There are totally not nearly enough hours in a day. :(

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Product of whim on 750Words.com today

(the breakdown)

Spinning round in my head
I don't know what to do
what to do without you, love

I need you here with me--
to dream unlonely dreams
to sleep unsleepless nights
to hold when my world's about to collapse.

Oh, "if you only knew! I'd sacrifice my beating heart before I lose you."
I'd lay it on the floor for you to do whatever you decide.
I'd give it all -- anything you ask of me.

My heart leads me and it leads me only to you.
It beats only along with every breath you take.

Darling, if you only knew.



All the times I regret, all the times I cherish, I can't forget a single one of them -- they're burned into my memory like an unbridled flame. You are my everything, you are my anything. You make me a better person, you inspire me and give me hope. I love you, boy. I love you so very much. So much that it hurts every damn day I wake, having spent another night dreaming of you.

Is it not sad, that even now I find myself longing to hear your voice still?
Is it not sad, that even now I find myself seeing your face whenever I close my eyes?

It's funny how the words just come to mind so easily, how the letters flow out of the pen or the keys under my fingers nearly press themselves -- as if the goddess Erato herself sat in the back of my mind, plucking the strings of her lyre with such purpose that all around her inspiration bloomed.

It's funny how you turn my poetry
into prose and rearrange the letters
back again--how you cause lyrics to spring
to my lips with simply your existence.

Did you know you are my inspiration?
Effortlessly, you still light up my life.

The memory of you even sweeter
than the scent of the flowers you held out --
with a sincere smile on your gentle face --
just for me on that July afternoon.

(I will love you forever,my darling)

When roses stopped appearing with you, dear,
I did not mind-- they are temporary.

But when was it I stopped being special?
I can't remember the look in your eyes
and the soliloquies you had in them
every morning you woke smiling at me.

I don't know when the television screen
became more worthy of your interest,
I don't know when I became a burden
or why it was you'd turn away from me.

It hurts to know that I can bear my heart
to you and you just yawn and turn the page,
Or how quickly I lost value to you.

It hurts to think and it hurts to breathe and it hurts to hold my head up in the dark all by myself.
It hurts to remember and it hurts to be ignored and it hurts to hear every song I've ever heard with you.

I don't know; what do you think?
Is it sadder to see your face whenever I close my(brown)eyes,
or that I can no longer remember the last time I saw it smiling?

Is it more pathetic that I tremble on my own before I fall asleep at night
or that I wake in the morning and look for you?

I don't know and I don't know that I can keep caring.
I can't stand this and I don't know that I ever could.

Why couldn't this sadness go away when you did?
Why couldn't this pain stay as far away as you are?
(--and how long have you been there?
Far longer than I could -- could've -- could ever possibly
imagine.)

I'm slipping, sinking, suffocating.
To breathe feels like inhaling the thick mud enveloping me,
dragging me down deeper, deeper.

But I suppose that's just what happens when you cry with eyes like the dirt.

Can't blog.

Busy playing with iPhone.

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"We could combine... Twitter and-... and Viagra! Twitagra."

Saw Hot Tub Time Machine with Kyle and David. Fucking hilarious! I totally recommend it, particularly if you've lived any amount of time in the 80s yourself. Twitagra. Precious.

In what scientists are now calling "Really Super Awesome," I picked up my iPhone from the AT&T Store. It was quick and painless. The lady helping me -- Ally was her name, and she had cute french tip nails -- actually owns an iPhone so she knew what she was doing and even offered me tips and stuff. It was great! From all the bitching and moaning I read about on the AT&T forums I was expecting to be there for ages and contemplated bringing some sort of sharpened kitchen utensil in the event that I find that I cannot take it any longer and need to stab myself in the eye. I did not, luckily. And researchers in the "Holy Shit" department discovered that the iPhone I'd bought was an MC model (the one with the older bootrom) and v3.1.2 firmware. If you know anything about hacking iPhones, you're probably seething with hatred at my spectacular luck -- I was thus able to successfully jailbreak it so I could use my cracked apps and customize the UI. It's so deliciously pink right now I can't stop smiling whenever I look at it. Teehee.

Lots of errands to run tomorrow -- not as much time to tinker with my iPhone as I'd like. Sadface. I suppose once in a while you have to pretend to be responsible.

(750 words)

"What you feel is what you are—"

So.

Within twelve hours, if all goes well (that is to say, if AT&T doesn't somehow manage to fuck me over once again) I will be the proud owner of an iPhone -- whom I will affectionately name Chelbot (IV). That, of course, is the Roman numeral for 4000, since my iPod Touch is currently Chelbot 3000 and my video iPod is Chelbot 2000. Whatever happened to 1000, you ask? Irrelevant.
So I'm headed to the AT&T store at Gresham Station before my appointment with Dr. Ramsey tomorrow morning since they apparently open at 9. If something happens to prevent the purchase and activation's completion... well. CHEL SMASH.
This is all thanks to Thomas. "You deserve nice things," he insists. Despite my best efforts to convince him otherwise (I almost always seem to fail in convincing people of this), I eventually cracked and accepted the monies. "You deserve good things," was the argument to a mopey Chel one night, "and you'll get them sooner or later."

I can't say that I am convinced of this or that I can fathom anyone truly believing it, but... surely there's an app for that.

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