N O M O R E S I C K D A Y S

a hundred hour glasses half full and we're still fighting over cold spots on the backs of our pillows "I can't sleep, can you?"


after all the heartache sores on our hands your still checking my nails for dirt. "Quit biting your fingers."

I tied my sheets in a knot in my throat and cried all night. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I smeared the fog on the bathroom mirror and I thought I saw you standing there.

(RE:) I P O S T T H I N G S L I K E T H I S O N F A C E B O O K

I'm not team homeless bum. I'm team help them. I'm not team give them five bucks and feel better about yourself. I'm team start something.


Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Talk to them. Get them to a job center. A library. Help them better their lives. Don't try to preach to them about some God that has never given a shit about them. And don't pay for their next bottle, needle, or hit.

Give a fuck. And pray to whoever that someone gives one about you.

I P O S T T H I N G S L I K E T H I S O N F A C E B O O K

If there is a god he doesn't do as much as we think he does. And every time he sees "christians" bicker among themselves over what he MIGHT have meant, instead of doing something about the issues at hands, he facepalms and runs off to play ...angry birds on his i Phone 7.

I think America's biggest problem is that America looks at things in a big picture as it pertains to their life, or they look at their life specifically. Whether than looking at how their life affects others.

If a couple divorces, that doesn't go to church, it's easy for a church going couple to assume god wasn't a part in their relationship--otherwise there would not have been a divorce.

If a couple goes to church and gets a divorce, then stops going to church, it's assumed that couple has "lost their way" in the lord.

If two buildings are "attacked" by planes, we blame terrorists--not the government who had full control. The whole time. And--just a note--four buildings fell that day. One with NO plane.

We believe what TV,the internet, the news (run by the government), and our preachers, tell us to believe. That's not "faith."

If Americans are poor it's because 1) they're lazy and so we hate them, 2) God decided to give them AIDS, lay them off, send them to war, or some other shitty circumstance, or perhaps 3) God does dictate certain paths in life, in hopes that maybe someday we Americans will wake up, give a fuck and do something about it. Whether it's exploding buildings, or men, women and children sitting outside in the cold wondering who god is and why he hates them.

Romans 8:28 All things work out for good to those who love and trust in God and are called according to his purpose.

Everything's going to be okay, but if it's not okay just then, it's probably your fault and only you can fix it.

So maybe homeless people can get out of their situation. Maybe you can stop dropping f bombs, or watching porn, or gambling, or drinking, or whatever else your flavor of Christianity deems is "wrong." Maybe you can, but it's hard. Maybe it'd be nice if someone tried to help. A lot of someones even. Maybe that homeless man prays every night, and you can't remember when you have.

Or maybe he's happy where he is, burning tiny Gideon Bibiles for warmth. Hoping when he dies he doesn't go to the same Heaven as all the selfish "Christians" who pass him by.

N O O N E C A N H E A R M E

My name is Ashlyn Ervin and I'm a Freshen Creative Writing major. I've tried several times to find or obtain an adviser and I just can't seem to do that. I've been to the English department, asked the student relations office, my SOAR says I'm "unassigned" and people have said that I won't have one for a while. I'm not sure what normal protocol is, but I've been having a lot of trouble and no one to talk to and my year has gotten off to a pretty terrible start.

I am in BIO 110. I'm not good in math or science. I talked to the professor (who is actually not who even teaches my class) and they said to contact my adviser because I belonged in a non-science major lab and lecture. I went to the English department and they said to tell the professor. I emailed and called the professor back and got no reply other than I needed to speak to an adviser (which I was told I could not have).

The bad thing about biology was that my labs actually didn't start until the last week that classes could drop and only met once a week. I literally found out I was in the wrong class for me and did everything I knew to do that day. Nothing happened. I'm in a lab and biology class that is over my head.

I had to drop my Spanish class through the student relations office. I'm only at USM because of loans and one of the stipulations (I believe) is that I have to be full-time. I have five classes as of now. One is a lab. I don't know how to calculate how many "hours" that is.

