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god, i had no idea today was march first.
when has my time ever been on track though, honestly? not in a few good years. [haha. good years. like those exist.] last year was actually a nice year, maybe. i think.
but it was, overall.
i have lots of words imprinted in my head, on my hand. i am going to get ink poisoning one of these days because i don't write my thoughts on my heart or my sleeve or wherever else; i write them on my hand with expensive pens and hope that no one will be interested.
I keep writing the name 'John' in big, fancy cursive letters -- everywhere. It's either 'John' or 'Unhuman'. [I don't know why I'm still calling him John; I also don't know why I can't just ask him what his real name is. Okay, well, I do know the answer to that but that is not the point.]
Sometimes I make hearts, too. You know, the kind that
make with their crushes name. ~~Mr. and Mrs. Brown ♥~~ and all, all over their notebooks. Childish? Yes. Very yes. Probably yes. I don't know how else I'd get through the day.
Some days, you wake up and you know that something isn't right. Some days you wake up and know that
isn't right. There's no real defining line between those two in my mind, I don't think. It's either everything's right or everything's wrong - black and white, like Rorschach's judgment. Everything can be ruined with a little poke prod or push. Everything in my world is fragile.
I constructed all of this out of glass; I constructed it so that it was perfect and indestructible for the most part but still fragile. Delicate.
I built myself like this, too.
My fingers are always bleeding. I like how I am lying by omission to so many people. 'Yeah, my fingers are bleeding.' 'Why?' 'Oh, no reason.' Or I get really quiet, or I just
. I was never so ashamed of this before. I don't know what happened between here and there.
Really, I guess I'm just grasping that much harder for normal. People are talking about CrateCon now, you know? I just want to pretend that if I actually ended up attending my fingers wouldn't be bleeding for once.
Maybe I could stop being such a creeper for once.
Tonight I am going to see a movie. I do not like movies. I do not enjoy movies. I have no interest in movies and chances are if you are going to ask me to go and see a movie with you I will do so because I want to be polite but I will hate it but, yes, I will pretend that I enjoyed it because I want to make sure that you don't feel bad. I guess I shouldn't complain, because I look forward to this movie, but I still don't want to be there. No, not really.
Everything is controversial.
and enjoyed it more than I probably should've. Honestly, the machine gun clatter of my fingers on the keyboard kind of just breaks my train of thought here; there's not much to say about it other than what I have and I'd rather pay attention to details and facts rather than opinions on a controversial movie.
I talked to Michael about it. I asked him what he thought about it first, but he managed to ask me after and actually get a reply.
I can't help but wonder if he knew he was wrong.
There are fines on my library card.
There are fines on Hailey's library card, actually. I can't say much about this except that it should've been obvious, because I don't like libraries. I don't know why I work there if I don't like libraries. The thing about it is that I think that libraries are fabulous and beautiful and wonderful and I kind of want to live in ours, but I don't actually like the concept of returning books.
I want to own these words like the books that I own. I want them at the tips of my fingers.
I never want to grow up.
I never want to grow up.
I never want to grow up.
It's not fair that I have to because I don't want to. Never ever ever; I just want to be young forever and I don't want any responsibilities and I want to cry and throw tantrums and be happy and carefree again with my games and my thoughts and my truths and my lies. Innocent lies, you know? The kind you tell just because you're young and not because you're stupid and need to protect yourself.
I never want to grow up.
it was his birthday today
and i am so so sorry
i know that it doesn't mean anything to you now - maybe it never did, you never liked birthdays [but that might've just been another lie because you seemed to hold them at such a value - this is a lie, i know exactly how you think of birthdays and holidays in general i just hate to admit that i knew you and now i don't anymore]
i like your glasses, even if you look like a mix of harry potter and nite owl ii now.
Today the one word on my hand was 'aftermath'. I figure this is because this is the aftermath of everything, I guess; the real solidification of everything, in one way or another. You could pass this off as insane rambling and no one would be the wiser because it's just the aftermath of everything.
It's not supposed to make any sense. It's just supposed to be that little sliver of … anything that comes after the storm. I don't know. I miss life, or maybe I don't. I hate people.
I'm so goddamn tired of bitching about the same thing.
I'm skipping out on my responsibilities again. I don't want any of this, really. I want to be like Andy, with no job and no future and just one leisurely life of sleeping, eating, and playing video games. Mom threatens to kick him out and I don't know whether to scoff or cry. I don't want him to leave but I don't think mom would really do that.
