Santa was a Skinhead

My stomach is full of chocolate, milk, and percocet. I feel like a science experiment got wrong. I got sick at dinner tonight. We were at a fancy steak house, with nosy waiters and polished silver. My head first began to hurt and immediately the nausea kicked in, I could barely form sentences because there was too much noise and too many sights and thinking was too hard between the pain and the overwhelming scene. My mom took me outside and as I sat on the bench, in my cream sweater and dress shoes, wondering what was happening to my body, I began to shiver, but feel better. All I need is cold air and a quiet spot and I'm better. I have no idea what's happening to my body and it's really starting to freak me out.

Right now I'm trying to calm my friend down who thinks her boyfriend might kill himself. I feel bad. I feel powerless in plucking the advice out of the air. Usually, I know exactly what to do or say, I know how to read people. I know how to calm down fights and fix relationships and deal with bosses. But this. This is where I fail. Because no one can know exactly how a, possibly, suicidal person is going to react. In my experience, none of my friends who were suicidal have killed themselves and all we usually ever did was tell them how much we cared about them and that we were there for them. Although we couldn't help them completely, as long as we could get them to calm down enough to talk to us and get down to a more level mental state I felt better about it for the time being.

I feel so bad. I also told M, this new guy I'm seeing, not to smoke opium again. I am a hypocrite. I guess, it's to be expected. I'm doing finals this week and then off for Christmas.

I had things to say, but they're lost in my gut of sugar and oxy. Fuck.

"Santa was a Skinhead" covered by Showcase Showdown

Blank Generation

So high. I haven't been this high in a long time. It feels heavier than usual. My head feels full of fishing weights, rolling around and pulling me down. I'm doing sudoku and watching trashy tv. My favorite things to do while high. I guess it's appropriate for my generation. Multi-tasking with reality TV and a game that does not involve any true knowledge.

Drunk When I Met You

My ass is covered in bruises. And when I say bruises, they are a dark, dark purple. There is one on the direct center of my right ass cheek, three large ones running down the back of my right thigh, and a smaller green one on my left hip. This is why I don't like hopping fences. My friends, correctly, decided that if we sat in the gated off part of Tompkins Square Park (meaning we'd have to hop a fence), we could easily escape the cops because we can hop fences faster than them. Although this makes a lot of sense--and luckily we didn't have to test our theory--I am shitty at climbing chain link fences especially in my heavy doc martens. So the first time our friend Izzy gave me a boost over, and then going back my friend Steven gave me a boost back over the fence. However, that time I got stuck on top of the fence with my legs and hands all facing back away from where I wanted to go. I had just finished a 40 and a half, and was feeling it. The fence began to shake, and I fell backwards over it. But before hitting the ground, I held on to the fence with my legs directly up in the air. Although it didn't seem like I feel that hard, falling from the top of the fence on to the rest of the fence fucked up my thigh. I had a giant welt afterwards. I sat on an ice pack after that.

Beyond that, some guy who was trying to fuck me by leading me on, I told to fuck off. So that kind of sucked. I hate when people think they're going to use me. It makes me very angry, understandably.

I have 6 poetry readings coming up between now and December 12th... and my plays performance on December 2nd. It's cool having lots of shows coming up, it's exciting and fun, but a little bit stressful. I need to work on some new material.

Anyway, I'm awake to early for class today, so I'm gonna go work on some homework and shower.

Check ya later,

- Luce...

Full Speed Ahead

So... I haven't posted in forever. I've been you know living the college life, with a suicidal roommate, a pension for smoking pot in the bathrooms late at night, and a few other tricks and treats up my sleeves (usually, literally). I just felt like documenting last night. I think its because my brain is slowly warming up again. I woke up this morning and new that the barbiturates had kicked in hard... it took me close to half an hour to roll over finally and get up. My suitemate was "grumpy" because her card wasn't working in the laundry room, which annoyed me because the aftermath of any time spent with speed is like I'M GOING TO MURDER YOU LEAVE ME ALONE NOW. But, I cooled off, tea helped.