I'm in Math 99. I'm terrible in Math. The reason I'm terrible in math is because my first year of Algebra was taught on a computer program with a facilitator. I am now being taught (and required to take) math on a computer program with facilitator. I know how I learn math. This isn't it. I'd like to take math over the summer perhaps where I can only focus on it and do my best. I'd like to pass math, so far I am not. I don't even understand the schedule of the class, the grading, anything. And I don't have anyone to help me with that.

I am the first person in my family to go to college. I'm paying completely in loans and my family isn't helping me in any way.The two classes I like and understand are History and English. History, however, is a very fast paced and involved class. Dr. Weist has informed us that his tests are also extremely hard. I'll also have to work very hard in this class.

English Comp 101 is the only class I feel confident in. It is my major. It's why I am here. It's what I'm paying money at this institution for. My money. My debt is going towards these classes. Three of which I don't think I should be in. I'm really concerned. I don't feel there's anyone for me to talk to. SOAR is mind boggling to even attempt to use to my advantage in any way other than to check my schedule. I can't drop or add classes because I'm in Math 99. I don't know why.

I feel like I'm paying to fail right now. The books I bought I don't use (mostly), some of my teachers barely teach. I knew nothing about college and came here with the highest expectations. I'm sorry to come to you because you aren't my adviser, but I need someone to advise me. Why am I here? What should I do? How do I do it?

Thank you for your time and I apologize if I've inconvenienced you in any way,
Ashlyn

I W A N T T O S L E E P A N D M A K E O V E R

It may be nerdy to admit but...



I want to have a sleepover.



The really girlie kind where we gossip about everyone.



And cook and eat junk food.

I want to paint my nails and dye my hair.
I want to hang with the most golden girls.

H O W T O H A X Y O U R B R A I N

NOTABLE QUOTABLE:
[on bowling] one shoe on one shoe off, slidin' down the alley!
--FACEBOOK

I want to talk to you about blogging. [Yes, I'm tearing down the fourth wall and pointing directly at you.] I've been neglecting you, which is something I do sometimes. I've also been treating you like we're friends, which I have to do sometimes.

But I also think I should mention that I didn't intend for this to be a diary, a place to come whine. When I started this no one read it. It was a blog for me to free write in. Where I could do everything Natalie Goldberg and Dr. Lebow wanted me to do. Write badly;write often. But, now I feel like I have a lot to say. Now, I want you guys to understand.

I'd rather you hear it from me.

(That would be the title of my blog, if I changed it--I think.)

On a sidebar, I think Pandora finally understands me. I made a Vampire Weekend station. That doesn't mean I want to listen to Death Cab every three songs, even though I love them, it means I want you to play Ben Folds.

And yes, I do like Band of Horses, no matter who showed them to me.

So I think if Pandora gets me after two years, maybe you do too. Because honestly I did make this blog for Mony. And everything in my life will always be for her, or related to her. Because sometimes family makes more sense than religion, and love makes more sense than devotion, and it's a lot easier to love and understand your crazy great-grandmother.

So, I'm sorry, Mr. Whitebeard but maybe you should write me back and take some lessons from sweet old cajun ladies. Really, I feel like gumbo can be enough religion for anyone.

Jordan's blogs make me cry. Jordan is a beautiful person. I think friends become family just as easy as some family can never be your friend. Jordan's blog is called ENGLISH IV. Even though we're in college now. It's a title. It's a moment and a picture of that time. That's what my title is. If she's not changing hers I'm not changing mine.

I haven't told you about Mony in a while. I'll do that.

*Mony told Mom happy birthday four times on four separate days, and sent her two birthday cards.
*I called Mony for she and Paw's anniversary. She said these things:

-it sure is hot
-you start school soon?
-that's on my calendar
-it's almost your mom's birthday
-I called your mom
-is it your birthday?