But this is my mother, the one that beat me with belts whenever she found it appropriate. This is my mother, growing up in oppression in Poland. We don't get it easy.
I stayed home from school again today, which always makes me feel awkward and guilty. I'm always sick but nobody believes me and I don't believe myself so it's a moot point in the end. Really, any part of me that screams about how I'm in pain and I don't want to go anywhere is sort of just held under water for as long as it takes to suffocate.
This takes a very long time and until that point I just get … muffled screams, god I don't know. It's kind of gruesome though. Didn't know I was so vicious.
"Do you remember when you were young?"
"No, not really."
I want his letter to be here already because I am starting to think that his correspondence is one of the few things that I am currently holding onto; the reason that I am still waking up and thinking that it's okay to keep breathing.
Love his writing. His handwriting. Him. Keep smiling whenever I think of him and was genuinely upset that I could not get home fast enough to check to see if it was here yet.
This bell is keeping the time.
ke she l
No letter today; slightly upset but also not. The muses are ranting again, raving all over the place, trying to get out - if there was just somehow, someway to get out of here and … I don't know what my muses want to do. My Wii keeps freezing. It's very upsetting. I just want my letter but they don't deliver on Sundays, so Monday it is. I'm worried that if I get the letter Monday something bad will happen. I also know that it will be the only thing getting me through the week.
I want you to cry on my shoulder and convince me that I'm human.
I know that I'm human and I'm going to tell you that it's an exaggeration; that this is all bullshit drama writing, nothing real. But everything that I write -- everything -- reflects something, ugly or otherwise, that I have honestly felt or thought at one point or another.
Things like this make me incredibly ashamed. I don't like how I hide behind words because of how upset I am with how I think and how people will think of how I think.
Paint me red.
I keep writing you letters, even though I don't think I'd ever send them and they're not really worth much anyway. I want to pretend that I will send them and you will reply and we will write letters back and forth like I've been told people used to do. I like your handwriting and I like you as a person and these are things that I know. This bell is still keeping time - your letter hasn't arrived yet, it's rather unfortunate - but I just want to go to sleep. Time is inescapable like this room, this heart.
There was a house on fire today. I looked out the wide clear glass windows and watched smoke, pitch black like dark, like midnight, roll over the hills here. They told us not to worry and I wasn't; I was angry and I was musing. Honestly, I was thinking of the song from Crystal Chronicles - "Someone's heart is burning". Home is where the heart is, after all. Emily says that that could've been her house (it was still a good deal away and couldn't be identified) because she left the hair straightener on. Why do girls straighten their hair?
I wanted to say something, anything, while you were around but I didn't feel I had anything to say. I was worried - am worried - will be worried? but I didn't really have much to ask. Anything felt awkward. Everything feels awkward.
I don't want to leave this house without your letter. This is notable because I miss you and I will continue to miss you for extended periods of time because sometimes when I am alone I am alone and that is that, but being alone was never quite so lonely when you weren't always on my mind.
Today, I am in Acapulco, Mexico for the first time. It is sweltering hot here and I am so unused to the heat that I am really just swept off my feet and out of my wits. I finished reading
The Year of Secret Assignments
as well as
. I found myself wishing that we had heard more about Gutta in
, but I suppose that wasn’t the point; Gutta was the generic childhood friend that loved Talon, after all. Reading
The Year of Secret Assignments
reminded me just how much I want that letter. It can’t be much longer.
Today is my father’s birthday. He thinks that I forgot his birthday, but I knew it was March 20th; I didn’t know today was March 20th, or that it was Friday. In fact, I’m not sure where I was this morning. It’s so weird when you wake up in Acapulco, because it’s just the prettiest place I’ve ever seen. The Grand Mayan is the best resort I’ve ever been to. I want to ask Dami to come with me to Acapulco one day just because I think he’d like it here, in a quaint two bedroom suite over a beach.
And then nobody will remember your birthday anymore, and then nobody will like you. I’ve started rewriting I’ll Believe in Anything, and I’ve actually made real progress and currently have 3,500 words in it. I can’t say that much for the plot progression, because Evan hasn’t even seen B.J. yet, but Sally sort of has more importance already which is something that I really wanted to fix. I’ve got to have like 10,000 words done before today is over because then I can write around 4,500 words per day for the rest of the vacation and I’m comfortable with that.
