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Before I go into my whole… horrible part of last night, I do want to talk about some good parts.

I made a grand at work on Tuesday night. Actually, technically, I made $1200. But after tipping out our ungodly percentage, I walked with a grand. Dead fucking Tuesday night. I wasn’t enjoying being back – it was awkward for me. But my friend was there, happy I was back… and she found a customer who was willing to take us both to VIP. We thought he’d only be in there a half an hour. Four hours later… well… yeah. Cleanest fucking time in VIP I’ve ever had in that club. Cleanest I’ve ever made that much amount of money. All we seriously did was dance and drink. It was crazy.

I thanked God so much for that. And you know me, I’m a skeptic. But that? I in no way deserved that. My lazy ass didn’t go to a work for a month. An ENTIRE month. I should not have been given that.

Anyway, so. My thing with money though is money + drugs = sexy. So when I get the chance to get free coke, did I say no? Of course I didn’t. Free drugs are free drugs, and as long as it isn’t meth I thought I wouldn’t feel bad about it. After all, since I’ve been “clean” I have done ecstasy once, adderal maybe three times. Nothing major, but you know, just sometimes. So when I get money, for some reason I associate that with drugs. Not even spending it. But to me? Snorting a line or six with a hundred dollar bill feels fucking sexy to me.

Of course the guy giving it to me wants in my pants. I’ve been clear on this matter many times to him and he just doesn’t seem to get it. But that’s not my problem. I’m sick of repeating myself.

Right so. Pretty much passed the fuck out that night… went over my friends house and we played WoW a bit and then passed out. Next day we slept pretty much all fucking day, then get up, went out to lunch, came back, passed out, got up, went to Dave & Busters, ate, played games, went out to a bar.

Come back to their house: sex.

Which, don’t get me wrong, I very much like both of these people. I enjoy having spontaneous threesomes one cause holy HELL can this girl squirt more than I’ve ever seen anyone do in my ENTIRE LIFE, and two, it’s just… IDK. Fun. Ha. Anyway, problem is… once I had woken up I had been doing lines the whole night. I didn’t tell them. They both like for serious don’t do drugs.

Of course she finds out. Knows I’m not drunk, that something else is wrong with me. I tell her. She’s fine with it at first – not happy – but fine. She’s not now, not after my freak out. She called me an addict. I got upset. Really upset. She was trying to help, but I can’t be called an addict.

Coke makes me hyper aware of what’s going on. For all the times I’ve had sex in my life, I try very much to be on something that dulls everything around me. I don’t ever want to know my own sex.

So she totally called me out on faking my orgasm last time. I told her I just do that and make all the damn sound effects so I don’t fuck peoples self esteem up. It’s really really hard to get me off. Seriously. I can’t even get myself off half the time. Anyway, of course I try to compensate by telling them I do enjoy sex, but I enjoy sex for another reason: abuse.

They tried, they really did. But they are not abusive, hurtful people. They couldn’t do it the way I needed.

And then I just… fucking broke. I don’t know how, or why, but I ran into the bathroom and chain-smoked like a bitch to try to get myself to calm down.

She came in, tried to make me talk. I refused, I didn’t want to explain. More pushing and I just told her I can’t be aware of what’s going on when I have sex because I THINK SEX IS WRONG. I know that’s stupid, it makes no sense, but I feel like it’s wrong. Like it’s a dirty thing to do and I shouldn’t be doing it. That I’m disgusting for participating in it. I started crying, and she kept saying its okay, the way I want sex, everyone fantasies about weird shit and I told her no, that she has no fucking clue the fucked up things I fantasize about. There is one that I vowed to never, ever tell another living soul.

And she pushed and pushed and I screamed and I broke and I told her. Its disgusting, vile, horrible shit that makes me feel like I should kill myself for even thinking about.

I will not write it here.

I can’t believe she told me it’s okay. It’s okay that I think about that, that it makes so much sense because of what I’ve been through. And I KNOW that. I know WHY, psychologically I can think that. That doesn’t make it better. I would never do it, I couldn’t. I’d rip my fucking goddamn face off before I ever did something like that. But that doesn’t change how disgusting it is. Thoughts like that should never run through someone’s mind. And the main reason being to just destroy, lash out, revenge, steal someone else’s soul… that’s sick, twisted crap.