____________________________________________________

OTHER THINGS

T H E S U C K M A T T E R S

To the untrained eye, it may seem as though I'm no longer angry over the terrible friend scandal. I am. Mostly because I'm starting to realize people suck, and so do friends. Unless your friends are imaginary. (Which a lot of mine are.) I'm a writer. I don't need real people. I really don't. So if you want to make me hate you, realize that it doesn't matter. I'll replace you. And let you om nom bobombs all day long. Losers.

Also, "I'm sorry" does nothing for me. Make a stupid decision. Apologize. Cool, you're aware you messed up. You still did. You still ruined that trust. I'm still going to feel how that affected me.

I got a tattoo today! The one I've wanted for a really long time.

My Aunt Dawn was my dad's middle sister. She died six years ago from cancer. At that time my favorite verse was Romans 8:28 and after she died I found out it was hers too: "All things work out for good." When she died, I felt that verse. I agreed with it. It means a lot to me. We had it written on her headstone.

If I wrote the bible, Romans 8:28 would say: "life isn't cool all the time, but it makes sense in the long run. Even the sucky things matter, and we'll always be okay."

It means more to me than most people. Because, as I have said. People are fickle. People are dumb. Words don't lie. They can't. Unless they're homonyms, but that's just sneaky of them.

W O R D V O M I T

I got sleepy and thought I'd rest my eyes on something familiar. The selves we all so readily left behind, what seems like not that long ago but in some ways is a life time. I thought about how small we all felt, begging for the pens to crawl off the paper and mark our skins, edit the selves we never knew, the adults we were becoming--halfheartedly. And we all took a stab at growing. Carving into ourselves more&deeper until we realize we couldn't grow just by tearing ourselves apart. You minus comas, you minus past-tense-shifts, you minus high school. The only way we could grow was to add in jobs, to add in stress, to add in real-life-problemsolvingbullshit and deal with the things our parents still think we're too young for.

So our eyes get tired and we all blink more than the average person. And we all wander off the map to places where people don't know what vocals, visuals, or crazy art school kids are and we get scared. Or we get scary.

I feel taller, I only speak word processor. And reading all those words you said, the image clusters and the metaphors wet my lips and made the words creep out of me. And my fingers shook, really shook, and I crawled into myself and thought about crying. Because it really isn't youth until you're older. When you're there, when you're standing in that skin it's the oldest you've ever been and you feel it. You feel like you're all you're ever going to be, you feel invincible and tiny and the same time. Safe in whatever corner of high school you've stored yourself away in. But when you have to actually walk outside, and you look back--you really see what's true. You really know what happened and I see us differently than I see MTV and down town Collins. We look big. We look nearly full-screen. We embody the missing link in adolescence. We are prepared as prepared could be. And that makes me happy.

Nostalgia is youth minus youth. It's younger minus stress; hormones; parents. It's riding in the car singing American Pie. It's staying up all night writing plays in your dorm room. It's a real life cafeteria musical every day. It's what you want to see. But I'm choosing something else. When I look at you all I'm choosing more than that.

I want to see you crying on the bathroom floor, dragging your mattress in so we can sleep alone and talk and whine and tell each other everything no one ever knew except for the few friends we don't have anymore. The things you never tell boyfriends because they don't stick around. And we had to learn that the hard way.

I want to see your parents house ripped in half and you parenting your siblings 100 miles away. I want to see you succeed beyond that and force them to balls out and be proud of you. Because you're so much more beautiful when you're falling apart, only then can everyone see how strong you are. How together you're becoming despite everything. How perfect we are because of the holes drilled in us before we're old enough to know it's happening.

And it makes me want to write. It makes me want to put you all in words, in free form poetry images slipping down acrylic paper and dancing through my typewriter. But you are more words than I have fingers for. And they just aren't used to the pole-driving method of type writers. They racket of production. They're spoiled by these computer machines.

