Hey! You! Yeah! Get fucked!

Something really, really sad happened to me today.

I can't talk about it in depth, because that will probably make it worse, but it's fucking killing me.

I haven't felt this horrible, this sorry for myself, and this sad in a year and a half, and I don't know how to deal with being me right now.

I wish I could write about it here, but this is all I can do.

People are terrible. They are awful, and selfish, and incomprehensibly cruel. I don't understand why this is, or where it comes from, or how people justify the way behave. I suppose I'll never understand that.

I'm many, many, MANY things. Some of them are intensely negative. However, there are boundaries that even I won't cross. This has been a year of having lines tested for me, and I want to be angry, but I'm not. I'm just....crushed. I don't know how else to describe it.

I want people to think about what they do, and how they treat people, and what their actions do to those around them. Specifically what they do to the people directly involved. If you think there's the slightest chance that the way you behave toward someone could hurt them, don't mother fucking do it.

Don't treat people like they're dispensable, even if you've told them they're not. People aren't stupid. They can tell the difference between you meaning what you say, and you being full of shit.

Don't single people out because you're insecure and ridiculous. The person you're ultimately hurting isn't who you think it is, and while the person you want to hurt gets hurt, too, the collateral damage is far worse than your spite can take note of.

I could keep going, I really could. I don't need to. It would just be nice if I could be treated like a fucking person, and like I matter, and like my addition to a certain life is as huge and meaningful as it is. Being disregarded is the god damn worst.

I still count. Knowing that I don't get a say so in not counting makes me want to fucking weep. Which I have spent a good deal of the afternoon doing. I'm going to go to class, take my quiz, and come back home, because I can't god damn function. I plan on coming home, going for a run, and losing myself in homework.

By the way, fuck you. You're fucking ugly, and full of shit, and I can only fucking hope that the way you treat me comes back to you, you worthless asshole. You've done nothing at all with yourself, despite the things you've done that you think make you better than everybody. You're no different, you're not special, and you are lower, more cruel, and less deserving of the insane amounts of good this world has to offer than anybody I've ever met in my entire life. I very literally hope you fucking die in a fire. Since I know the difference between literally and figuratively, I suggest you start playing with matches in a room full of something highly flammable, and preferably toxic.

Super Sad True Love Story

So, I may have changed an entry. The girl at the computer was replaced with:

The girl at her computer was too small a file, and when my computer wiped itself out last semester, that file went with it. This left me unable to resize it.

I don't mind. Entering isn't about winning (clearly, because I looked at last year's entries, and I'm not even in the same category as the winners), it was about doing it.

Now I can go make dinner. I've been fucking with my entries for over an hour.

Packing my belongings, and it's off into the evening.

A brief entry...

Well, brief-ish. I tend to have plans on staying small, and then I just talk a whole fucking lot. Probably because I have a lot of friends.

Anyway, Derek told me about Son'y photography contest, and I decided...fuck it. I'll enter. I don't think I stand a chance of winning (I've viewed some of the entries, and holy shit....they're stunning), but I'm going to enter, anyway. With these three photos:

These are three of my very favorite photos.

This one gets an honorable mention, and I may enter this in the place of one of the others:

I love this photo, too. But I'm not sure if I like it more than the murder truck. Allen thinks the murder truck is the safer bet, and I think he may be right.

These extensions are driving me absolutely bonkers. As much as I love Melissa, I don't think she did a very good job putting these in, so I'm going to have to text her about it tonight.

I'm actually going to COOK tonight, which is an amazing accomplishment. I haven''t cooked anything other than pancakes in an extremely long time. I'm making chicken stuffed with cheese and broccoli, mashed red potatoes (from scratch, thank you very much. None of that boxed shit today!), and corn on the cob. Plus, I bought a gorgeous loaf of french bread. Mostly because I am currently having a relationship with carbs. Instead of being a crazy cat lady as a single woman, I'm a relatively sane bread lady. And I'm alright with this.

Taste the sweetness of apples grown in Washington state

So, four hours of driving through absolutely awful rain proved a very few photos worth of fruitful.

I'm greatly disappointed. It was kind of a waste of a weekend.

Balls.

I'm killing every second 'til it saves my soul

It's disappointingly overcast out in Glenwood today. The drive up yesterday was gorgeous, and I only stopped once in Vail to get some pictures. It was supposed to be nice today, but uh...weather doesn't care.

The colors were beautiful in Lightroom, and it was fun to change them from orange to yellow (as demonstrated). I may or may not have sat in my hotel room with a bottle of rum all night, playing music and watching movies. It was kind of awesome. I just came back from downstairs, where breakfast was mostly a disappointment, HOWEVER, I did get to make myself a waffle! And I do love waffles.

