P.S. I will save everyone.

"My love, you can't save everyone. I wish you understood that," a tone of disappointment saturated with flecks of genuine sincerity that only a mother can convey.

Lighting my cigarette, I desperately tried to breathe every ounce of that sincerity in.

"And please quit smoking."

Silence. Reflection? I wasn't even listening at this point.

"Maybe my words of wisdom are falling on deaf ears," she rambled, "but your heart has always been far too large for your body. You worry me."

"Ma, smoking isn't all that bad," I muttered with an exhale, my avoidance blatantly obvious and scattered in second hand smoke throughout the room by the power of my stand up fan.

My mother sounded like a TRUTH ad, and oh how those ads rile me up.

"Fair enough.. I guess it must have been pretty exciting to see someone smash another person's head with an acoustic guitar. Call your father later, he'll love that story."

"Moral of the story.. I needed to get me some bigger overalls."

.. oh, metaphors.

My mind is racing.

I just saw a boy smash a guitar over man's head at The Pink. And I tried to help. In fact, I dragged him away and slapped him a billion times and yelled. I was yelling for my sister and her dirt bag scumbag husband. I was yelling for the kids in high school that didn't make it and can't make it. I was just yelling at the top of my lungs. I was yelling because I feel so fortunate to have parents that have hugged me a whole lot and still love me no matter what. I feel awful that this boy doesn't have that and has never experienced that. Maybe I gave him that. Part of me hopes so. Part of me knows that he will just continue to jump trains and be crazy and spend 5 more years to add onto his measly 20 in jail. That's life. That's what happens. Fuck, I wish I could control other peoples demons and vices. I can't. I need to realize that. I definitely said I just wanted to throw him in a solitary room, fill it with kittens and puppies, tuck him in with a blanket adorned with a pattern of the state of Kentucky and have him be incubated in love. Then, just maybe I wouldn't be throwing up every day due to nervousness and too big of a heart if that were the case. I'd rather be throwing up over someone else's problems than my own. Because I don't really have any problems of my own, whatsoever.

(I hate that this whole thing happened in front of the bartender, but ya know what.. I wish he didn't hug me so tight and squeeze me like I want to be squeezed because he has a girlfriend and that disgusts me. He kind of angers me in a way that I haven't felt before. A way that is weird because.. I'm a wreck, I get it.. but if I commit to someone, I commit. I don't go looking for validation that I am good looking or have people falling all over me. If he is using me for his own ego, that's rough, that's not right, and I don't think I deserve that).

I never say I need anyone. I have kind of needed a lot of people in the past few days. Maybe I said it? Maybe I hinted? Maybe I should have been more direct. Everyone has their own shit. I just hate that most of the time I am there. I guess I need to be more independent. I hate that I can call Ray and text him and he is there (because we are so shitty to each other), but no one else is. I mean, really, it's kind of awful. I've spent the last few nights with Nick and I like that. I just wish my family was a lot closer. I need to be hugged and someone to tell me they genuinely love me. Not the bullshit love yous that come from bars and Allentown, but something nice.. something that transcends Buffalo. Something that you can just fall apart in, crumble even, and be okay.. or at least know that at some point things will be okay.

I left a boy in my elevator without a goodbye. He's a band boy. He's just making his trek through the continental United States and will forget about me, but he was fucking good looking and charming and great.. but I just feel as though that ship in my life has passed. I don't want to have meaningless times anymore, really. I want substantial. I want great. By the way, I am going on a pseudo date tomorrow with possibly the most substantial guy I have ever met in Buffalo. Yikes. Watch me fuck this one up?

Happy Birthday, Stephanie. You are the love of my life. I love you with my whole heart, and truly. I feel like we are kindred spirits that just get each other no matter what. I will never judge you or have anything rough to say about you because you're pure at heart and a genuine good person. The only bad thing I can say is that I wish you were closer, so much closer to me. You're great and you deserve the best. I hope your celebrations are amazing and fantastic and fabulous.. just like yourself, all of the aforementioned and more. I love you, simply put.

I'm kind of mess. Maybe someone needs to incubate me in a room of puppies and kittens for awhile.

EDIT:

Alright, no more of that. None of it! Ever again!

