My hands

I have a new girl living in the room next door. She sings Shakira. All. The. Fucking. Time. The same song, I might add, with the wrong fucking words. I don't know why, but every time she's meant to sing a word that's something to do with bodies or a body part she says the word "olive oil spray". It's extremely weird. And I say that even with the degree of black pots and kettles that in inherent in that statement.

"Lucky that my OLIVE OIL SPRAY don't only mumble,
Spill kisses like a fountain.
Lucky that my OLIVE OIL SPRAY are small and humble,
So you don't confuse them with mountains.
Lucky I have strong OLIVE OIL SPRAY like my mother
To run for cover when I need it,
And these two OLIVE OIL SPRAY that for no other
The day you leave will cry a river."

I really, really want to slam her head in the door. Like, hard.

I've reached an impasse with Ketch. He's clearly still got feelings for me because he's not talking to me but he's retaliating to my finding someone else by shagging everything that moves. The only satisfaction that I get from this is the fact that it keeps him away from me. Maybe it'll distract him for long enough to stop wanting me. I bloody hope so.

That said, I'm spending less time fucking New Boy, and more time listening to him talk. He's actually hilarious. He has a pretty low opinion of himself, which never fails to amuse me. Granted, it's sad in a way, but the things he says about himself and his parents make me laugh. Sometimes he looks upset that I'm laughing, but sometimes he has that look on his face that says he's pleased to have somehow impressed me. It's kind of sweet, actually. Oh dear... thoughts like that require squashing down...

Lola was an angel

I'm a dirty blog-neglecter, I know. I got internet privileges revoked again. There's not much point in getting into the whys, but I'm back now.

I met someone new. I'm not attracted to him. I have a feeling that his parents paid his way in. Usually this place takes "interesting cases", or the criminally insane. This guy Nate and I boned. He's pretty normal. And that's not me being subjective. I asked him what he was doing here, and he said that he'd dared to deviate from the path of concrete and asbestos paved by our elders and betters. His parents own a hotel chain, and he's been on snow and blow since he left boarding school. He should be in rehab, but apparently his parents thought better.

The sex is average. Really average. But it slaps Ketch in the face. And right now he needs a slap in the face. His mooning after me is not on. It really isn't.

I can't help but wonder if I should just give up. I think if I capitulated and started pretending to take therapy seriously I might be able to get out of here and get control of my own life again. I could go to Laney's wedding. I could start eating what the fuck I want when I want, and run in the open instead of circles in my bedroom. I can wear my "inappropriate" dresses and tall, tall shoes. I can shave my legs again. You know how much it sucks, having to wait until the hairs on your legs are long enough to be plucked out with your fingers? It's disgusting and I hate it.

Jesus... The thought of giving in feels like puking up my integrity.