These lips are sealed, you bitch.

So keep that one locked up, because it's all that you'll get.

I've been so exhausted and sick lately, but I've managed to finish just about all my work. I saw a doctor about my inability to take deep breaths for the past two months and he gave me some bullshit prescriptions for things I've taken before that didn't help. Pretty sure I'll end up seeing a pulmonary specialist so I can have tests done. I really, really don't think this is an asthma thing.

I've been thinking a lot about what I want with regards to sexuality and gender and yadda yadda lately. I like girls who look like boys and boys who look feminine and boys with tons of masculine features and girls who look like they live in lipstick and heels and hairspray. I don't ever plan on calling myself a specific sexuality. It makes me crazy that just because I'm dating a male, it automatically translates to "oh, so you're straight now" to a lot of people, which is ridiculous. I'm still attracted to both, and I always have been. Just because I was born a female and currently dress as one doesn't mean that that's my specific gender; it's my biological sex. I don't know. I wish I had somebody in California to relate to about this business, but alas, the only people I know who share these sorts of feelings about themselves all live in NY.

I'm currently on set and waiting to be called to do touch-ups. I'm so cold and sleepy and pissed off and I just want to get in my car and start driving to somewhere else. I hate California right now and I want nothing to do with it.

Go fuck yourself.

I'm never going to be anybody's first choice.

It's cool.
I've come to terms with it.
There are worse things to be than second best (or next to last, even).

Don't undermine my mind and assume I'm unaware of this. I've known for quite some time and I've heard enough whispering, gotten enough looks, and been fucked over enough times to recognize that, hey: It's not them, it's me.

I'm intelligent but not enough to be considered an intelligent person. I'm pretty but certainly not enough to be considered a "stunning" girl. I'm good at some stuff but I guarantee most of my ex-lovers don't even know my major, or what my main instrument was for 9 years, and certainly not my goals. I'm sort of funny, but not memorably so. Weird, but not unforgettable. And definitely not sane enough for emotional consumption by the general public.

I am not a good memory in most lovers' books--more of a black mark than a gold star.

I am completely aware that I will be forever known as an accident, a mistake, a second choice, "that slutty girl I fucked," and/or "that cunt." Or, by many of you, as "my friend's whore/bitch of an ex-girlfriend." I am a novelty fuck and I'd be hard-pressed to recall the last time somebody I wanted to date actually wanted to date me rather than just fuck me for a while (and eventually give into the relationship). I'm always going to be known by the mistakes I've made and the embarrassments I've achieved; it doesn't matter if I became a fucking nun tomorrow, 90% of you who know me in real life have probably called me a whore at some point, whether it's to my face (rare) or not (quite common, from what I hear).

I'm not bitching and this is not a "poor me" post. I put myself here; my personality is like this and that's nobody's fault. My face is like this and that's nobody's fault either. I don't mind being unremarkable to most people as well as to myself, I guess. But trust me--it's unfortunate when you realize that even the people who supposedly love you the most will never find you to be, either. This was a bad week, and will get worse as of Saturday, so I think I will curl up with my fries and doughnuts and other things that will involve me eating my feelings and say goodnight.

I don't care if you think I'm whiney; you have probably thought worse things about me. And I can probably insult myself better than you can, so don't try and instead, go fuck yourself. Because after I finish eating my feelings, I'll probably do the same.