I'm off to Rifle for now, and then to Crystal, where hopefully the ugly ass weather works for me instead of against me. We'll see. I'm not terribly hopeful at this point.

I'm fucking DRUNK.

I can't concentrate on my homework. I'm not quite sure how I feel right now, other than drunk, and unable to concentrate.

I think I might feel lonely and sad. Maybe. Probably. Yes, actually.

Today was a good day, but I don't have the mental capacity to write about it. I'll write about it tomorrow.

I need to stop trying to write this paper. I'm fairly positive it sounds fucking ridiculous.

Bring me another mai tai!

You know what's not awesome? Having a stomach bug yesterday.

I was completely out of commission, and today is only marginally better. My professor actually sent me home from class, so I must look AWESOME.

I can catch up on all of the stuff I didn't get done yesterday, and then later, I can go get all of my fake hairs. Oh boy.

Hey! Ooooh oh, we know how this story goes

So, today's trip to Royal Gorge was botched by bad timing. Lucky for me, there were perfectly marvelous abandoned trains in close proximity. So I broke into those instead. They were wonderfully creepy, but also incredibly sad. They had been lived in at one point...recently, but not recently enough that there wasn't a thin blanket of dust on all of the clothing and bed stuffs strewn about. Since I still don't have my tripod, I had to make do with holding my  breath to shoot photos in the very, VERY dimly lit cars. I eventually settled on putting my camera on the edge of the (burnt) seats and taking photos that way. I wasn't terribly pleased with the photos...and I took 100 of them...but I liked these few well enough.

This is the outside of the murder train. So named because I'm pretty sure that the murder truck was cut from the same cloth as the murder train. It was creepy as fuck in these cars, but I couldn't NOT go in them. I was afraid of getting shanked. I won't lie.

The inside of murder train the third (obviously these are not in order). There were all kinds of curses written on the window dust....mostly against the Pueblo police. It was kind of eerie reading "Curses for the things they've done to me" on every single window over and over and over. Also knowing I was less than five miles away from the prison. Not all that cool, if I do say so myself.

I know what you're thinking. "How did Drea get so sexy?" Practice. But I'm sure you're also thinking, "Why did she make that photo so green?" Spoiler: I didn't. That's the color of the inside of the car. The windows are filthy and tinted green, so the sunlight filtered through and cast this sickly green glow on everything. It looked like a horror movie.

I see you, train car! I couldn't get into this one, so this is the best shot I could muster. When I first arrived (and finding these cars was 100% an accident. I was more than willing to scrap the gorge and head on over to the abandoned mill in Victor...which may happen tomorrow, if I get all of my work done), there was this gorgeous glow coming through that top window. But the sun was in such a place that all I could take a picture of was blinding white light. Oh, well. This one will have to do.

This is the beginning of the abandoned train group. There are about six other cars, and two a quarter mile away that it was just too dark to go into by the time I spotted them.

Colorado makes me so very happy. It has such an abundance of tossed aside, unloved things. Those are my favorites.

 I really wish I had a tripod. I'll go back as soon as I do.

I'm covering up the blurriness with black and white, because I'm an artist and most decidedly not a bad photographer.

The light was so warm and delicious when I first got there. Nothing looked threatening or murdery at all!!!

I am exhausted. It was a long, long, day, and I have a day full of shopping and homework tomorrow. Excitement. My life is enviable.

I don't understand at best...cannot speak for all the rest

Ok. I'm going to try and make this quick, because I have so much homework to do.

So, Alabummer.

I actually went and saw a few really neat things. Like, who can forget a brief but illuminating visit to the KKK headquarters, Montgomery Chapter? And the mall in Birmingham, where I had awful mall japanese food (I didn't make that a proper noun, because the japanese part of that equation is imaginary) and met my little sister's "boyfriend". A term I use very loosely for very good reasons. I was dragged through Johnson and Murphy's...I think that's what it's called...to look at upscale fellow clothes...very boring.

Really, though, I did see some nice things.

We went to the Farmer's Market, and I people stalked the entire time. Someone asked Derek if he was with the newspaper as he went around taking pictures of everything. I'm not sure how he responded. But nobody asked me. I must not look as professional and distinguished as he does...probably because I was wearing my Michigan hoodie and yoga capri pants with flip flops. Anyway, my mom, Eric, and Syb bought their stuff, and Derek and I milled around taking photos of people. Here's what I got at the farmer's market:

I'm not terribly pleased with them, but I don't hate them enough to hide them. I did love the way it smelled in there, though. And I made four omelettes out of the farm fresh eggs my mom bought. She bought six dozen of them. I don't feel bad about my egg usage.