Last night began with my friends inviting me to go to a party with them, that they had been invited to by a mutual friend. They said they were going to go over around 11, which was fine. After I got off work I was in a terrible mood, it wasn't even like a "Wow, I could really use some drugs right now," kind of mood, it was like "Just making everything stop right now is all I want." I don't know, I guess apathy is becoming contagious. Finally, though, I decided it would be fun to do some speed and then go to the party. I took two fair sized bumps in the bathroom out of one of those contact cases with the two circular divets. I didn't feel much at first, which was surprising to me, but I figured as long as I didn't feel the drip down my throat, it'd be all good because I wanted to sleep at some point. Finally, around 11:20 my friends text me, that oh, they're tired and aren't going to the party. My roommate was also blown off by her friends, so we decided to go outside for a cigarette break because I needed something with the speed kicking in. As we walked through the courtyard, I saw the acquaintance who had invited my friends to the party, and told her what was up. She, before I even mentioned the party, invited me and my roommate, and so we went up to her room to smoke out the window as she changed.

Anyway, we left in a bit, my roommate didn't want to go out, so it was just me and (the) A(cquaintance). This girl had been trying to get into my lesbian friend's pants for a long time, but it wasn't happening. We talked about the normal stuff boy/girl troubles, etc. etc.. By the time we were at the house, a good 15 block walk, she said to me: "This is the fastest I've ever walked to Avenue B," which made me chuckle a tiny bit on the inside. Anyway, the party was in classic NYU fashion. People were coked up, most of the guys were gay (I think besides about 3 to 4 out of like 30 people). There were very few girls, ALTHOUGH, I did see a girl I had taken a summer course with about 3 years ago. It was badass, and yet very odd. We talked for like 10 minutes until we both had run out of things to say, and she moved to the other side of the couch to talk to her friends. We wandered around onto the balcony and around the rooms, having weird conversations with people. I had about 3 glasses of this punch they were serving out of a big rubbermaid container, which was tasty, but I could barely feel it.... which makes sense. I had this one moment where I was like, "What if there are more barbiturates in my system than speed, and with the alcohol, I OD?" I then took my pulse and decided I would survive.

There were lots of moment, talking to drunken people, some who live in the same building as me, others from towns close to my hometown. I went home, ate some fries and drank a sprite. My suitemate couldn't sleep, it was too hot. As I told her to open the window and go back to sleep, because everything would be better in the morning, I wondered again what would happen if I ODed and she found me--just another shitty part of her shitty week.

At the moment I think the barbiturates are still in my system I feel like I'm about to pass out. Ugh, and I have to go to play practice. Yeah, I'm in a play. I'm a lesbian governess in a play. I hate everything right now, but I almost don't. I just feel so fucking apathetic. I want to care about something.

But I don't.

Anyway, sorry that I never post,

Hopefully I'll have a cheerier one in the future,

- Luce

She's got Wicked Wicked Wicked Wicked Gravity!

Dexy's Midnight Runners...

I'm feeling the speed rumble in my belly and up to my head. It's like an electric shock down my spine. I want to run and run and run until I collapse. God I love it. It feels like butterflies in my stomach and I want more. Damn, speed. I'm saving some for the city. One day, I'm going to take a lot. And travel around the city. Feel the sidewalk lift up under my feet. It'd be so perfect. Early fall, still warm out, with a bloodstream full of speed. I so rarely take it, but it's so good. Damn. Damn. I wish I had someone to share this with. But everyone I know is too skiddish or is trying to get off drugs. Well, I say fuck all of that. Well, I probably wouldn't. Today I watched my friend pass out and hit her head in Walmart. I heard that sharp crack, I couldn't catch her in time. She's alright. But I can't even fucking save my friend. I know I'm a shitty person. But now I don't care and speed doesn't either. Speed speed speed. It just sounds cool, haha. I feel bad for her though, I was so worried about her. Her eyes rolled back after she hit the floor. I was worried she was having a seizure, but she wasn't. She's fine now, her head just hurts. I almost went to the hospital with her but her mom arrived. I'm glad she's alright. I had to run and get the cigarettes out of her car so that her parents wouldn't see. That's kind of hilarious. I sprinted through the parking lot to get them and then sprinted back. My dad got more oxy today. Tomorrow perhaps I'll take some if I'm feeling down from the speed. I move into the city in a week. Fuck. I can't wait. Life is alright I guess, I'm just gonna ride this wave out until I fall asleep.

