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everything has to mean at least something, right?

right?

oh dear.

dear god, Elliott Smith, sometimes you're a little too accurate.

(and the thing i detest the most is exactly how angsty, sixteen year old girl i sound.)

aaron killed himself.

i can't seem to get the thought that i'll be able to see him again out of my head. that i'll be able to smoke a cigarette with him and laugh about the time he chased me and laura around with that enormous stick or thanksgiving when my mum forgot to turn on the crock pot for the turkey and laura actually ate the raw turkey.

fuck.

i don't know how i'm supposed to keep on fighting for some hope of some sort of life. i keep on falling into this horrible pit, finally realising i'm back in the pit, figuring out a way to get out of the pit, and then something completely out of my control lands me back in the pit.

it's beginning to feel completely and utterly futile.

i don't know why i'm posting this here, of all places, but there's feeling of slight anonymity.

fuck, aaron. i was supposed to marry you. i was going to become the second laura pontious just so laura and i could be related.

fuck. fuck. and fucking christmas.

fuck.

everyone and their grandmothers love Michelle, but Julia is completely and utterly underappreciated. i think it's just as or perhaps even more beautiful than Michelle.

some reason, i just had this strange beatles craving and then i realised exactly how long it's been since i last listened to them. it seems impossible because i was simply relentless for quite a long time.

aw. and Don't Worry Baby. hah, that song defined my seventh grade pining phase. it's funny how quickly i'm forgetting things already.

i need to sleep. i've got my first performance tomorrow and a ballet class at 9 and it's already 3:45. i'm still not particularly tired, though. oh, how much fun you are, insomnia.

someone, just delete all the Grandaddy and Leonard Cohen off my computer. it's getting far too unhealthy.

oh, and by the way, happy birthday, me.

i physically cannot change my music right now. i'm terribly stuck on Sparklehorse, "heart of darkness" and "st. mary", specifically, but everytime i think of changing the music, i get this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach so i haven't yet.

this is just absurd.

i really should stop with this horrible habit of finding a beautiful song and listening to it for weeks on end.

my poison of choice is currently Aaron Ross. i remember when i first saw him perform years ago and i fell in love with 'warlock', but i didn't hear it again until just recently. it's exquisite.

i need to stop isolating myself.

listening to the the beach boys makes me terribly nostalgic. them and dire straits. which is strange because it's mainly memories of being eleven years old and playing myst on my dad's computer and listening to him play along on his electric guitar.

hah, it's going to have been a year since i joined last.fm in two days (that's worded so awkwardly). that's so strange. it's been a year and so much has changed. so much more than you'd ever expect just a year to change.

according to my charts, it looks like i listened to a lot of Lynn Harrell (a cellist my mum was friends with) in the winter, then Bob Dylan for december, Julie Doiron a lot in january and february, and then Neva Dinova for march and april. the entire time i'd been listening to quite a bit of The Beatles and Golden Shoulders, though.

hah, the range of emotions each band holds is so vast. it's almost irritating how i've connected emotions to music; i can't listen to say, Jeff Buckley's "hallelujah" without automatically tearing up and getting that horrid feeling in the pit of my stomach again. or julie doiron at all.

blergh.