That day was a fairly lazy one. We also went to the bread store, where my mom spent literally 100 dollars on carbs (I don't hate that. I love carbs), we went to Costco, where I magpied over sparklies and my mom bought a shitload of meat, and then my mom took Derek and I to the old cemetery in Birmingham. First, though, we drove through the old part of the city, and went to the riverfront to see a big paddleboat. Derek set himself up with his tripod and tried in vain to get a picture of the big bridge that was about a mile away, even with his extend-o lens. I opted to take pictures of a couple that was PDA-ing so hard they were pretty much fucking. I don't mind that sort of thing, though. It's lovely to see people being in some form of loving contact. Once they were done with that, they walked off hand in hand, and the smaller girl would occasionally stop to peck her girlfriend on the cheek. I didn't realize until they walked away that they were lesbians, but that didn't really matter. I just really thought the other girl was a dude. I felt bad for that. Oh, well! She'll never know.

They looked happy. That made me happy.

We walked around the city for a bit, and came upon a church with pomegranate trees all about the thing. My mom yelled at me for trying to steal pomegranates from Jesus, and I told her he wouldn't  be eating them, and he liked feeding the hungry (though it takes about twelve hours to eat a pomegranate. Good going, JESUS. Thanks for the free, impossible to eat in a timely fashion food). They were unripe, anyway, so I guess my mom wins that round. The church itself was closed, but my mom fell in love with the doors. She asked me to take a picture of them for her, even though I thought the picture wouldn't be very good. As it turns out, she fucking loved it.

I'm fairly sure I'll be blowing it up and framing it for her for Christmas.

Then came the cemetery. It was so fucking cool. The three of us wound up playing "Find the oldest grave". My mom won with a grave dated 1709. I think Derek took a picture of that. I didn't, because my mom's head was in the way, and I didn't want to get up out of the car and into the humidity any more than I had to (a hoodie and yoga pants? Not so great a clothing choice, if I'm being honest). I did get out to take pictures of the field of sisters (religious, not ethnic), but none of those came out. We found a lot of confederate soldiers, and I had a lovely conversation with the groundskeeper about the proud south, and how it will rise again and make its fallen kinsmen proud. Wait. I spelled awkward l-o-v-e-l-y. How silly of me. I did snap this picture, though, and after about twenty minutes of fiddling with it, I really like it:

Most of these graves were families, and a lot of them had kids under the age of ten. It made my mom really sad. There was also an entire graveyard full of kids. I've seen that before (St. Augustine is pretty much comprised of two things: Forts, and dead kids from hundreds of years ago), but it never stops being startling and sad. I'm really not one for kids....I'm not even a passing fan....but still...other people are, and it must be fucking AWFUL to live with that emptiness when you expect your six year old to live far longer. Anyway, I don't want to be depressing. Moving on.

We did go out to dinner for my mom's birthday, and I had a bowl of vinaigrette with a leaf on the side, Derek had a gorgeous steak with some sort of decorated tuber (and now I can't stop picturing a potato in a hat and glitter), my mom and Syb shared a prime rib that looked like it was cut off of an angelic cow and sent here by some sort of god that clearly wants the world to be happy, and it was served with green beans that I'm pretty sure had zip codes, because they were god damn enormous. Eric had ahi tuna steak with ginger and black sesame seeds, and he loved it so much he no shit ordered two plates, and an extra plate to share. I was the only one that didn't have any, because I filled up on salad dressing soup. That's a lie. My salad was fucking awful, so I ate the perfection personified as sourdough bread they just kept giving me. I fucking love bread.

I just read that to Allen and told him I should be a food critic. We agreed to disagree.

The last day there, we went to the museum (there's culture in Alabama that isn't racist!!!!! WHO KNEW?) to see the Lethal Beauty exhibit (it was incredible). We couldn't take pictures, but my mom DID buy the Lethal Beauty Exhibit book for me to take home to Allen. Photos were allowed in the permanent exhibits, though tripods weren't allowed. So I took a few very shaky pictures in the other galleries.

I had been walking around the museum in heel for hours, so I left and walked across the street to the park. There was a gospel festival going on, so I used my skills of a creeper. It proved effective. I wasn't very happy with the photos, though the subjects did make me happy. Until one of them made me sad.

Happy:

They were having such a nice afternoon together. She was laughing, and he was smiling. They were, by all superficial accounts, happy.

This ridiculous fellow:

He's just silly with his fisheye lens.

And then, there was this gentleman. His eyes made my heart hurt. I spoke with him, very briefly, and he was so cordial and polite. He even called me ma'am.