I hate myself so much for it. For everything I do or even think about sexually. I hate sex, I really do. Sex just continues to destroy me.

And yet I run my entire fucking life around it.

I have a serious problem. I know I do. I just… fuck. I’m so sick of all my problems. No human being should be allowed to have this many fucking issues. It’s just not right. It’s just not fucking fair.

Labels: abuse, addiction, drugs, sex

A million things to do. A million more I could do. A shaky hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in front of me and I flick the lighter a couple time to make it produce a flame something close to useable. A glance over at the purse on the coffee table as I take my first inhale. I close my eyes, trying to calm down. I was beating this before, wasn't I? A flash to Wednesday night.

"Hey, you got any shit?"

I look up at the dancer in front of me, "I... no. I haven't felt the need to."

"Can you get some?"

"Yeah, I cam make some calls for you." Temptation. Oh, the temptation. Half of me decided to get some for myself. Fortunately, everyone was tapped out that night.

Get drunk, go home, pass out. Forget the temptation. I'm okay, it was just because the opportunity was there. I'm a sucker for opportunity.

Flash to Thursday afternoon. Nap time. The phone goes off, once, twice. Finally on the third time I get annoyed and drag myself out of bed.

"WHAT? I was fucking sleeping." Is how I answer it after I see who's calling.

"We're coming over, people are meeting us over there in a couple hours." [edited to removed names]

"What? No, my house is a fucking disaster."

"Then clean it."

"Fuck, fine. Jesus, what is this, a huge dope meeting?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Half awake, freaking out making my house presentable for company for an hour or two. The phone rings again.

"Nevermind, we gotta go back home to the kids."

"Are you FUCKING kidding me? I just cleaned my entire goddamn house!"

"Sorry, go back to bed."

Aggravated sigh. I can't sleep now. My minds on dope. Back to the computer, do something fandom related, it'll keep my mind off of it.

A chapter written of my Parker/Sophie fan fiction. It was painful to get through, and didn't enjoy writing it at all. I'm having a problem now, I can see it. I knew this was going to happen.

I finally sleep, though I'm up at 6:30am. How did I fuck up my sleep this much? I used to never see daylight.

Something else. Do something, anything. Find a way to contact Beth, there we go. Hours of searching, nothing but her Scientology courses she completed and a website that's entitled "Beth Riesgraf Photography". You need a password to get in it. I think I remember reading somewhere that she did photography, I couldn't remember.

I had the thought to try to bypass the password, hack it somehow, just to do something to keep my mind off things. But I've never been able to hack anything in my life. My skills with a computer don't reach that kind of level. I'm no Hardison.

Yeah, I would just make a Leverage reference.

Maybe she has her photography somewhere else, it's worth a shot. So I type in [something, I wont say cause I don't think I should have been able to do this] into my searchbar, and accidently find the backdoor into her website without needing a password. Whoops, but oh well.

Click on it, one album, nothing else. Nothing to even confirm that it's actually the right Beth Riesgraf I'm looking for either. I give up, forget it. I've never tried to try to contact an actress before, and I am finding this far too difficult to do. I had half a thought to just create my own fansite, fuck the official title, but I still don't have nearly enough information on the woman to attempt it.

Dope, I need dope. Phone call. They'll be over in a couple hours.

Fuck it. I need to be able to think again. I need to stop shaking and scratching myself. I need to be able to get shit done, and I can't do it like this anymore. I lasted I think a week and a half or two weeks this time. I can't remember. But I'm getting better, slowly.

Labels: addiction, beth riesgraf, dope, leverage, meth, strippers

Whoever said skitzers aren't productive? Lies, all LIES.

I fell off the sober wagon today. And while I was beating myself up over it earlier, because the only reason I smoked was so that I could stop being dope sick AND having a cold at the same time. That was really killing me, and it was very hard to try to get to sleep. I also started getting really nauseated and started gagging.

Gagging, not puking. I never puke. Sometimes I think my body doesn't know how. Then I remember the times that I do, and they only include food poisoning and a massive pill overdose. But I can stick my fingers all the way down my throat and wiggle them about and nothing happens. It's really quite annoying, actually, because you know when you puke you feel better. So do I ever feel better? Nope!