Drink Drank Punk

So... I couldn't sleep. Wow. Not really a surprise. Thought about taking some benzos to get me off to sleep, but I think it's all bad. I'm going to stay away from all of that shit for as long as I can, or unless this insomnia thing gets way out of hand. It's annoying as fuck.

Last night, I was puking my guts out on the pavement of Tompkins Square Park. I've been sick there once before, but that was 2 years ago. I was lying down, my other wasted friend Steven was flicking water on my face, keeping me awake, making sure I didn't pass out. Excessive alcohol consumption + caffeine + 110 degree weather = lots of puking. The first time I puked I was half laying down on the ground, the second time I was sitting up on a bench, and ended up puking on my boots. Nasty nasty stuff. My friend Milo was kind enough to get me to the subway and buy me a ride. I don't like drinking. Milo and I both have done a lot of drugs, I was (I'm pretty sure) yelling at him about how I hate alcohol and how I'd rather just get fucked up if I'm gonna be puking like this, etc. etc.. I think I was also harassing hipsters as we walked ot the subway. A water covered, vomit smelling, drunk punk kid being held up by her much larger, biker/GG Allin looking friend--we must have been some sight. Haha, but it was all in good fun. I've felt like shit all day, but i don't know I'm feeling a bit happier right now. I was down like an hour ago, but I think my mood has leveled off.

I got into Trash Bar this week to perform as well. It's this obscenely difficult to get into bar that hosts a lot of punk show, and being my 19 year old self, I was a tad concerned if I would REALLY get in. But my bf's band gave me stuff to carry, so that got me in the door. Once I was in the backroom where the stage was, it was super dark and I figured I was finally in the clear. Then some guy came up, one of the workers who checks ID. He asked us all to show him our IDs, and I was like: FUCK. I pretended to look for my wallet in my bag and calmly stated to my bf P that I must have left it at his house. The man then started shining hte light in my face, and asked me how old I am. It went down something like this:

Him (standing over me with a flashlight): How old are you?

(shines light on my face)

Me (bending over my bag, stand up): I'm 23.

(He continues to shine the light in my face)

Me (sticking out my tongue and opening my mouth wide): I feel like I'm at a Dr. appointment. How does my throat look?

He then laughed and stamped my hand. And history was made. In my mind.

Anyway, I'm going to try out this whole sleeping thing. Here's a poem I wrote tonight. It's terrible. Enjoy!

Another junky-child asleep on the asphalt

I could hear her shrill silent scream

It left the air empty

Like the dry heat of summer

I curled up in a ball beside her

The shallow moonlight lit the gray tracks of tears on the sheets

My loneliness played across the room

I tried to remember why Paris always seemed better at night

But then I let out another silent scream

For relief of this yearning

The deep-seated, empty belly syndrome

That left us on our knees every night

Praying at that empty altar

Waiting for a moment

Of pure silence

After the sermon had stopped

I found myself surrounded

By these thoughts

Too numerous to stop

The rambling of an amphetamine brain

But without the amphetamine

Tears seemed to fall slowly

Rolling down as if to savor the moment

That feeling of pure desire

The roll and ebb

Flowing up and down my spinal chord

Playing my body like a harp

And leaving my brain to reel

Now there is no scream

Just silence

An empty mind

Which now only simmers.

Trading Sleep for Writing

It feels so good and so bad at the same time. I feel like I’m trying to pull apart my brain, figuring out how to compartmentalize my life. Shoving out the bad thoughts, and trying to let him in so that I can wash away the dirty feeling on the back of my neck. I thought I was doing so well, but I’m back at stage one. All I want is to get high. Not when I’m around him, when I’m around him I could just be sober forever. I feel like I just use people as bandages, as something in between drugged out delusions. Every day I seem to wake up and hate myself a bit more, hate myself for pretending to be clean. Yeah, I’m not Chloe, I didn’t OD last week, but damn, I’m not sober. I’m just bouncing from day to day hoping that I’m too tired or like myself enough to just go to sleep, so that I don’t have to actually work to stay away from shit. And when it’s sitting in your bedside table, you can’t help but think “just a little, just a little bit more.” But one day it’s all used up, and you’re more gone you realized. I know I’m not special. I’m just a product of the suburbs, the place that probably provides the best childhood and then the worst youth in the world. Right now, I’m so tired, I’m just going to go to sleep. Sober. And when I wake up, I’ll feel better. Maybe. Hopefully, that’s the one thing I want some more of. Just a bit more hope.

