There was just an earthquake.

It was at 4:00 am exactly; five minutes before my alarm goes off. I got up, extraordinarily disoriented, and opened my door, which was rattling. I thought I had overslept, perhaps. I thought my parents were trying to wake me up, though my door was locked. I opened my door, and everything was silent, and there was no one there. Then my alarm went off. Which means this fit happened at 4:04 am. I slept through most of an earthquake.

No wonder it takes me forever to wake up after sleeping.

This Tumblr isn’t going to be an artistic outlet.

But an outlet for my emotions. I have stacks of notebooks in my room for the latter reason. Sometimes, I feel as if I don’t have anywhere or one to go to, and I use Tumblr. I’m going to go through my entire blog and delete pictures that have no significance. I’ll probably delete people who I follow too. Not all of them, of course, but I want this Tumblr to be for me, again. My own little moleskin journal, accessible via internet. I miss myself, sometimes. In the words of Chuck Palahniuk, “More and more, it feels like I’m doing a really bad impersonation of myself.” This blog supports this with every passing day. I’m deleting this in a few hours as well. It’s just like a little disclaimer, I suppose you could call it.

Why do relationships fall apart?

They’re like watching car crashes, I’m so stunned right now.

I cannot stand when people spell “ho” like “hoe.”

See, “ho” comes from the word “whore.” Chop off the front have and you have ‘hore.’ Chop off the back half and you have ‘ho.’ Not ‘hoe.’ A hoe is a garden tool. A ho is a skanky, good-for-nothing-except-a-few-minutes-in-the-sack, fake-cleavage-flaunting, loose-pussied, scumbag.

Teehee.

We’ve had our ups, and our downs, and our downers. We’ve had our problems, and our conflicts, and fights, and we’ve called one another angry names and hung up in the midst of a sentence and cried and cried and cried because of one another. I’ve hurt you, and you’ve hurt me. We’ve disagreed, and we’ve pissed each off more times than I could count on my fingers and toes.

I know that, at times, I’ve wanted nothing more than to punch you in the face.

But at the same time, you’ve been the only one willing to let me bitch, limitless, about my family, my friends, or any other trivial thing a teenage girl deals with. You’ve made me feel stronger, and you’ve made it clear that I’m not a bad person, I’m not ugly - inside or out - and, I can do great things. You’ve shown me that, sometimes, living without reason and with reckless abandon is really how it feels to live. You’ve given me a hand to hold and a shoulder to cry on. Besides that, you’ve trusted in me, too. Between the countless nights crying to one another about things we can’t change and trying to fix the things we can’t, I know that our lives have improved with the presence of each other. And the precious text messages, late night cuddly phone calls, and occurrences on the Speech bus are all great, but what’s greater is that I’ve found a best friend in you. You’ve given me someone to confide in, someone to lean on, someone to cry and laugh and hurt and yell with, you’ve given me protection, and a sense of why I’m here. The physical relationship we have may be great, but on the mental/emotional plane, I know I’ve found someone who I’ll never want out of my life. I know I’ve found someone with such a golden heart and a great personality. I know I’ve been blessed with someone so alike me. I know you mean more to me than any sole person on this planet.

I might not really know how to explain this feeling in my tummy, or in my heart, but I know that I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time.

That is all.

I’m fucking weird.

I have ten fingers.

I have curly hair.
I have a broken family, that’s been mended too often.
I have Jesus candles on my dresser and I use a Bible as a coaster.
I have drawings of pictures of metal structures, like the Eiffel Tower or Golden Gate Bridge all over.
I have a temper, but a golden heart.
I have got a mole on my right cheek, much like Marilyn Monroe’s.
I have a best friend, whom I love, and a boyfriend, whom I love.
I have white walls in my bedroom.
I do not have a lunch this semester.
I do not have an irrational fear of roller-coasters anymore.
I do not have a problem speaking in front of strangers.
I do not order people to grow up.
I do not take things seriously.
I do not have webbed toes, or an outie belly button.
I do not have nearly enough sweaters for my liking.
I do not have a bad life.

I have ten fingers.
I like having that certainty.

I understand this is highschool, but I simply will not put up with drama anymore.

I understand that I said some things that were misconstrued. I completely, totally get it. I understand feelings were hurt, and accusations were made.

However, you all just made me want to drift further from each and every one of you.

That church is so corrupt. You don’t attack someone, especially with deranged comments about how I’ve lost the Lord. Please do not attempt at enticing me with your “Come back to us, Anna” mantra. It won’t work, it makes me uneasy. Aside from that, it makes me laugh.

Oh, and it’s City and Colour, you fucking retards. And if my boyfriend and I want to make fun of your stupid as fuck accusations and the psychotic cult you all belong to, I’ll be damned if we’re not going to.

For the record, I’m still pleased with all of my decisions. I also do not regret one thing that was said over that extremely juvenile wall-exchange.

That is all.