And I'm not that grumpy.) But I totally had a headache, (BOO!) it was totally icky, for reals. But Reiz took care of me because he's awesome.

I feel kinda bad though, my room was a totally mess, like stuffed animals everywhere. I should really do a quick house clean before I let him in. In other news I talked to Billy, faithful fiancee to awesome magic shop lady and mother is going to be busy next week.

Near as I can tell, Kurt Petersen was born in a small farming village on the outskirts of Dresden in 1907. He showed up on the Health Ministry's records in November of that year, though a great deal of records from that era through '45 were lost during the second World War. What I know is this:

Dear Diary,

Victory is mine! Well, ours, Skye Craddock, Ms. Redbird's niece, helped go through the Redbird's extensive box collection. But I actually found it! Nearly squinted my eyes out on Fassbender's old school handwriting, not to mention the educational requirements for a gravedigger in the 1800s were less than rigorous and some of his spelling was a little creative. Not to speak poorly of the dead after he did so much to help Baby Robbie and myself, and he worked very hard to support his family. Just, you know, hard to read.

I don't think I've used my coat for a pillow in about twenty-five years now. And sure, I know it's going to be uncomfortable, but I don't mind that. What worries me is what comes next. Sleep. I haven't done it since everything changed, since I took this job. I know what's inside my head, and if anything scares me? I do.

Stupid shit. Seriously, I swear mom knows when I use this thing; the writing sounds are way too fast for it to be homework. And she's probably sitting in the kitchen just smiling to herself. If I didn't love her? I'd hate her.

BewareTheConduit.com

Today's News

Current music: "Fresh Feeling" - Eels

Current mood: ecstatic

Okay, okay. I know. There's journal sites for this, you people want more of the Conduit blasting people, of the Thirst being a bastard, I get it. Don't flood the forums griping, I pay for your bandwidth here. That said... I'm in love. Commence bitching in 3...2...1!

Dear diary,

im making up for it

sorry

Dear diary,

Hi! I know its been a couple of days. Oh my goodness. I have met the MOST ADORABLE BOY EVER!!! I know I totally said that about Eric Matthews but Jamie has Eric beat hands down. This is the voice of experience speaking here. He has ruffly hair and pretty eyes and he smells like cookies and he has such a dreamy look on his face all the time. Squee! He totally just wants to be friends which may or may not have to do with guerrilla kissfare when we may or may not have gotten our wires crossed about actually being on a date.

nurse lisa: head nurse at the psych ward at mgh. mid thirties, very friendly, tends to take things in stride(including when ghosts randomly showed up). knows the lockwood brothers. - adoptable!

Amy Gustufson

Preferred PB: Greta Salpeter

The 'night manager' at the Lamplighter Motel, (it turns out that majors in Indo-European Linguistics with a minor in Romantic Poetry really don't offer a broad range of career choices, who knew?)Amy mostly tries to stay out of the way of Mr. Andrew. She's young, just out of college and still enthusiasticly in touch with her inner child. Sometimes a little too much, she can be easily overwhelmed by Mr. Andrew's rants or the plethora of repairs the motel needs.

I've got a lot of shit on my mind lately, and I don't know. I know I need a sounding board, but don't know where I want to go for that. Dean I know I've talked to a ton, but sometimes...he's got his own shit. Dor and I never saw eye to eye by any stretch of the imagination. Math...well he's got his own shit too. Nic I can talk to, but half of what's on my mind lately is about her. Which leaves me shit out of luck, basically.

Kavin left town on a hunting trip. Who knows when he'll be back. Or if he's even going to come back. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't.

everybody leaves.

day 1

Nov. 8th, 2007 -- 3:45am

Yes, The Clunker bites the dust. Or the snow. Whichever. Beloved(ish) sub-compact has put-put-puttered its last. In retrospect, should not have expected it to survive the weather. Will need to figure out new mod of transportation.

Huzzah, mass transit.

Ancestors,

Please.

things feel worse than before

I miss him. I miss him so fucking bad.

there are ghosts. I don't recognize any of them. I wonder if my grandparents will show up. and it's not just in Marquette either. it's all over, according to the news. I wonder what it means.