To be Young (Is to be sad, Is to be high)

I turned off all the lights. The only light was from the computer and the TV--of course on mute.

"To Be Young" is the only sound. Running my fingers through my hair, I turned on the light.

I usually get high at night. In fact, I really only get high in the evening/night. I like the alone time, in the darkness, no one there to bother me. That is the one bad thing about me and like speed because damn, it is stupid to do speed in the evening. It wasn't the clean all night feeling I got from E, it felt dirty. I felt the sweat pouring off my body noticeably. Now obviously, my speed is a lot less combinations of drugs than E. But still, that's uncomfortable.

Honestly, I know why I'm getting high tonight. It's because I just have been seriously hating myself for the past few days. I feel like my self-loathing creeping up my back, over my shoulder, and around my neck. Today's started with the fact that, honestly, P does not fuck me as much as I would like. Perhaps it the age difference? Perhaps he doesn't think I want to? But, it makes you feel like a royal asshole trying to lead someone on, and they are unresponsive. We only fucked like TWICE. GODDAMNIT, I AM 19, THAT IS NOT ENOUGH. Haha, seriously though, now I have to like talk to him about it, which is fine, it's not that big a deal, but still kind of sucks. And then he kind of nicely hinted that he wanted me to leave. Granted, I did spend the night and stayed at his place until like 6 or so the next day. He is my boyfriend, and he does have to go to bed early since he does go to work at 3 am, and I'm sure he just wanted some time alone before he went to sleep... yeah, alright. So, that actually makes sense. I just don't want to feel like I'm somehow hassling him with my presence. I don't know. We're hanging out on Friday. Whatever. I still feel shitty. I will feel the same when whatever I decide to pop wears off. And now maybe I won't. Maybe I'll go to sleep. It's more of a thing taking them the actual effects of the drug.

Well, I'm going to go decide and either way just lie down.

Goodnight...

- Lucy

Hightime

I'm high. My mosquito bites are itching like no other. That's what you get for smoking weed in the woods at dusk. It's alright though. I kinda forced my friend to go to the woods to smoke, I like it there. It's quiet and calm, lots of bunnies and raspberry bushes. When I was a kid, my best friend's family always went hiking in the woods every weekend and I'd go with them. Walking across fallen trees, and picking berries, and running after the dogs. I know being from New Jersey, people don't think of that kind of shit, but that's how my child hood was. That's how my town is. It's all surrounded by woods. Behind my friend's house, there's a reservoir in the middle of the woods. We went swimming there a week ago. We smoked right before, and I only went in to my waist. I don't like how weed makes me feel anymore, almost ever. It makes me want to curl up in a ball and sleep, I sweat, feel like I'm gonna puke. I don't know why.

Mike and I aren't dating anymore. He relapsed. He didn't tell me. A mutual friend did after we broke up. The last time we were dating and hanging out, I knew he was high. His eyes were pinned from first seeing him. When we were on the bus, he said he had some oxy. He then proceeded to show me the pills as we sat side by side. I didn't really want to do them. And I said that. But I also didn't want HIM to do them, however, I knew not to say that. If you've had your mind set on it, you're bound to do it. He popped them both in front of me. Now, first off, he called them "roxy" which they're not. They're not roxycodone, which I did a few years ago, they're little blue coated pills--with an ambien like shell. They're oxy. The same kind I did tonight. Fuck man, I don't even know if I want to continue this story. He scratched his stomach until it bled later on. He dumped over the entire ash tray as he nodded off. He treated me like shit. I would rather been booted in the face, than go through that again. Fuck. Whatever. I saw him two weeks later at this big show they have every year in NYC, called "Punk Island." It's fun. Hot. Poorly planned. But free. It's fucking punk island, you can't expect much more. He was surprised when I wasn't "friendly" towards him. His eyes were pinned. He looked at me dull and glazed, and I threw fire at him. I didn't want to see him.