It's a lesson learned and I'm just thankful that no one said "I told you so", though many are obviously thinking it.

Oh well. There are plenty of fish in the sea and Buffalo, my dears, is a small pond. I will take my big fish love interests elsewhere.

I really feel like I'm nothing. Nothing special, nothing extraordinary, nothing substantial. And I'll never be responsible. I like to say "Whoa.. I spent the last 3 years of my life taking care of someone who was sick with cancer.. give me a good reason why I shouldn't go nuts?" What an excuse. What a bullshit excuse. What a really fucking shitty excuse. Hey, at least I admit to my excuses.. right? hah right.

I will now shower and go to work 3 hours late because I really am full of excuses and absolutely nothing.

I will never dress my children in "crocs".. ever.

Estelle Getty died the other day and I'm kind of really upset about it.

Ryan Adams and Mandy Moore broke up before the 4th of July and I feel like it's a sign. No two people can be in a relationship that perfect. Ohhhh, parallel lives.

I refuse to stop drinking Bloody Mary's. A burning heart and fiery lips are worth it.

Since when did everyone go and get real self-centered? Only more ammunition to fuel my ever continuing "if you're not now, you never were" theory/motion.

My brother blew my mind today. I can't wait until mid/late August for our intense family adventures. I'm lucky to have him in my life.

I am totally my father's daughter. And I love it.

I need to get my act together, but I've got 7.5 years to work on it. I'm okay with that.

I can't organize anything lately.. from my thoughts to my actions to the clothes on my bedroom floor.

"It's like my heart can't be tamed,
I fall in love everyday.. I feel like a fool.
I have to face the truth.. that no one will ever look at me like you do..
Like something worth holding onto."

"Wish you were here."

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

In fact, I'm so sorry that I don't even recall what I am sorry for anymore.

..........


I wish people weren't so mean-spirited. More importantly, I wish it didn't rub off on me.

Tonight maybe the anti-whatever of a few nights previous. I am sober, I am eating whole grain pasta, I am in my own wifebeater, the couch is empty. Frankie confessed his lust for me, hot bartender fell in conversation love with me. I feel like I won. I should win. I ultimately feel like a dirtbag that needs to be more honest. No real winning. Tomorrow I will be more honest over a cup of coffee.

Speaking of honesty.. you are bullshit. You pushed so many friends away. You're desperate and rude and it shows so blatantly obviously that I feel sorry for you. I hate feeling sorry for people. HATE it. Despise it. When you come back, I'll still love you.. but until then.. is it your heart that has been so large for the past 6+ months.. or rather your head?

I hope Sara had the best birthday ever. (I love you, Sara!)

There are some songs that, when they hit my ears, I never cease to feel sick to my stomach.

I hate you for that. And I hate my memory for that even more so.

I am an asshole for saying I want to erase memories. But sometimes, just sometimes, I'd like to listen to my favorite songs and not feel nauseous.

OH MY GOD. I am so predictable.. I definitely came home completely shitfaced at 5:30am, stripped down to underwear while feeding Pete handfuls of of "Meow Mix" and ignoring my brother's intense snores from the couch.. and buttered some wild grilled cheese sandwich for myself. As the toast was crisping, I realized I should probably put non-party dress and non-neglige clothes on, so I moseyed on down to my bedroom and threw on a gigantic wifebeater. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and thought "Oh, wow, best hipster outfit ever because this dirty beater looks like an amazing dress". Then I realized what it was and thought.. fuck, three maybe four nights in a semi-row, shit Trisha you cannot do this. You cannot be that girl. It fits, I wear it, take what you want from it.. read between the lines.. whateverrrrr.

If all the aforementioned is true, then I am shitty. Ya know what, I am shitty. Shitty because I was weirdly bummed that Frankie made out with some awkward bleach blonde new-boobed haggard ass hoe (oh god.. I need to quit reality tv).. at the bar in front of me. Frankie.. really?! He fucking murrrrdered a girl on Craigslist. Anyhow, and I also got bummed because Bartender #1 tells me (hot) Bartender #2 can't stop talking about me, yet has a girlfriend. Seriously, GET A GRIP. Everyone, GET A GRIP.. including me. More importantly, me.

