I feel like I’m going to throw up.

I googled myself, because I got paranoid that someone might find my Tumblr that way, and on the first page of results there was this link I didn’t recognize. It was a record of someone’s survey answers, and at first I couldn’t tell why it was there. I realized pretty quickly that they weren’t my answers. Then, at the bottom, was my name three times.

  1. Who annoys you?
  2. Name one person you hate, and why:
  3. If you could punch one person, who would it be?

I trying so hard not to cry, and I’m failing, and I hate this feeling, I hate it with every fiber of my being. These answers are from years ago, I can tell, whoever took the survey can barely spell, and for godsake it’s a Myspace survey, but I want to know who did it. I want to know who put my name out there that way; I hate to know that other people who google my name might see it. The survey was taken by an anonymous user, and I don’t recognize any of the other names given as answers. And I know it’s talking about me because my name is pretty goddamn unique. No one else has it.

I feel like I’m going to throw up. I haven’t felt this way in years. I haven’t and I don’t want to go back to that place in my head and too late, I’m crying.


In addition to all the other homework I have, I have Chemisty homework from the textbook.



Well, fuck.

I’m not sure whether I should feel embarrassed, angry, or sheepish.

So yesterday I FINALLY got my Martin Silk & Steel guitar strings after almost three weeks of waiting for the local store to get them. They actually still don’t have them; I went to Guitar Center. I really needed them; I haven’t changed my strings since March, I think, mostly because I’m lazy.

Tonight I went hunting for the wire cutters. I finally found them after my dad revealed their obscure hiding place, and they are weird wire cutters. Then I took my guitar out of its case, laid it on the floor, and took out everything else I needed. I was so confident, so happy that I could have nice, new strings for my guitar lesson tomorrow.

I broke a peg.

Yep. I broke a fucking peg. Its head snapped right off, and I had to spend five minutes looking for it because it jumped into oblivion. It turned out they flew across the room. I’m lucky I have white carpet.

So now I can’t change my strings, I’m scared to play my guitar because I fear that as soon as I start, the string will come flying off and hit me in the face, and I don’t know if I should clip all the strings and take it to the store tomorrow to see if it can get fixed (Oh lord am I going to cry if it can’t get fixed), or, you know what? I’m just rambling now. I have to take my guitar in first thing. I have to talk to the repair guys. Then, when I find out the damage, I need to call my teacher and probably cancel the lesson (*sob*).

If this can’t be fixed… I don’t know what I’m going to do. Now I’m feeling extremely stupid and embarrassed, but mostly stupid. I should have realized I didn’t know exactly what I was doing and not done it. Oh man I’m tearing up.

This guitar means everything to me. It carries all my feelings and memories from the past three years- oh shit I think my dad’s coming to check on me. Let’s see what happens. But for now I’ll keep typing. I picked it out myself, three months after I started taking lessons. It was my last Hanukkah present from my grandma. I love the sound of it, I love the blue color. If it costs money to fix it, I’ll pay it all. I’ll give up camp next summer to pay for it. But God, don’t take it away from me- shit I’m crying now. I don’t think I can live without it. I don’t think I can replace it. If it can’t be fixed, I- can’t I stop crying???? I don’t think I can get another one. Not just money-wise. I don’t think I can go into the store and pick another one. I love my blue guitar that I call “Baby” and has all these scratches on the back presumably from buttons on my clothes and marks on the front from playing so much with picks. I don’t think I can replace it. I’m going to say this again, because it’s true: This guitar means everything to me. When my mom said I could get a new guitar, I could pick out my own guitar, I walked into the store and saw this one and knew it was mine. I knew that I didn’t want any other guitar, that that one belonged to me.

I really hope my parents don’t try to check up on me tonight. I don’t think I can tell them. Let’s see what happens.

If I’m lucky, it’ll be my Mom who I’ll tell first. If I’m lucky, it can be fixed. If I’m lucky, it won’t cost much. If I’m lucky, I won’t get yelled at.

If I’m lucky, I get to keep my best friend.

Why am I up at 7:30 AM?

WHY????????? I didn’t even get into bed until 2 and I pretty sure I didn’t fall asleep until 3 so that means I got, at the most, four and a half fucking hours of sleep. And I don’t feel the normal tired. I feel the “fuck-my-head-hurts-I-don’t-feel-well-but-other-than-that-I’m-fine-so-I-can’t-go-back-to-sleep” tired. And it sucks. I want to sleep. I don’t want to crash later.