I haven't been high in a long time. On oxy. I did try speed for the firs time like a week ago. And when I said speed. I mean SPEED. Dextroamphetamine. Actually, I got a hold of some shit from the 70s, these dexamyl capsules. What they are is a combo of dextroamphetamine and amobarbitol. Basically, the speed keeps you wired/happy/talkative, while the barbiturate keeps the edge off and is supposed to help you get to sleep. Well, I was up for like over 24 hours, by the end I wanted to kill everyone in sight. C'est pas bon. I don't know, I have two more, I told my friend that we'd do them for this concert that's coming up in August. Should be interesting if nothing else.

Also, the most interesting news of recent, is that I am dating someone new. I'll call him P. He's cute, funny, driven (he's in 3 fucking bands, and has a full time job, and does stand up comedy), 28, and super fucking nice to me. I mean, he's just an all around great guy. Which is what I need after all of Mike's drama. But he only like smokes weed and drinks beer. So, I don't want to do drugs while with him... this is the first time. I got it in my head. I had a pill. Whatever. Just once, without talking to him or anyone else (besides all of you... or just myself... or whoever ends up reading it), isn't so bad.

I feel shitty about myself. I guess. I don't know how I landed him. Everyone is so fucked up and yet not. I've made some more friends in the punk scene, which is cool, and I guess normal. There's this one girl though, she reminds me of my friends from high school who were all super druggies. Like, I have to say, I have a sense about teenage girls who do drugs. There is just a vibe. I don't know. This morning I woke up. P laid there curled up facing away from me. It was one of his two days off per week, I wanted to let him sleep. I looked at him though, and I just felt like he didn't want me (now remember he's sleeping) to touch him. Like he just wanted to get away from me. And I laid there, and thought to myself Yeah, you're just a junky piece of shit. He doesn't want to be anywhere near you, you junky piece of shit. ETC. ETC. ad infinitum. That's the one mantra that I have. It fucking goes off whenever I feel unwanted. I do believe it and I don't. It's strange. I feel good though. For now. Fuck I feel good. It doesn't bother me right now. Nothing does. I feel a bit guilty, or I will, or I did, but right now I don't.

I watched the skyline pass by my train window tonight. The sky was a green gray and I felt like it all made sense. Because it does. I am home. Here. America. New Jersey. My hometown. New York City. And as I sit besides my friend on the curb side, her head sagging against her knees and she drunkenly sleeps, I know that there is no other place for me to go. I am simply here.

I hope you all have a lovely 4th of July!

This probably is super disjointed. I will add more sense to it sometime this week. I promise. I'm going to try and blog once a week from now on. I think it's good for me.

Check ya later,

- Lucy

Wicked Gravity

It's what I think I like to have, haha. No just kidding... okay, so it's 11:04 am... I've been awake for 14 minutes. Kind of. I wake up periodically during the morning, and once I've decided it's enough I wake up completely. Technically, I first woke up this morning at 6 am, since I left the black out curtains open and only the sheer one was left--if my room wasn't on the first floor (European) and so easy to see inside I would've left both curtains open.

It's now 11:24 and I have tea and chocolate rice crispies... yeah. The smell of weed is climbing from the concierge below me and through the cracks beneath my window. Smells pretty good. I wouldn't mind a hit. Perhaps. I'm very weird about weed, not much of a fan in general. I started snorting percocet at the same time my best friend (and in turn, me) started smoking weed, and I didn't get it. I just didn't understand why you would want to have such a shitty high. Didn't make any sense to me, still kind of doesn't. But, I still enjoy it occasionally, as long as I don't smoke too much because I have a tendency to get burnt out--which always feels to me like someone is just squeezing my skull until it's supposed to pop and that the world is way too much for me to even understand, and usually I just try and sleep it off. It reminds me of how it used to be when I would take vicodin all through out the week and then not do it on the weekends. I would just get super intense headaches, and at first I didn't connect the two.... because I was a retarded 16 year old.

Anyway, it's now 11:46 and I have to work on this paper showing Jim Carroll "my Paris." I've decided that I might as well take a little to get me in the right mindset. Haha, or something like that. Something incredibly false. I don't know, I'm doing the math... as per my usual neuroses. 3 codoliprane = 60 mg/30 = 2 pills of 5mg of hydro. Isn't that beautiful? I did place out of college math, guys, I'm obviously a true winner.