I dreamt that I killed him; that I murdered him out of cold blood because he was L and he didn’t want to stop Kira. He had a fat girlfriend and she didn’t think that it was a big deal, so I slapped her and said, “If L doesn’t save the world, who will?” I don’t know why he was L or why it mattered so much to me, because I’ve always supported Kira and I always thought that Light should win. He always liked L more, though; hated Light, if I remember correctly. I didn’t want him to lie.
"maybe I'm just another subplot." you are; you're just another subplot in my story, so don't worry about it. the subplots always end but they end in a generally acceptable way. go to sleep, close your eyes, and imagine a place far far away from here. you'll love it there; or maybe you wouldn't. I would. you are my clone. you would, too. I read logs from a very long time ago and they didn't really offer any insight. maybe I should just stop reading logs. I said that I was done being sad. time to give up the past.
I'm really awfully sorry that you will most likely never know that I write all of these things with you in my mind. I am sorry that I talk to myself in your channel and I act like I'm holding a conversation with you because it makes me feel better knowing that you cannot respond and there is no possibility that you will be disappointed and so-on and so-forth. I am sorry that I cannot just say things to you. I know that you told me to stop apologizing, but you deserve so much better. I just don't cut it.
This is the latest I've been up in a long time. I finished the last Jaclyn Moriarty book today. I wish it was arsenic poisoning. I wish I had a better excuse than what I have, which isn't anything, really. I don't have an excuse. It's just not getting done; not anything. I don't know. Maybe it's just me - in fact, it is just me, because there's no way in hell that I somehow managed to get arsenic poisoning, okay?
Now I'm going to start reading
The Average American Male
, and then
The Mothman Prophecies
I am not angry. maybe you can be angry all you want, but I'm not and I don't really plan on it. I feel stupid for describing these things as I do; five second grudge, go go go. it's not like it'll change anything because all of this is really inevitable anyway. I am not sure why these people don't recognize that, but I suppose I can blame myself for that, too.
microsoft word's tendency to autocapitalize 'I' makes me unsure as to whether I am angry or relieved. maybe I'm just too lazy to really understand any of it.
spring break; am I supposed to be happy or upset? should I rejoice at a week's worth of telling people that I'm not really 'up for it' or laugh at my inability to be social? does spring break hold any special connotation for everyone else, but not me?
I don't worship it, like I don't stand on my own two feet - or when I do, I'm only vicious about it. apparently I've spent too much time making biting remarks and no one likes me much anymore (this is pure conjecture). parentheses are looking more appealing than my brackets now.
obsession I wanted to write about all of the things that I associate obsession with, but the list is too long to be formed into words, you know? it's just this impossibly huge entity in my life; I don't really know how to accurately describe it. it pretty much rules my life, though, and you know about it and they all know about it so why is everyone still so surprised?
sadness and regret and stupidity and joy and cleverness and how you feel when you do something really great (I cannot explain this one; please excuse my bad wording)
it makes me sort of uncomfortable to admit that punctuation frightens me in the most unnatural way. like, you know, as an author, you would think it would be my job or something to love english and grammar and punctuation, but it doesn't really work like that in my head. when there isn't any punctuation, that irks me, too, but punctuation period just frightens me. (that was completely accidental, I swear)
maybe I should try harder to get over my fear of punctuation - and who's afraid of punctuation, anyway?
I keep having dreams that make me feel absolutely ridiculous.
I'm awful sick with some kind of cold or some kind of other illness or disease or whatever you want to call it; it's rather atrociously bad, and you know, I say that about everything (and everyone, aha) but I wouldn't say it if I never meant it. In this case, I mean it.
'Atrocious' is probably my favorite word ever. I have a lot of favorite words for a lot of different languages, but 'atrocious' has been my favorite word for about four years. It has to do with a girl I met who obsessed over it with me.
sick (in the head)
I've slept for way too long today but I can't help it; what else am I supposed to do? I think I am done sleeping now but I am still tired. I would like some orange juice. first I slept on my bed, and then on the couch, and then andy said that he would check on me in an hour and make sure I wasn't dead, and then I asked dad if I could sleep in his bed like when I was still afraid of thunderstorms.
my dreams are playing tricks inside my head now.
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