I'm a fleabit peanut monkey

There are TWO days left of winter beak (one of which I've got to take time out of to spend writing my grade-saving English paper), and here I am at 2ish AM, waiting for my prince charming, the one who's supposed to sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to the faraway land of rock-n'-rollin' all night and lovin' every day. PFFT! I'm past that fantasy. Thankfully.

EFF that. I hate that. "Isabella Gloria" becomes a façade when you put a BOY at the center of it all. Since when did I need a boy? Well, I've recognized the errors in my ways. I missed ME. The one at the center of MY world should be ME. Since this realization, I've been craving drugs. Ew, right? Then what? I'll be chasing down the new substance, the new chemical high? It's always about kicks. (Besides, if I want a new sensation, I should just try not calling Adrian for a few days. Heart pounding, thoughts racing through fog, lack of mobility.. talk about a high!)

Well then again, if not kicks, what is there? There's rock n' roll. For damn sure. I always said, put me in a box with rock n' roll for the rest of my life and I'll be the happiest bitch alive. But that's not necessarily socially acceptable. ;) And now I KNOW I am whole without a man, which is more than Lester Bangs knew of himself (about a woman.. obviously). But I find myself wanting more, grasping onto thin air for more, the way Astro pounces at nothing. For goodness' sake, I'm 17, not 47, and the world is laid out for me. So why do I feel like it's not enough?

But then, y'know, maybe Astro feels something I don't. Maybe he pounces simply for the joy of pouncing. Me, I'm sitting still. Albeit more boring (or less un-boring) than I remembered, I'm glad I rewatched Almost Famous. It reconnected me with a girl I once knew--a girl with visions and dreams and aspirations who preferred to quietly observe. Now I've lived just a sufficient amount of life in 17 years, but I never would've imagined, FOUR years ago, that I'd be the girl I am today or have the experiences under my belt I do today. And I'd never choose to be that shy, that reserved, that silently inferior-feeling as I was then, but I think I could learn a thing or ten from that ME. I wanted the world and I planned to get it. What happened to all my plans? Thank GOD (and CLAPTON) I kept writing or I'd have nothing left. I wanted so many things. I sitll do, but sometimes I feel further away from achieving those goals. I wanted to be big. Of course, every musician DREAMS big, but I wanted it bad. BAD, and I could feel it in my soul, and my fingers and my toes. That's passed. BUT, that's not to say it can't be renewed, right? Eh, who am I kiddin'? At least for the time being, my only goal is to pass fuckin' English.

At least this boy is somethin'...not something entirely different or refreshing or new, but something for sure.. I think he knows that rock n' roll isn't about looking cool or having the right clothes or even the right reputation. He knows it's about the MUSIC, that tickle in the bones, that chill that runs in a zig-zag all over your back, the neon green fuzz that fills the space between your muscles and skin. And before I convince myself he loves me, or that I love him, I have to look at the big picture with this new perspective, and this new knowledge I've recieved that not everything--or, nothing--is really black & white. I know that ALL too well now. It's funny, what your mother says. No matter how much you think you know about love, no matter how informed you THINK you are, not only do your thoughts progress speedily during a love.. you always learn something new with the next. Always.

And isn't that what life is about? That more? Those kicks? Seeing them, chasing them down and GETTING them? I think so, anyway. All I REALLY know is that this time, I don't want to be carried away. It's fun, the whispers and the warmth and the romance. But in all that, in all the trust you place in another person and the love that's squeeeezed from you as if you're a sponge and the pieces of your soul that are ripped from your body (the process of which you, against your better judgment, find yourself enjoying and becoming a babbling, giggly mess over)... therein lies the problem. These can be regained, but during their extraction, you lose a little bit of YOU. And that's a little harder to recover. Right now, I have me. ME. Not "Gloria the She-Rat" or whatever-the-hell, but me... Isabel Rodriquez. With a Q. And I'll NEVER lose me again.