Annnnnnnnd, I am a boy crazy whore.. which proves why I should not be wearing this wifebeater right now. Awful.

This past week has been bullshit.

I keep coughing, but I can't stop smoking. I don't really think the two are related.

I keep getting very angry, but I can't stop putting myself in detrimental situations. I know the two are not related.

I keep getting worked up and expect a headache, but I can't stop wanting a drink to make me feel better. I'm sad that the two are related.

Blah blah blah, complain complain complain.

I'm out $50 and not seeing Alkaline Trio.. fuck. I have $10 in my bank account, no money for laundry or NYC or fun.. double fuck. I spent 6 hours today driving Nick around to Orchard Park, Alden, Varysburg (where I was convinced we were going to be left for dead and eaten by weird camping hicks because my car kept getting stuck in mud every two seconds), Alden and back to Buffalo in a wild goose chase for his keys.. fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck, complain complain complain. Isn't that how it always goes?

This weekend is NYC on a tight budget and then Sara's birthday extravaganza. I swear I will leave my shitty attitude in NYC. I promise promise promise. Fuck fuck fuck. haha That's how it usually goes.

So one by one, this is how it's going to go.

It's kind of a "history repeats itself" situation, but that's a stretch.

I guess you could really say I need to start trusting my gut.

I feel slightly guilty and I can't help it. A guilt that an only (semi) selfless person can truly feel, I suppose. I've been encompassed in nights that end with quiet thoughts of "I can't wait to tell my offspring and their offspring about this." And then I think "Wow, I can't wait to tell Laura's unborn child these things." And that excites me, fucking real life. I hope it's a girl so I can tell her to slow down and never settle for anything but this feeling.. the feeling of beautifully adoring friends and loves of your life. So I can tell her to have an open heart that is wise beyond years, yet never guarded in any sort of defensive barbed wire. I hope it's a boy so I can tell him to be reckless in life, but extraordinarily careful in love. So I can tell him to be the best brother and son and father and boyfriend ever. Some boys haven't ever been told that. It's not their fault, they just never knew how fragile such a silly little organ could be.

What a giggling mess I've become. Grateful is an understatement. I can slap my best friend across the face with such force that both of our eyes lock in maddening shock.. and then we laugh. We laugh like we were watching some sort of amazing sitcom in which we both got the punchline. I can be tough with a side of love and a boy understands that I mean business. That I will slap him harder than her if he chooses to get on my bad side. I ride home on the back of another boy's bike, treacherously weaving in and out of the cracks of Elmwood while I try to puff on a Seneca and simultaneously hang on for dear life. I quietly think "What a good story.. I am living in the movie Now and Then and riding home on the bike of a wormer." We have good talks about life and how small Buffalo really is and we secretly tell eachother we never want to leave. I run inside and strip down to underwear, being greeted graciously by sassy Peterbilt. He reluctantly follows me around as I make my nightly routine of over-buttered, over-cheesed grilledcheese and I unconsciously dress into a dirty, gigantic wifebeater that has been left behind. Without much thought, I inhale it's fading smell of sweat and brash soap and I smile. Part of me is mad that I've become one of those girls, but the less rational part of me can't get over the way it fits perfectly in an odd manner. In 4 hours I will awake to drive my little, yet constantly growing brother his spare set of car keys. It's nice to know that he still needs me. That I should be annoyed and inconvenienced and aggravated, but I still need him too.

In a few days I will be on an epic journey, fleeing Eastward to the smell of an ocean and dirt and grime. I love this summer. I think I'm happy.

It's Independence Day and I don't feel the least independent. Not free of vices, bad habits, bad news individuals.. none of it.

Shit.

P.S.
(You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed
With a single pillow underneath your single head
I guess you decided that that old queen was more space than you would need
Now it's in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says it's free

And I hope you have more luck with this than me

You used to think that someone would come along
And lay beside you in a space that they belong
But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new
What's the point of holding on to what never gets used?

Other than a sick desire for self-abuse

And I try not to worry, but you've got me terrified
It's like your some kind of hurry
To say goodbye, say goodbye, say goodbye

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed).

.. Story of my life.