Cheers Darling!

Three bottles of perscription pills, two missed classes and days of work later I have miraculously gotten better. It will be a long time until I get my annual sickness again. Every year I find myself in some agonizing pain where breathing starts to become a chore. It's like Christmas, I'm always looking forward to it, and then anticipating for it to end. And every year it's a surprise. This year's illness was different from last years .. and the year before that .. it's happened ever since the breakout of chicken pox, age three. (Which by the way, is the most horrible thing a child will ever endure.) But alas! I am no long aching-mopy-teary-eyed-Kyla. Although ... I do need to catch a breather walking up the stairs at Burrard Station.

Have I gotten boring or just not as entertaining as I use to be. I would still classify myself as a ball of fun, I swear. But someone asked me what music I liked a couple days ago at work. This is how I would have answered a year...maybe two years ago: "Acoustic and indie artists. The really mellow yet diverse Damien Rice and Ben Harper, who can switch up songs on a single album about three times. Oh! and Cat Power, and Imogen Heap, she's a classic. Anything with lyrics that I don't necessarily have to relate to but I can take apart and put a meaning to." However, last week when I was asked the same question my response: "Uhm...I really like rap." Wtf? Right after I said that I didn't have anything else to say .. oh wait except for, "T.I.'s album is really good ... and L.A.X. Files too...." I was surprised with my thought provoking answer. I have failed every artist that I ever idolized and studied. Lyrics have become faint, and I have conformed to the majority of society's way of judging music. Good beat? Catchy voice? Danceable? if not, can I memorize the first two lines of the chorus? What have I come to.

BUT! I redeemed myself, well I thought I did. But I started singing part of a song Christie wrote years back, and that - that single moment I was entraped by that song I became me again.


Sincerely,
Kyla

she always wears blue.

She sits beside me with her hair tied in a bun. Dirty blonde frizzy strands fall out of the loose elastic. Her shirt is mustard yellow and she presses on the same keyboard as me but with a little more intensity, like she's frantically searchying for confidential records. She breaths in loud and exhales with an exasperated tone. I can only see her at the corner of my eye, and she's already got her hand to her head as if the computer is about to blow, she doesn't even have a window open. There's a stench coming from this end of the room ... she's the only one at that end of the room. It's a stale coffee smell, and rotten milk. Does milk rot? Her hand are like cursive letters difficult and curved, hard to understand. I cannot see her eyes, bear me the sanity.


Sincerely,
Kyla

don't forget your dreams.

Six hour breaks, only one out of four things crossed off my agenda. I have reoccurring back pains and headaches. I'm not done the pills in my per scripted bottle due to the lack of food. I am not making myself better. I will though. Just for you.

Little bits of insanity keep filtering in, I need a get away. I need to be surrounded by nothing but the ocean and you by my side.

My Dasani bottle is only 1/3 finished.

I want to do something I love, I want to have no regrets, I want a life with no mistakes. But that's like an apple with no seeds, Paris Hilton with no glitter, and fingers with no nails. Impossible.

I want a new bag ... possible.

I hope I can make it through work tomorrow. Only four hours, only forty four dollars.


Sincerely,
Kyla

I will not procrastinate.

A few blogging minutes won't do any harm.

I have a full belly thanks to Hannah's mom's cooking.

Since my paycheck doesn't allow me to fulfill the shoping sprees I dream about, I am left with literally ... a dream: new woolen cardigans, Marc Jacob leather stam, L.A.M.B. wallet/black Betsey clutch adorned with golden studs and horseshoe shaped zippers, black shiny pumps, plastic jeans, Coach coin purse & a new laptop, perferrably a mini laptop that I can haul around without my arm feeling like it's about to fall right out of it's socket.


Sincerely,
Kyla

sidewalks and misbehaviors

This is just self-induced terror there's more to come this is just a glimpse I tell myself it's all in my head but I'm pretty hard to convince

the credits of the night

Since my first blog 'lemon wedges' (if anyone cared to read ....) I have switched jobs. I'm now a cashier at the "Original Levi's Store on Robson, Kyla speaking ...". Thanks to the hilarious staff, new music everyday, and the 'Bon Jovi' hour that I have been accustomed to like, I now have a job I don't dread. But I'll keep you updated, I change my mind a lot.

That's all I wanted to say.

Spread Music

I have become unbelievably tired lately and no matter how much sleep I catch it never seems like enough. So I went to the doctors and they tested my blood. I am aneamic. It's not that bad ... really.

The other day was the first time I had a Drumstick, the rounded, peanut covered icecream cone. I should've taken the Haagen Dazs.

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For Payton's birthday, his mom got him a dresser (thanks Rochelle!) Now our closet has transformed from one of the scenes off Twister to a normal looking closet, with folded clothes, neatly hung and pressed. Thanks to me. I have been folding mounds of laundry that it excites me whenever a load is done. Speaking of, there's a pile of miscellaneous whites wating to be put away.

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I hate anticipating for phone calls .... hello?

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The bus rides to school have become my favorite part of the morning. Main Street, you have a close place in my heart. Skull Candy earphones you make music so much more enjoyable to listen to, sometimes I turn my volume up so the person next to me can listen too. Spread Music.