July 26, 2003
That Muffin Will Be The End Of Us All

It probably didn't help that I took a few days worth of medicine this morning. But at the time I really wasn't concerned, nor was I really awake. After waking up to realize my ride would arrive in 5 minutes, I sleepily stumbled to the bathroom and tried to distribute three pills into my palm; but being that I was still upset that no one woke me up, I really didn't consider the appropriate amount.

On stage, I'm supposed to eat a muffin while talking. I hadn't had anything to drink all morning, though, and dry throat is a common side-effect from the medicine, so my throat just wouldn't swallow. With all eyes on me, I thought for a moment I might choke and hack up mini muffins and die right on stage.

In the few seconds that I sat there choking, I was having a mental argument. Sometimes I do that. I fight pros and cons, rights and wrongs, could'ves and dids, and usually scream at myself "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING." And everything that could have been said has been said after 5 seconds of bickering with myself.

One second. Oh my God. I'm going to die. Why can't I swallow, I'm choking on a fucking mini muffin. How is it possible to choke on a mini muffin. Whatever, the point is that I am, and I can't breathe. Maybe I should make it apparent to someone. "Elsa, my dear, I would ask a boon of you. Give me the heimlich." Idiot, you can't talk, you're dying.

Two seconds. I should have had some water before I came out, it wouldn't be so hard to swallow. Miss Friendly gets a pitcher of water, I should have one out here just in case. No, just kidding, Friendly's pitcher doesn't have anything in it. Well it should, and someone should run out here right now and give me water.

Three seconds. Nausea, trembling, dry mouth. Stupid idiot, how many fucking pills did I take anyway? Considering one half of the muffin can't get down my throat and the other half is shaking in my hand, I'd say a bit too much. You did this on purpose didn't you. You didn't want to come here so you tried to get yourself sick. You're going to die now, I hope you're satisfied. But no, it was an accident. I unconsciously took too many, that's all.

Four seconds. Thank God, it went down. "We'll have many good days ahead of us, once Adrian takes over running the kingdom." Now Elsa talks. So what just happened there? Did anyone notice? Fuck and now my stomach hurts and I still have a whole dragon scene to do and I just want to go home. "Remember when I met you Elsa, my dear?"

Five seconds. I still have this other half of the muffin... and it would be a shame to waste it.

And then my two contrasting minds came to a truce and I stopped fighting with myself.

But I got home later that day and it hit me just how awful I felt. I was so fucking weak, I couldn't hold up a magazine without it falling out of my hands a minute later. I walked into all the walls and doors and I couldn't focus my eyes and it was stupid. Why the fuck did I do that, I knew full well what I was doing that morning by taking so many. Now my entire system is fucked up, nothing's working right.

I can have big arguments in my head in a matter of seconds, but I can't make small decisions very fast. I spent two hours wondering if I should start writing in my diary again. It's always interesting to read and look back on those trivial [dear lauren: twiviawity] things that I thought were so important at the time. But I stopped writing back in May, so it's difficult to just pick up again. I feel like I owe myself an explanation as to why I haven't written. And if I do write, what will it be about? Acting? No, I write about that in this journal. So that's it. Nothing else happens to me. I'll wait until tomorrow, something exciting may happen. Though, "Yesterday was tomorrow, And today has lasted a thousands years." (shoutout to end of the year english poems - way to keep it real)

And two hours later, Dad suddenly tells me "We're going to Church right now." The inconvenience of his plans clashing with mine leads up to a somewhat tame argument. Unfortunately, we're both the kind of jerks that fight and fight for whatever they want, and when the opponent gives in say "No, nevermind, I don't even want to anymore." So it's difficult to fight with him. But afterwards I felt bad about myself.

And I don't even want to type about it anymore. This isn't online journal material. I've got a seperate diary to write about these sorts of private things in my life, and this online thing to write about everything else. Since I only update this about twice every month, and I haven't written in my diary forever, I don't know what is specifically on my mind anymore. There's too much that I want to say, but even more that I don't want you to know. As it is, I have to reread and revise every entry about ten times to make sure I haven't said something I'll regret later. It's a pain in the ass but if I don't write something down then I don't know what to do. I'm glad I started this thing, it's like a Pensieve. Except much more vague and takes longer to make.

And hey, since I added that bit from my end of the year english poem up there, here's the rest of it. We had to reflect on freshman year, so mine's about how it was all empty promises and a waste of time in general. I hate poetry.

How can there be room for change
When every room remains the same?
Yesterday was tomorrow
And today has lasted a thousands years.

How can there be room for change?
School and regret are one and the same.
There are only so many days
Tack one more on and I�ll waste away.

How can there be room for change?
I�m leaving here just as I came.
Unfocused eyes scan faceless crowds
It wasn�t worth my time.

How can there be room for change?
I wasn�t good enough anyway.
Rewind this tape; maybe I�ll try
To do it your way this time.

But even I don�t believe myself.

So where�s that tomorrow you promised?

- Molly{11:41 pm}

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