12:03... my friends just got back from Barcelona and Rome. And apparently, I'm going to go get sushi tonight. It's expensive, but I didn't buy any chicken at the grocery store because it was all expired already. I have 20 euros in cash... so... yeah. Fuck, I need to refill my navigo today, so that I don't have to wait online on Monday. A Navigo is like a metro pass, you buy a month or two weeks, and whatever zones in Paris/the banlieurs you travel through. I only have to buy two weeks because in two weeks I will be home! Home and free and probably asleep, since it will be around 6 am. Mike will hopefully be there, also hopefully asleep, he usually doesn't sleep very easily, besides when I'm around or when he's high. And we need to avoid that last part, haha...

Fuck, okay, I'm going to start this paper and not go back to sleep, which is what I did yesterday, but that was because I was upset. If I get upset, I can make myself go to sleep, and so that's what I do and pretend that it's not going on.

Check ya guys later!

- Lucy

ADDENDUM:

2:13 pm... my friend got back from Amsterdam yesterday and brought back weed. I love having friends who will trade drugs for hanging out.

Like a Rolling Stone

My boyfriend isn't talking to me at the moment. He is sleeping or resting... his excuse? "I was up late last night on acid." I'm sorry, but that's a shitty excuse. I don't get why he would think this is an acceptable reason to not be talking. I mean, I'm not saying that how you feel after doing acid is a totally social one, much more about sleeping and chilling, but I don't like being put on the back burner. I've been up since 7:40 am, biked around 10 km into the wind (you don't think that's important until you feel like you're being pushed backwards by the hand of Zephyr), and eaten an assortment of different foods. I'm sorry, but if I can be awake, then he should be. I know he doesn't mean anything by it, and it's not a personal thing, but it still pisses me off because I make myself available to him, even though he doesn't seem to give a shit. So... yeah, I guess I just have to remind myself this isn't directed at me, it's just how it is.

My face is sun-burned... I have a black eye. Well, a bit of a black eye. It's not a very badass story, it's not much of a story at all, really. I couldn't get my eye makeup off because I didn't have any makeup remover, and so I attacked my face with a towel. Now the area under my right eye is swollen and raw. La Rochelle and Ile de Ré was beautiful. The water was cold, as the Atlantic always seems to be (being from NJ, and having felt it also in Ireland). The towers and buildings had stood since the 1400s and 1600s, raising up above the blue water like sand castles. It was picturesque. Quaint. The people were a lot friendlier, although the drunk assholes on the street were just like Paris. I think it's a French thing to be loud and obnoxious for no reason. My friends and I were all having a good time on the metro until about 40 guys came on to our car. They were all French, but of African descent, and were obviously out enjoying their Saturday night. Suddenly, one guy started to grab this girl by the waist, putting his hands all over her; she--luckily--was not gonna take it. She pushed him off and grabbed her friend and got off the train. Another guy then begins to yell at the gropey one, and we watch as a fight begins to ensue in between the area where my friends are all sitting. I'm watching this, trying to keep my face completely immune to the scene, while secretly horrified and terrified. At the next stop, half of them ran out (along with the gropey guy), and I imagined this was when the gropey guy was gonna be beat up, so hopefully he got what he deserved. I just hate the shear lack of respect for women here, it seems to be all Frenchmen. It seems like they feel entitled to some kind of sexual response from all women. I don't get it. Probably never will. It pisses me off though. It makes me wanna show them the error of their ways. It's one of the major reasons I dislike France.

One of the perks of going away was time away from work, so I read one of my new favorite books: Forced Entries by Jim Carroll. Technically, I was reading it for school, but it was amazing. I love it. I love Jim Carroll. To me, he is the mind of New York. As I read, I listened to the Velvet Underground, the band that truly is magic if you listen to it as you walk down the streets. You feel their high, and slowly your feet are lifted off the ground and wherever you're walking, is perfect, you're perfect, and you can feel the pulse of chance down every street and avenue. I want to get back to the City. I've realized why I don't like Paris. For me, New York is a place of possibilities. Every time I end up walking around, something occurs, and my friends and I are off on an adventure. As we trek from borough to borough, drunk, or high, or simply confused we meet the characters that now make up our late stories. The strange nomads and pansexual EMTs, the smack heads and squatters (usually, one in the same), and at the same time we meet our own opportunities for a breath of a new life. Suddenly, we're climbing over subway turnstiles and stumbling home, walking the dark streets of Brooklyn or Staten Island or occasionally Manhattan, home. When we arrive, we recount, and lay down, and fall into the lap of the City that will create us anew in the morning, ready for that day. I'm ready to be back home and feel the beat of life beneath my sneakers.