It was ten in the morning, and I was really tiered. My eyes were getting heavy, my back was hurting, and I was feeling even more nauseated. Then one of my friends calls, and tells me she's gonna come over early in the afternoon. I say that's fine, after all, it's been awhile since I've been able to hang out with my friends.

I know if I went to bed then, then by the time she got here, would be when she wakes me up. And my house... was disgusting. Not dirty, not messy... DISGUSTING.

So me, completely sober and VERY sick, starts to obsessively clean my house for about two hours. And not just pick up trash, but wiping down surfaces and stuff. If you know me, that's pretty damn good. I hate cleaning, really, I do. The only time I ever do it is when company comes over. Otherwise, I'm perfectly happy living in my filth. Gross, I know. But true.

Later on in the afternoon, my friend comes over bearing... dope. And to be honest, there was no thinking, no choices, it was there and I did it. And to be honest, after I did it, I started to feel SO much better. And I don't just mean from the high. My sickness was pretty much gone, besides the cough. Dope is my medicine, apparently. How quaint.

Later on in the evening, we meet up with another friend, and everyone comes back to my place. I was currently in the middle of redoing the layout to my website, which I started late last night.

Now see, most people are under the impression that meth makes you do things like clean obsessively, or sit there for hours doing some stupid mundane thing. No, not me. When I skitz out, I need to be on my computer. I do productive things. I am a VERY productive skitzer. And hell, today, I was fucking hella productive.

After watching the new Leverage, my friends take over the TV and I sit my happy little ass on the computer. I finished the layout for my personal website ( Sapphire Smoke Online ) and even added the bones one shot story, and a Bellatrix/Narcissa fan fiction I'm currently in the middle of.

Then I decided, well fuck, my website for Hudson needs a new layout too!

So what do I do? Redesign my entire layout for the website ( Hudson-Leick.Info ). Really, I've been meaning to redo that thing for months now. MONTHS. And I got it done in a matter of... I believe four or five hours. I'm very proud of myself.

Is it wrong to think I shouldn't quit?

Probably.

Everyone has been so supportive of me overcoming my drug problem, but this is why I've always liked it. It gives me the focus and desire to do things that usually I don't have the patience to do, but I need to get done. I'm just starting to think that maybe I just shouldn't combine that many drugs again, but the meth is okay.

Which really, I know it's not, because I know without a doubt that I'm addicted to it now, which I never thought I would be. But I NEEDED it, and I've never in my life needed it. I've never in my life gotten sick because I didn't have it.

I don't know, I got a lot of things to think about.

Labels: addiction, cleaning, dope sick, drugs, hudson leick, ice, meth, productivity, sick, website design, withdrawals

I find it surprising how much I've gotten done today with being horribly sick. I keep coughing up some really gross things, and it's not very fun. I also have yet to clean my house, but um... tomorrow? I decided to take a couple days off because of my sickness, and to get all the things I need to get done, done.

I'll be back to work on Wednesday, and will probably end up working through Sunday. I have yet to decide to go back to Mainstage yet, because Ft. Worth Gentleman's is really not doing me or Dani any good right now, but we'll see.

So I woke up today with absolutely no text messages. You have no idea how wonderful that is for me right now. I usually wake up with about ten missed calls and five new texts. I did have three missed calls from Brandi, but I called her back a little later in the night.

I crawl my sick ass to the computer, and sit in the most uncomfortable computer chair in the world, and start to check my things. I go on facebook, and see that Hudson accepted my friend request. So I send her a message on her wall, pretty much saying that I was under the impression that her and computers don't mix very well, but that I was glad she was on there. And to be honest, I am now. I've gotten over the fear of Hudson knowing all my little things that I do, she knows the kind of person I am, and that I'm influenced a lot by sexuality, so I know it's no surprise for her. She wrote me back a couple minutes later with:

"keep surrendering
i send you much love
h"

Of course I was like wait, surrender to what? Sometimes I have a hard time understanding her, so I sent her a private message and asked. She explained that I need to surrender to God, or my idea of God (basically whatever I think put me on this earth), that I need to scream, cry, pray, do whatever it takes. That my addiction is ruled by my mind, and that I shouldn't surrender to it.

