Michigan's not that bad...

Every time I read your words I cry. I fight back angry and regretful tears. I fight back my closing throat and burning eyes, blinking through that mysterious emotion-filled water. I take a breath and tell myself everything happens for a reason, everything will be fine. I will be fine, he will be fine, everyone will be fine. And hopefully one day I'll be happy again, too.

That's something I realized in my last little photo extravaganza... that I am sad.

After shooting with Dan Lippitt for the better part of Saturday, we were looking through the images and all I saw was this saddness that I didn't know was there. I was so shocked to see these sad pictures of me when I hadn't felt sad at all!

There was this one time, over a year ago, that I had some fucking issues on my way to a art-nude shoot with another model. I was freaking. Near hysterics driving from Brooklyn to Hoboken. I ramble off to the girl about the fight my boyfriend-at-the-time and I had. You know those sorts of tears, the ones where they just fall big and fat like you're 4 years old and just got disneyland taken away from you? Yeah those kind. I couldn't stop, I was so upset. We got there and I got myself under control and thought I could just use my heart wrenching pain as ammo, you know? Like eat that, fucker, look at this awesome picture of me being so sad and you made it happen.

It totally backfired because the photographer had his own plans that had nothing to do with my pain. Which I couldn't understand. If a pretty girl showed up to shoot with me and was like, "I'm really upset but I want to shoot." I'd be stoked and base everything around her heartache.

I don't know, I think he was afraid of my unabashed crocodile tears.

And yeah, now I think I can cry on cue, if anyone's interested. Makes me want to take a stab at acting... I associate being able to cry infront of people in some sort of character role to be the hardest part of acting.

But for now I'm stuck right here. My car is at the shop because it broke down last week. Of course. Better a couple miles away rather than a couple hundred miles away. What if I had decided to drive to Chicago a few days before? What if I hadn't gone out that night and was out in Pontiac? Blah, could have been a lot worse.

I guess that's what happens when you have a car for seven years and never wash it and drive it excessively and can't afford to properly keep up with it. Hopefully now it'll be ready for my escape. I'm starting to already feel trapped here. Often I get this feeling/image of me draped in a cloth or net, that's heavy and tangling, and I can't panic or I'll just get more trapped... but I want to twitch and scream and claw.


on a side ending note, I'd like to say that meeting the beautiful girls I did in the last few days really made me feel homely. That and my shaved head causes girls to treat me like a lesbian. But in a good way. I think girls like girls who like girls. Whether they like girls or not. So sometimes I act like a boy.