to have squeezed the universe into a ball

my parents are coming home today. its probably going to suck since they pretty much hate me now.
I knew they wouldn't like the fact that i got a tattoo, but i thought they would be ok with it like they were when i got my ears peirced or when i dyed my hair or when i started wearing makeup. i was wrong. lets just say its been a week since ive talked to my parents (namely mom). Or rather, its been a week since they've talked to me.
So right now, im kind of afraid. Because their silence is tolerable from a few states away, but when theyre here (when i havent seen them or talked to them in awhile) it hurts me. Especially when i get sick and they don't return my calls or emails and dont even seem to care.

Seems they don't like much about me anymore anyway. I feel like they judge me for the way i act and the things I do, even little things.


i like the weather lately. Its been perfect. Though i have to say the thing i miss most about summer/fall are leaves on the trees. I love the sound of them in the wind and the shadows they make on the ground and especially their color.

Josh's hair is curly, so it gets knots in it pretty easily, and they get ripped out and fall on the ground and it makes me think little bugs are crawling around everywhere.

last night i had a nightmare. I was looking over a city and suddenly war broke out. There were flaming arrows flying and burning to my left, and explosions were going off in the distance to my right. I went inside a building, which turned out to be a bar. The people inside had no idea what was going on, and they didn't listen to me when i tried to warn them. Then a flaming arrow hit the building and it turned everything red. We ran, and there was such hopelessness in the streets. People became mindless and stood in rows across from each other, shooting the opposite line with flaming arrows until they were all dead.
and then i woke up.

im baking my dad a cake because it was his birfday on sunday.

my tattoo is peeling. it itches and i keep slapping it because you're not supposed to scratch.

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And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,	90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—	95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”

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(my favorite poem of all time)