I just don't want you to fill in the memories with some nirvana high school experience that didn't exist. We did things. It was hard. But don't fill in those holes we never drilled with parts of us that don't exist. Love the people we are. The whole person. Even the people that aren't whole, even the cracks that let the light out enough for you to see the perfectly broken people we really are.

And I just want to love you. In whatever way that love can be in whatever distance has to be between us for me to, in some way, be able to appreciate and accept that you exist.

I don't edit these things. My computer sits here with blogger open until I think it's been filled enough. I just thought you should know. I'm aware I ramble.

P E O P L E F A R M

I wonder if we ever grow up. I don't want to think that I'm grown up now, because I don't really believe I am. If I was, this stuff wouldn't happen to me. The things that I stress over. The things that bother me wouldn't effect me on the scale that they do. I would be like, oh well. I wouldn't think every single thing is the end of the world. But I do. And I acknowledge that. So maybe in that ability to self-diagnose my self as childish I'm more of an adult, but I also know that I won't change. I can't be less self-conscious. I can't be less sensitive. I can't will myself to not care. I feel stunted. I feel like this is where I am right now. And maybe one day I'll wake up and realize I can hate without stumbling. I can hurt without mourning. And I can care without feeling. I don't want my emotions to get the best of me, or even any of me--but as for now, they've got all of me. And everything takes a back seat to my emotions, what my hormones say, what my feelings say I should do. But, I just don't think they're the best judge of anything. I don't think feeling upset should keep me from sleeping, eating, or being productive. I don't think I should worry as much as I do over the things I do. But, believing and knowing that isn't going to stop me from feeling that. And as long as I feel like that, I'm going to act the way I do. So why is it that I can know exactly what's wrong but not how to fix it?


In that. I am young. I am not grown. I deserve my terrible job, my corrupt boss, my sleepless nights, and my aimless stab at sanity. Youth is the blind leading the blind, through everything that makes you learn--and you can only learn adult-inese through experience. You can only study your past. And I don't think everyone gets out of that. I think some people could be children forever because they like it, the uncertainty, the innocence. They don't want to be accountable. Ignorance, though, is never an excuse. We are always supposed to learn from our mistakes, even the ones we don't see. But, I think I can't see a lot right now. There's too much in my head for sleep. I just want us all to be better. So much better. I don't want to hate you.

I'm done. The only reason I still have a Facebook is for contacts. But you're childish.
I hate people.
.
..
...
..
.




I'm going skating with Black Mafia today. Friendterventions are new, and very nice.
.
..
...
..
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Tydee is so sweet. I don't know what I'd do without him, or my friends.
(Also)
Some people just don't know what being a friend means, and that's sad.

U R C U T E L I E K P O O P

Tydee made me better when I was sick. :3 He takes care of me,

he's so sweet. He mad me soup and got all my medicine and didn't let me walk to get blankets or cokes or anything. I love him.

Everyone is acting so weird lately. I don't know, maybe it's just me. But you think you know a person and then POOF, they're a zombie. They're an apocolapse. Look out, kiddos, your best friend is the end of the world, your cat is a black whole, and your hamster cures cancer.


I'm being sarcastic.











These guys mean more to me than most people I know IRL. SRSLY. Days like today I find myself scrolling through my phone to text John about a cute girl at work, or a new found Nerdfighter.





I don't want you to apologize. Really, none of you. I've thought about it and I'm just done. I'm convinced. It cannot be fixed. You messed up. I'm so tired. I just want to get out of this high school hole and act a little more grown up. Sorry. But, that's some immature gaming going down.








So I'm loving my job at Justice when I can actually work. I hate just standing, greeting is a joke. I am not that peppy. Sorry. Let me fold, organize, or run dressing rooms. I just want hours. I just want to be productive. I just want to be able to eat sushi once a week and bathe. That's all my life needs. And my laptop, oh internet.

If you can count you can haiku.
DERP.

It's that time of year again. Put your heart in a ziplock bag and tuck it in the freezer. I should be used to it by now. I'm going to start hiding it from myself.