Blaming January is the easiest thing I've ever done. I've painted it black, taken it back, and now, I stand dripping, big blotches of tar staining my feet. I can blame January for bringing a new year, new life, and just so easily say fuck it all, but I can't, because of this:







Quinn Rhys Anderson.

My face looks like someone beat it with a stick, I'm working a 60 hour week, school started on Tuesday, my feet are messed up again, maybe even surgery worthy, I'm not sleeping enough, I go out every night for dinner, and my house is so cold that the floor is icy.

I LOVE LIFE. This is what being young is about. I don't mind running my ass off if I'm happy and I am SO happy.

Though, to be honest, I wish my face looked a little better.

Baggage, holding me down, drowning me in ridicule. Baggage, that tugs and pulls and forces me to live another's life because I can't live my own without it. Baggage, that follows me in every second and reminds me constantly that without me, it stays, alone and gathering dust, and so I feel guilty and bring it along.

This tattered rucksack is full of holes and, unlike Kerouac, is no longer worthy of the road less traveled, of the wrong and long way home. Bless this broken road and bless my baby, because from here on out, I'm going solo. I'll buy a new bag in Birmingham if I have to.

New relationships. Want to go to Friday’s? We know where you sleep. You like WHO? Maybe we can just skip class and go to the beach. I love everything about you. His name is Josh. I think we can make it work. Whatever it takes. How about Wal-Mart, ice cream, and margarita mix? I think I’m pregnant. This is the most exciting thing ever!!! They’re an Orlando based band. IDK, my BFF Jill? Turn that shit off. People need new names. Old relationships. Warped Tour. Senses failed. I like the seedy underbelly of it all. I know, but it’s a better idea if there’s more than one head in... the idea. Does your counterpart have a cell phone? She’s like, the sweetest thing. Let’s bounce. Oh no you didn’t. I might be going the speed limit, but it’s unlikely.

 

Dear Life,

 I love you.

 Love,

Leah

This update is totally for Tamara, since no one else reads this.

Life is triumphantly beautiful. School and working are amazing. I'll be a Sophomore in college in three more hours!!! You know, assuming I pass the final.

The girls are great. They are so excited for the move!

Wes, Josh, Ryan, Brad, and Jeremy are fantastic. Brad is in Tennessee  until the 25th and J1 is leaving for Arizona in three days. Fun times!

Anyway, I miss you and love you.

This has been the most ridiculous week ever, just in case anybody was wondering. Profoundly speaking, I'm run dry. I can't sit here and pretend like I have some life-altering thing to say or whatever, I just want to ramble on about nothing in particular.

I feel funny, odd, melancholy even. I'm worried about money and broken promises, scared about what's to come in the next few weeks. I'm going on vacation for 18 days in August and I want to be sick just thinking about what happened the last time I was out there. I don't want to cheat on Josh, but good God, I didn't want to cheat on Neil either.

Not that any of this matters because no one reads this journal anymore anyway.

My throat is burning right now with bile because one of their songs just came on. I feel gross and nasty, and no hot shower can make that go away. I want Marsh and Hayley to stop IM-ing me and go to bed like normal fucking people do at 12:34 AM. I want to crawl under my covers and sleep forever. Maybe that way, I'll miss it all and not have to pay attention the next go around.

You are so totally not the brightest star.

These past few weeks have been hectic and soul crushing. Robber barons of a century past have swamped my memory and stolen all facsimiles of peace and reverence I might have had and replaced them with ideals of mediocrity and suffering as pleasure.

I'm scared of what might happen and unable to reconcile the idea that anything other than this path I've chosen, or might have had chosen for me, is an option.

White Lines and Red Lights just came on and I got physically sick to my stomach. Why did I let this happen, why again? I want so much out of life, and now I've been stuck, mired down by bad decisions and reckless nights, all for a fucking guy.

He's amazing, and beautiful, and totally broken. His drug use is eating him alive and every lie he tells is killing me. His brother can't save him, I can't save him, no one except he can save him.

"Cause I've burned every bridge I ever built when you were here..."

There's joy and happiness in these last five weeks, insurmountable joy, and I can't even begin to thank those who deserve it, but I also can't help wanting to kill a few others. I wish that all I had from these last five weeks, these 1500 miles, these five concerts, I wish all I had were memories, pictures, and ticket stubs. Black X's to mark age and black eyeliner to stay on par should be my only marks, but instead I have a blackened soul and psyche.

Today, I am 18. I am 18, 17, 16, and 15. I am every step I've ever taken and every step still to be had. Blood runs blue and thin until it hits the air and then it's red and thick. My blood feels like water today.

In fact, the only good thing to come out of these last 38 days is "RiOT!"

Since it's now confirmed, I need input.

My picks for girl's names are:

Melee (pronounced Molly) Josephine
Emilie Anne
Ainsley Elisabeth

and

Corinna Madeline

My picks for boy's names are:

Joshua Bryson
Jeremy Lucas
Milo Bradley

and

Adam Wesley.

Go. Name my child.

I helped them pack up the van today, trying not to cry the entire time. Someone please explain to my why I have to let them go again not ten hours after I got them back?

I tried to laugh at their stupid jokes about coke and rock and roll, but I couldn't find the humor in it. What I really want to do is grab him and smack him around and say, "Don't you understand what you're doing to yourself, to me, to us?" He doesn't understand or worse, he doesn't care.

"I'll go to rehab when we get home, I promise." That has got to be the vacuous and insincere thing I've ever heard. The worst part of it all is that I'm stupid enough to believe you. You almost killed your brother last night!

I know things are going to be hard and that it's going to be like this for a while, but all I really want is my boy back, my bitsy boo, and I don't think that's too much to ask.

In other news, though this pales in comparison, I got my job back.