I'll check you later,

- Lucy

I'm Not Down! (the song/lyrics... because it's awesome!)

If it's true a rich man leads a sad life
That's what they say, from day to day
Then what do the poor do with their lives?
On judgment day, with nothin' to say?

I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out
But I'm not down, Oh I'm not down
I've been shown up, but I've grown up
And I'm not down, Oh I'm not down

On my own I faced a gang of jeering
In strange streets
When my nerves were pumping out
I Fought my fear in, I didn't run
I was not done

I've been beat up, I've been thrown Out
But I'm not down, No I'm not down
I've been shown up, but I've grown up
And I'm not down, No I'm not down

So I have lived, that kind of day
When none of your sorrows will go away
Go down and down and hit the floor
Down and down and down some more
Depression
But I know, there'll be some way
When I can swing everything back my way
Like skyscrapers, rising up
Floor by floor, I'm not giving up

So you rock around and think that
You're the toughest
In the world, the whole wide world
But you're streets away from where
It gets the roughest
You ain't been there

Haha, it's like my song of the moment, I just keep listening to it. = )

I'm not down!

Apparently people are reading this right now, and I'm posting because my afternoon class was cancelled and I need to make up for my lack of writing lately.

Life is crazy as the semester is winding down. It's the sam

e old same old, lots of papers and tests, and shit I don't wanna do. I should be making straight A-/As this semester, so hopefully that'll get me into the Dean's Circle (it's an organization for people who have a certain GPA, we get to go on a trip and stuff, but only a few people are selected for it)... At the moment, I'm working on a paper about Jim Carroll, one of my favorite poets/singers/authors. We have to pick a famous (and

dead) person to show "our" Paris, too. They're always making us right bullshit about Paris and our experience here and blah blah blah. It's as if they imagine that if we all write about Paris, maybe we too could be a modern Ernest Hemingway or something. This only inflates the heads of all of the boys here who already think they are him.

Mike's alright. He was going to meetings, but some girl said she would give him two bags of H if he could get her a needle. So... yeah, what'd you think he did?

Devinez! Devinez!

If you guessed shot two bags of smack on Sunday, well, you'd be correct! Good job!

What I think is funny is that when he does things like sign off immediately, or a few other tell tale actions, that I don't realize what's going on. When he did that, or talks about watching his friends do drugs, well, no shit he's doing them too. Boys are dumb...

At the moment, I'm not doing drugs. Although, he's now offered to get us H for when I get back, which is kind of putting me in a weird place.

On one hand I think: Wow, this would be awesome... I really wanna do it.

On the other I think: Fuck, terrible idea. This will only screw me up.

I don't know, I can't tell if the two bags he was talking about were the ones he has, or ones he plans on buying. I'm not gonna say anything about it to him, even if he brings it up. I refuse to let him know what I'm thinking about shit like that, mostly because: A) if you're doing drugs with a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/life-partner, you definitely don't want to be the one who does not have the connections because that makes you vulnerable... and B) he supposedly wants to be clean, so I don't want me giving him the OK to go ahead and get more drugs. I'm not saying that I control his actions, but it could be the push he needs to go buy more shit, and I'd like to keep myself out of that position. Haha, I know that the A reason is pretty far down the line, but I like to be

logical, and that definitely could be a reality. The other problem with Mike and I doing drugs is that he completely discounts my experience. This is coming from the same guy who couldn't fix himself the first time at fucking 19, I was doing that at 16 by myself. He can barely handle seeing blood. I may not have sunk as low as him, but just because I have been better able to keep myself out of the places he's ended up doesn't mean that my experience is completely void. I just hate being treated like I'm some kind of unexperienced child, and he's some kind of sage-like figure. Fuck that shit.