I attempted to grasp that concept, and kind of just left it at that. I kinda need to take what she tells me in small doses, otherwise when she overloads me I feel trapped and vulnerable and then I start to get angry at her honesty. She hasn't done the bluntly honest thing with me yet, but I'm damn sure it'll come in time.

Anyway, she leaves a couple picture comments, and then so do a bunch of my yoga friends, so when I came back I had like 14 new notifications or something, and was all overwhelmed by the large conversations on my pictures.

I'm overcome my blog music problem, if you haven't noticed. Mini YouTube videos! Good enough. And by the way, why the fuck adsense in taking over my tageboard is beyond me. Someone write some shit in there so it might go away. I've never seen that happen before.

I decided it was time for my website to get a new layout, so I made one on Photoshop. After that though, I stopped. I have yet to do the coding. I'll get there eventually though.

Later on, I decided it was time to finally do that smoking fetish video request. It was supposed to be at least 20 minutes, but it only ended up being 10. I'm going to explain to the guy that I'm sick, and I couldn't do 20 minutes. I swear, after each cigarette I stopped the video and coughed up a lung and a half. It was bad, it was getting me light headed and shit. I can't chain smoke sick, people!

Afterwards, I get a brilliant idea to do a new porn video, in the style of my lip sync music videos I did on YouTube. It was a lot of fun, even sick, and I think it turned out awesome. I have some bad ass makeup, and at the beginning I made it like how the beginning of "Poker face" starts (which is the song I did it too, have you noticed my obsession with this song yet?), with the stop, go, rewind, go, stop, thing only I'm undressing myself. Its really really bad ass. I'm proud of myself.

I wish I had some deep thoughts to post today like I did when I was all crazy and shit, but I don't. Maybe tomorrow, but lets not hold our breaths, shall we?

Labels: addiction, drugs, facebook, fetish, hudson leick, lady gaga, layout, poker face, porn, smoking, videos, websites

Before I go into my whole… horrible part of last night, I do want to talk about some good parts.

I made a grand at work on Tuesday night. Actually, technically, I made $1200. But after tipping out our ungodly percentage, I walked with a grand. Dead fucking Tuesday night. I wasn’t enjoying being back – it was awkward for me. But my friend was there, happy I was back… and she found a customer who was willing to take us both to VIP. We thought he’d only be in there a half an hour. Four hours later… well… yeah. Cleanest fucking time in VIP I’ve ever had in that club. Cleanest I’ve ever made that much amount of money. All we seriously did was dance and drink. It was crazy.

I thanked God so much for that. And you know me, I’m a skeptic. But that? I in no way deserved that. My lazy ass didn’t go to a work for a month. An ENTIRE month. I should not have been given that.

Anyway, so. My thing with money though is money + drugs = sexy. So when I get the chance to get free coke, did I say no? Of course I didn’t. Free drugs are free drugs, and as long as it isn’t meth I thought I wouldn’t feel bad about it. After all, since I’ve been “clean” I have done ecstasy once, adderal maybe three times. Nothing major, but you know, just sometimes. So when I get money, for some reason I associate that with drugs. Not even spending it. But to me? Snorting a line or six with a hundred dollar bill feels fucking sexy to me.

Of course the guy giving it to me wants in my pants. I’ve been clear on this matter many times to him and he just doesn’t seem to get it. But that’s not my problem. I’m sick of repeating myself.

Right so. Pretty much passed the fuck out that night… went over my friends house and we played WoW a bit and then passed out. Next day we slept pretty much all fucking day, then get up, went out to lunch, came back, passed out, got up, went to Dave & Busters, ate, played games, went out to a bar.

Come back to their house: sex.

Which, don’t get me wrong, I very much like both of these people. I enjoy having spontaneous threesomes one cause holy HELL can this girl squirt more than I’ve ever seen anyone do in my ENTIRE LIFE, and two, it’s just… IDK. Fun. Ha. Anyway, problem is… once I had woken up I had been doing lines the whole night. I didn’t tell them. They both like for serious don’t do drugs.

Of course she finds out. Knows I’m not drunk, that something else is wrong with me. I tell her. She’s fine with it at first – not happy – but fine. She’s not now, not after my freak out. She called me an addict. I got upset. Really upset. She was trying to help, but I can’t be called an addict.