When I initially encountered him, I was taking pictures of a mom playing with her daughter, and I wasn't paying any kind of attention to how I was hogging up the entire (narrow) sidewalk. I heard someone say, "Excuse me" so I looked up, and there he was, and my heart ached. The picture doesn't really do justice (a fucked up word to use, really) to how dingy and unloved he looked. So I smiled at him, and apologized for being in his way. He said, "Not at all, ma'am." So I asked him how he was enjoying the music. He said it was just noise. I agreed. He commented on my camera and asked me if I was a photographer. I said I was, in a manner of speaking, though I'm not very good. He said ok, and then turned around. I told him it was nice to meet him, and I hoped he had a good day. Which felt empty and hollow, and I felt shitty about it, but I didn't know what else to say. He walked away. When my mom and Syb and Eric were done with the museum, I walked across the street to meet them at the parking garage, and I saw my sad eyed man sitting next to the entrance of the park. Perhaps I misread his situation due to his appearance, but even if that's the case, there was no mistake about the look in his eyes. The were red, and far away, and sad. I wanted to hug him hard enough that maybe he wouldn't look so sad, but I didn't, because I don't think that's possible. I thought about him all day.

Anyway, the trip itself was fairly uneventful. It was relaxing, though very, very humid. My family greatly enjoyed Derek's company. So much so that my mom doted on him more than she doted on me. We drank every night, we chatted long into the early morning hours, and I took many, many naps. I needed to sleep, so I did. The best part?

NO CAR ACCIDENTS.

All we can do, my love, is hope we don't take this ship down

I'm just now home from my longest day of the week. I made myself a bite to eat (I destroyed a very small lunchable at the start of class....five  hours ago. It didn't help me feel anything but irritated that I didn't buy twenty fucking lunchables to eat), sat down to do homework, and realized how tired I am. I thought maybe I'd post my pictures from Alabama right now, but I'm about to fall asleep instead.

New York's hottest club is WESH

I'm eating a bag of Skittles and drinking a Rockstar, because I make good, solid choices in my life. I'm taking another break from studying, because I actually flew through my chapter piece and Learning Curve. And I'm spending that time with my rats, watching these:

No matter how many times I watch this, I laugh so hard I cry.

Booooooooof. With nine O's.

Located in the middle of the East River, this club has everything.

It's that thing of where two jacked midgets paint themselves orange and you have to parallel park between them.

I can't stop laughing. The best is watching him break character, and how little it matters to the overall success of the skit.

I don't want to do anything right now. I think the Skittles were a bad idea.

Edit, but only sort of: Since I didn't actually post this, I'm technically just adding on. An hour later, I've worked my way through two sections, two learning curves, and a mastery quiz (which I tanked with a 78. Oops. It probably would have helped if I had actually paid attention to the two sections I read), which probably doesn't sound like much, but it is. I promise. And I have a VERY trustworthy face, despite the rumors other people spread.

It weirds me out that my fat black cat is sitting on the couch, purring for no reason. She's purring like I've been showering her with affection when, in reality, I've been looking at her every few minutes and telling her she's fat and then carrying on with my life. Which I need to do now. It's 1 am and I need to get at least a little bit of sleep so I can pretend to function tomorrow at work. I have to skip class tomorrow night so I can pack. I'm certainly not getting that done tonight.

Last order of the day:

Tonight is the perfect night for this song. I can't explain why, but I've listened to it over and over and over.

The last time I listened to this song was during Hurricane Wilma. My power was out, and all I had was a battery operated CD player. I listened to this song in the dark until I fell asleep every single night.

In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene

It's been a wonderful few days off of school. I stayed home and got so, so, SO much homework done. I also had a little bit of fun with myself, and it felt nice knowing that I COULD, because I'm ahead of the homework game.

Allen and I binge-watched Drunk History, and have been saying a few priceless gems back and forth, like "Well. You're an asshole. Boom boom boom." I told him that I want to get him shitfaced drunk and make him talk about history (since he's a huge history buff). Probably because I don't have an original thought in my head.

Tomorrow is my long day at school. I have class from 8 am until 10 pm. I'm starting the day bright and early with a faux debate that promises to be utter horseshit. Thursday won't be so bad, but SHIT, I just remembered that I didn't read the chapter. Just the article. Mother fuck. Welp. That gives me something to do in between classes tomorrow, I guess. Apparently, I'm not as caught up as I thought I was.

I can tell you that, after some extremely solid research, drinking red wine out of the bottle at midnight is none of the following things: unclassy, pathetic, or indicative of bigger problems. It is, however, just delightful.