I haven't slept for the past two nights, and I have almost no homework, so I'm thinking that today I could just fucking kick back, take some shit, and not do shit for the rest of the day. Besides doing laundry, which needs to be taken care of today... or I'm gonna, well, begin to smell... not really. I just will have to wear my less desireable clothes, haha. Not that I'm some kind of pinnacle of fashion, fuck, everyone here thinks they're soo fancy. It's kind of nauseating. I really wanna vomit on a lot of them. Especially some of the Europeans, who think that they are just so above all the Americans, it's really ridiculous--as if France was some kind of pinnacle of good living, let's look at one of the most racist, anti-semetic, and judgmental countries I've ever been to. It's honestly offensive. It also has some of the scariest men ever, I have never feared men, not pulling my drunk friend off of Avenue B at 12 at night, not walking down Jersey St. on Staten Island at 3 am, it was never like this, where every man I see I am afraid is either gonna yell at me, or throw water on me (as one did), or simply give me creepy stares.

I want to get back to NYC! Summer in the city, that's all I want. = )

Well, I'm gonna go do more nothing,

I'll check ya later,

- Lucy

P.S. the first photo is of Mike and I... he will try and say that he's not extremely mushy... but he is (I consider that photo, exhibit A). And the second one is actually of me back home at Dunkin Donuts!!! I miss it so much...

I'm Bored

Should I get high?

Should I do my reading?

Should I cook dinner?

Maybe I should do these in order... maybe I should put the water on to boil now and read, then get high... oh and I have to do French. Yeah, I have to memorize facts about a celebrity couple. Did I ever tell you that my French class is such bullshit? It's ridiculousness piled on to ridiculousness... I've read 200 pages of a book in French, and my teacher wants me to memorize shit about a celebrity couple. I'm thinking Sid and Nancy. Terrible, haha. Yeah, and I have to read one of the tales from "The Canterbury Tales" which is basically like stabbing myself in the brain over and over. I was given popcorn though, so perhaps tonight will be good.

I'll blog more when something actually interesting his happening.

Junky Puppy

Sitting in the bathroom next to the heater, I watched his head go down slowly to his chest. The spliff in his hand spiraling out waves of smoke. I watched him, quietly. He looked so innocent and adorable, like a puppy. He slowly opened his eyes again and took a pull from the spliff and then passing it to me. The codeine had surprisingly worked on him. I was impressed. He had taken about 9 of them, so I wasn't that surprised, I had taken 8. We ended up curled up in bed watching the Dark Knight. Alright, well, technically I only listened to the Dark Knight. He would occasionally say something to me, and I would force myself to respond.

I miss him not being here, it really sucks that he had to go back to New York. We had a whole talk one night in a park for hours just about random drug-related crap. I worry about him being out there. It really makes his depression worse. He told me that he doesn't want to go back on H though because he doesn't want to be trapped in NY. He's so sweet, it sucks that he's really in that mental bind. He keeps talking about marriage. We'll see. = )

School's crazy right now. Literally insane. I feel like I'm back at the shore being crashed on by the waves, struggling to keep up above the cresting waves. I think that I might get an A- in French, so that'll be good. Last semester I beasted my classes, I got straight A-s and then an A in the preliminary French class. My GPA was a 3.73 out of a 4.0. Trust me, it's pretty crazy, it's the highest one of I've heard out of anyone.

My friend from home is coming in on Sunday, so I gotta start thinking of things to do with her during the week and stuff. My midterms are coming up, I have one on Tuesday and then a paper and a exam the next week, and then the week after that I have my big exam in social. Kind of crazy, but I'll make it through.

All the papers I've written this semester for writing have been about drugs, haha. It really entertains me which is kinda fucked up. I'm writing my next paper about "rebellion," so that'll be interesting.

Anyway, I'm going to go back to...

whatever the fuck I do on a Friday at noon,

- Sarah = )

Seeing as how I haven't posed in forever... I thought I might.

I'm at school at the moment. I've got a raging cold (which obviously is just adding to my mood, seeing as how I have to be awake everyday at 7:30 to get to French class on time) I'm trying to finish shit up, while also having enough patience to walk out of the school and buy food.

Weird day, I don't know.

Mike is here, we've now been dating for 7 months... which is kinda insane, but awesome. Things can be really rough, because he has a bad temper, and I say a lot of stupid shit that inflames it, but beyond a few small arguments the first week we're good.

We're going to Amsterdam on Thursday night until Saturday night, so that should be interesting. It's just me and him, which freaks me out, but I feel alright with because I'm trying to trust him. Yeah... I'll report after that, at the moment I don't have much to say and really dont' like blogging at school.

Catch y'all on the flipside!
- Lucy