Coke makes me hyper aware of what’s going on. For all the times I’ve had sex in my life, I try very much to be on something that dulls everything around me. I don’t ever want to know my own sex.

So she totally called me out on faking my orgasm last time. I told her I just do that and make all the damn sound effects so I don’t fuck peoples self esteem up. It’s really really hard to get me off. Seriously. I can’t even get myself off half the time. Anyway, of course I try to compensate by telling them I do enjoy sex, but I enjoy sex for another reason: abuse.

They tried, they really did. But they are not abusive, hurtful people. They couldn’t do it the way I needed.

And then I just… fucking broke. I don’t know how, or why, but I ran into the bathroom and chain-smoked like a bitch to try to get myself to calm down.

She came in, tried to make me talk. I refused, I didn’t want to explain. More pushing and I just told her I can’t be aware of what’s going on when I have sex because I THINK SEX IS WRONG. I know that’s stupid, it makes no sense, but I feel like it’s wrong. Like it’s a dirty thing to do and I shouldn’t be doing it. That I’m disgusting for participating in it. I started crying, and she kept saying its okay, the way I want sex, everyone fantasies about weird shit and I told her no, that she has no fucking clue the fucked up things I fantasize about. There is one that I vowed to never, ever tell another living soul.

And she pushed and pushed and I screamed and I broke and I told her. Its disgusting, vile, horrible shit that makes me feel like I should kill myself for even thinking about.

I will not write it here.

I can’t believe she told me it’s okay. It’s okay that I think about that, that it makes so much sense because of what I’ve been through. And I KNOW that. I know WHY, psychologically I can think that. That doesn’t make it better. I would never do it, I couldn’t. I’d rip my fucking goddamn face off before I ever did something like that. But that doesn’t change how disgusting it is. Thoughts like that should never run through someone’s mind. And the main reason being to just destroy, lash out, revenge, steal someone else’s soul… that’s sick, twisted crap.

I hate myself so much for it. For everything I do or even think about sexually. I hate sex, I really do. Sex just continues to destroy me.

And yet I run my entire fucking life around it.

I have a serious problem. I know I do. I just… fuck. I’m so sick of all my problems. No human being should be allowed to have this many fucking issues. It’s just not right. It’s just not fucking fair.

Labels: abuse, addiction, drugs, sex

A million things to do. A million more I could do. A shaky hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes in front of me and I flick the lighter a couple time to make it produce a flame something close to useable. A glance over at the purse on the coffee table as I take my first inhale. I close my eyes, trying to calm down. I was beating this before, wasn't I? A flash to Wednesday night.

"Hey, you got any shit?"

I look up at the dancer in front of me, "I... no. I haven't felt the need to."

"Can you get some?"

"Yeah, I cam make some calls for you." Temptation. Oh, the temptation. Half of me decided to get some for myself. Fortunately, everyone was tapped out that night.

Get drunk, go home, pass out. Forget the temptation. I'm okay, it was just because the opportunity was there. I'm a sucker for opportunity.

Flash to Thursday afternoon. Nap time. The phone goes off, once, twice. Finally on the third time I get annoyed and drag myself out of bed.

"WHAT? I was fucking sleeping." Is how I answer it after I see who's calling.

"We're coming over, people are meeting us over there in a couple hours." [edited to removed names]

"What? No, my house is a fucking disaster."

"Then clean it."

"Fuck, fine. Jesus, what is this, a huge dope meeting?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Half awake, freaking out making my house presentable for company for an hour or two. The phone rings again.

"Nevermind, we gotta go back home to the kids."

"Are you FUCKING kidding me? I just cleaned my entire goddamn house!"

"Sorry, go back to bed."

Aggravated sigh. I can't sleep now. My minds on dope. Back to the computer, do something fandom related, it'll keep my mind off of it.

A chapter written of my Parker/Sophie fan fiction. It was painful to get through, and didn't enjoy writing it at all. I'm having a problem now, I can see it. I knew this was going to happen.

I finally sleep, though I'm up at 6:30am. How did I fuck up my sleep this much? I used to never see daylight.

