over the summer i walked around naked a lot [sketchy bikini] kuz i was all tanned well soon to be anyway and i was skinnier kuz i knew i was not going to be happy unless i made it so i was skinnier so i had lots of caffeine and depression pills and booze and close to zero sleep and fights with the entire universe and did any and everything to keep myself busy, as long as it was self-destructive and recriminating and stressed me out and made it so i talked like courtney love all over again and made me scarey because when i talked i sounded like i believed in myself so much and that everything i said was true and right and i just came off as arrogant and fucking irritating and then being “pretty” and “skinny” and “caucasian” and “female” and “tall” and “hyper” and “younger” made everything ten times better.

i hope your sarcasm meter is turned on.

so then i am known more as crazzy the minx, or crazy the minx, “affectionately coined” in toronto by the higher ups of coolness or something and i am like that is so funny and chuckled but then i felt really bad about myself.

when i come off as arrogant like i truely believe in myself i am doing it to make you believe in me, in my being, my spirit, it’s like i have to convince you that i am “a-ok” “howdy-pardner” “stranger” and so on and then i want you to take me seriously and then i want you to help me be organized and then that doesn’t happen and i start ignoring you because you just want to hang out with me because i am so frigging entertaining because, i am crazzy the minx.

aimee said “FUCK YOUR BLOG! People who know you should not be reading it.”

Real life people she meant and i thought about it and i agreed, just a little bit.

but still, having a blog is like existing. when you dont have one, you don’t exist, and if people don’t notice and read you or contact you and praise you over it you go, WHAT in the FUCK is WRONG with ME and WHY arent people PAYING to read me and sponsor all the clothes i am wearing because i know you are all reading and we could all be getting along and i could be advertising for you and making indie films for you of you and pushing you until you were the next coca cola or something.

but then, raymi would be selling out, no, raymi would be selling in, and raymi this raymi that, who fucking cares.

raymi is just a name i made up for a girl in this psyche ward and it was called the last minx and sort of becamse a self-fulfilling prophecy and it was a fluke that raymi was actually the name of this native indian cultural thing….

what is the point of all this?

there isn’t one, i go in circles, that is what you are accustom to and apparently i am ok with it. pfft.

i need anger management in the worst way i need to learn how to cope and i need to learn how to ask for help without having to ask for it because i have too much pride and then when it gets to talking money i either cry or scream in your fucking face because you just don’t understand permanent poverty mentality because you have never experienced it and yeh you probably have but still you don’t know it how i know it or how this other person i know knows it and maybe i don’t have the capacity to be a drug dealer or a scam artist everyday in a big city because i wasn’t born into a situation like that and i didn’t have false idols who were criminals and so i wanted to be the good guy in the movie but still i could always play the bad guy part, ten times better.

ungh.

when i start thinking about someone who has hurt me or my family or friend my brain starts pulsating and my fists clench and my whole body turns into the incredible hulk ‘cos i am fantasizing about telling off that person and then i stay up all nite in my bed until the fantasy tell-off is over and it is 4am and i have to wake up early for the job i slack off at.