Something else. Do something, anything. Find a way to contact Beth, there we go. Hours of searching, nothing but her Scientology courses she completed and a website that's entitled "Beth Riesgraf Photography". You need a password to get in it. I think I remember reading somewhere that she did photography, I couldn't remember.

I had the thought to try to bypass the password, hack it somehow, just to do something to keep my mind off things. But I've never been able to hack anything in my life. My skills with a computer don't reach that kind of level. I'm no Hardison.

Yeah, I would just make a Leverage reference.

Maybe she has her photography somewhere else, it's worth a shot. So I type in [something, I wont say cause I don't think I should have been able to do this] into my searchbar, and accidently find the backdoor into her website without needing a password. Whoops, but oh well.

Click on it, one album, nothing else. Nothing to even confirm that it's actually the right Beth Riesgraf I'm looking for either. I give up, forget it. I've never tried to try to contact an actress before, and I am finding this far too difficult to do. I had half a thought to just create my own fansite, fuck the official title, but I still don't have nearly enough information on the woman to attempt it.

Dope, I need dope. Phone call. They'll be over in a couple hours.

Fuck it. I need to be able to think again. I need to stop shaking and scratching myself. I need to be able to get shit done, and I can't do it like this anymore. I lasted I think a week and a half or two weeks this time. I can't remember. But I'm getting better, slowly.

Labels: addiction, beth riesgraf, dope, leverage, meth, strippers

Whoever said skitzers aren't productive? Lies, all LIES.

I fell off the sober wagon today. And while I was beating myself up over it earlier, because the only reason I smoked was so that I could stop being dope sick AND having a cold at the same time. That was really killing me, and it was very hard to try to get to sleep. I also started getting really nauseated and started gagging.

Gagging, not puking. I never puke. Sometimes I think my body doesn't know how. Then I remember the times that I do, and they only include food poisoning and a massive pill overdose. But I can stick my fingers all the way down my throat and wiggle them about and nothing happens. It's really quite annoying, actually, because you know when you puke you feel better. So do I ever feel better? Nope!

It was ten in the morning, and I was really tiered. My eyes were getting heavy, my back was hurting, and I was feeling even more nauseated. Then one of my friends calls, and tells me she's gonna come over early in the afternoon. I say that's fine, after all, it's been awhile since I've been able to hang out with my friends.

I know if I went to bed then, then by the time she got here, would be when she wakes me up. And my house... was disgusting. Not dirty, not messy... DISGUSTING.

So me, completely sober and VERY sick, starts to obsessively clean my house for about two hours. And not just pick up trash, but wiping down surfaces and stuff. If you know me, that's pretty damn good. I hate cleaning, really, I do. The only time I ever do it is when company comes over. Otherwise, I'm perfectly happy living in my filth. Gross, I know. But true.

Later on in the afternoon, my friend comes over bearing... dope. And to be honest, there was no thinking, no choices, it was there and I did it. And to be honest, after I did it, I started to feel SO much better. And I don't just mean from the high. My sickness was pretty much gone, besides the cough. Dope is my medicine, apparently. How quaint.

Later on in the evening, we meet up with another friend, and everyone comes back to my place. I was currently in the middle of redoing the layout to my website, which I started late last night.

Now see, most people are under the impression that meth makes you do things like clean obsessively, or sit there for hours doing some stupid mundane thing. No, not me. When I skitz out, I need to be on my computer. I do productive things. I am a VERY productive skitzer. And hell, today, I was fucking hella productive.

After watching the new Leverage, my friends take over the TV and I sit my happy little ass on the computer. I finished the layout for my personal website ( Sapphire Smoke Online ) and even added the bones one shot story, and a Bellatrix/Narcissa fan fiction I'm currently in the middle of.

Then I decided, well fuck, my website for Hudson needs a new layout too!

So what do I do? Redesign my entire layout for the website ( Hudson-Leick.Info ). Really, I've been meaning to redo that thing for months now. MONTHS. And I got it done in a matter of... I believe four or five hours. I'm very proud of myself.

Is it wrong to think I shouldn't quit?

Probably.

Everyone has been so supportive of me overcoming my drug problem, but this is why I've always liked it. It gives me the focus and desire to do things that usually I don't have the patience to do, but I need to get done. I'm just starting to think that maybe I just shouldn't combine that many drugs again, but the meth is okay.

Which really, I know it's not, because I know without a doubt that I'm addicted to it now, which I never thought I would be. But I NEEDED it, and I've never in my life needed it. I've never in my life gotten sick because I didn't have it.

I don't know, I got a lot of things to think about.

Labels: addiction, cleaning, dope sick, drugs, hudson leick, ice, meth, productivity, sick, website design, withdrawals

I find it surprising how much I've gotten done today with being horribly sick. I keep coughing up some really gross things, and it's not very fun. I also have yet to clean my house, but um... tomorrow? I decided to take a couple days off because of my sickness, and to get all the things I need to get done, done.

I'll be back to work on Wednesday, and will probably end up working through Sunday. I have yet to decide to go back to Mainstage yet, because Ft. Worth Gentleman's is really not doing me or Dani any good right now, but we'll see.

So I woke up today with absolutely no text messages. You have no idea how wonderful that is for me right now. I usually wake up with about ten missed calls and five new texts. I did have three missed calls from Brandi, but I called her back a little later in the night.

I crawl my sick ass to the computer, and sit in the most uncomfortable computer chair in the world, and start to check my things. I go on facebook, and see that Hudson accepted my friend request. So I send her a message on her wall, pretty much saying that I was under the impression that her and computers don't mix very well, but that I was glad she was on there. And to be honest, I am now. I've gotten over the fear of Hudson knowing all my little things that I do, she knows the kind of person I am, and that I'm influenced a lot by sexuality, so I know it's no surprise for her. She wrote me back a couple minutes later with:

"keep surrendering
i send you much love
h"

Of course I was like wait, surrender to what? Sometimes I have a hard time understanding her, so I sent her a private message and asked. She explained that I need to surrender to God, or my idea of God (basically whatever I think put me on this earth), that I need to scream, cry, pray, do whatever it takes. That my addiction is ruled by my mind, and that I shouldn't surrender to it.

I attempted to grasp that concept, and kind of just left it at that. I kinda need to take what she tells me in small doses, otherwise when she overloads me I feel trapped and vulnerable and then I start to get angry at her honesty. She hasn't done the bluntly honest thing with me yet, but I'm damn sure it'll come in time.

Anyway, she leaves a couple picture comments, and then so do a bunch of my yoga friends, so when I came back I had like 14 new notifications or something, and was all overwhelmed by the large conversations on my pictures.

I'm overcome my blog music problem, if you haven't noticed. Mini YouTube videos! Good enough. And by the way, why the fuck adsense in taking over my tageboard is beyond me. Someone write some shit in there so it might go away. I've never seen that happen before.

I decided it was time for my website to get a new layout, so I made one on Photoshop. After that though, I stopped. I have yet to do the coding. I'll get there eventually though.

Later on, I decided it was time to finally do that smoking fetish video request. It was supposed to be at least 20 minutes, but it only ended up being 10. I'm going to explain to the guy that I'm sick, and I couldn't do 20 minutes. I swear, after each cigarette I stopped the video and coughed up a lung and a half. It was bad, it was getting me light headed and shit. I can't chain smoke sick, people!

Afterwards, I get a brilliant idea to do a new porn video, in the style of my lip sync music videos I did on YouTube. It was a lot of fun, even sick, and I think it turned out awesome. I have some bad ass makeup, and at the beginning I made it like how the beginning of "Poker face" starts (which is the song I did it too, have you noticed my obsession with this song yet?), with the stop, go, rewind, go, stop, thing only I'm undressing myself. Its really really bad ass. I'm proud of myself.

I wish I had some deep thoughts to post today like I did when I was all crazy and shit, but I don't. Maybe tomorrow, but lets not hold our breaths, shall we?

Labels: addiction, drugs, facebook, fetish, hudson leick, lady gaga, layout, poker face, porn, smoking, videos, websites

My name is Mary. I'm a 24 year old creative mess. I like to tell stories in anyway that I can, though mostly through visual artwork. I enjoy film editing, writing, modeling, photography, dancing, and website design. I'm a lesbian. I'm bipolar. I'm stronger than I usually give myself credit for. I'm a recovering drug addict. I'm passionate as all hell. I'm a beautiful disaster. I want to be free. I want to fly.

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