thoughts from a while ago
08/03/2002 11:50 p.m.
I wrote this essay dealy thing a while ago as so as I'd finished the Sandman graphic novel series. They may not flow perfectly and the style may be a bit borrowing of Neil Gaiman's just because that's what happens to writers when they read. I was so happy to find this so I thought I'd share it even if it may not make sense to everyone. It was interesting to note my talking to Death at that point since these many months later I'm realizing that possibility. It's just interesting. So there it is. Here you go.




It has occurred to me that I don’t think often. Not that I’m stupid, it’s just the thoughts don’t come to me in paragraph form. There is a continual dialogue going on in my head, like I’m saying things but it’s only my thoughts, not my vocal cords. A little voice is there talking about whatever it decides to talk about and that’s me, that’s who I am. I’m not possessed and I don’t hear voices and I don’t have multiple personalities. My thoughts come to me with a voice. Sometime I see them written down, like a book. But most the time I’m reciting something in my head that’s just appeared there. I usually only take notice of this after I’ve read a book or when I’m really depressed. Books make me think, and thinking for me is like talking to no one. Sound reverberating inside my head. So when I notice something or understand something deeply, I discuss it with myself. Or with no one. But I’m discussing it nonetheless. That’s probably the reason I like to watch “Politically Incorrect with Bill Maher.” I sit on my bed after midnight discussing political issues with no one. The same thing with all talk shows. My friend Charity and I had a phone conversation once and we both admitted that we had pretended to be guests on a late show from time to time. I like doing that because at least it give my thoughts a chance to be vocalized.

So I pretend I’m sitting in a little chair with wooden arms with my legs pulled all up under me, because that’s how I sit. I’m one of five people discussing politics in front of the late-night-television-viewing audience. Sometimes I make a joke, sometimes I laugh at other people’s jokes. I play with my hair a bit and then explain to the audience and other guests why marijuana should be legalized. The guests nod with approval and the audience claps, then Bill has to take a break. Actually I’m just sitting in my bed at midnight talking to myself. That’s why reality sucks.

It’s also why I cried when Morpheus died. For those of you who don’t know, Morpheus was the Dream King, the Sandman. A man named Neil Gaiman gave him his own series of comic books, which I read hungrily the day I bought them. Eventually, Morpheus, the Sandman, dies. He has to, he’s tired and his time is up. He holds Death’s hand and he’s gone. This is in the ninth of ten graphic novels. I’ve gotten to know Morpheus; I’ve called out to him to let me meet him in a dream. I’m convinced he answered me and that I met him… maybe more than met him. And I attended his wake. Anyone who read the comic book attended his wake. Neil said so and I believe him. After I read about Morpheus’ death, it was after two in the morning and I laid in bed weeping. Begging him to come back. He didn’t. His son, who’s name was Daniel, took over. I felt just like Matthew, Morpheus’ raven. He didn’t want anything to change. I didn’t either. But I couldn’t stop it. There it was, written plain as day. And I couldn’t change it. So I finished the series, reading the first graphic novel last because I couldn’t find it anywhere. That sequence of events was probably the only thing that saved me from going over into Despair’s realm. I was happy again, because if you read the end first and it is not a happy ending, at least you know the beginning will hold some joy. It did. And it made the reality of the Dream King’s death a dream once again. I believe that’s the way it should be.

Pretending. Make believe. Daydreaming. I used to do it so often when I was younger. I do it now, more than I realize. I think it’s the only thing that keeps me sane. Morpheus said, without Dreams, there could be no Despair. I say, without Dreams, we would all belong to Delirium. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing. I like Delirium a lot. She’s me on a good day. I thought when I set out to read the Sandman comic books that Delirium would be my favorite of the Endless. She certainly is charming and I do like her very muchly, but she turned out to be my third favorite character. You’d never believe who’s first. Or maybe you would. She’s very lovable. Many have fallen in love with her. I think I did, though in the way I fell in love with Tori Amos, in a very sisterly way that only women understand. I’m talking about Death, of course. She is so strong. And kind… in a deathly sort of way. There is one particular drawing of her that resembles me slightly. I think the artist did it on purpose… I think I had a conversation with Death while I was in the shower once. Maybe twice. Once was this morning and I was sad that Morpheus was gone. She reassured me that I had met him before he went with her, perhaps we’d met many times. I smiled and was glad she was just passing by. I was also glad that she’d stopped to talk to me.

My second favorite character is Dream. Who could read The Sandman and not love him? He is responsible for giving us everything we could ever want. As long as we don’t need it for real. When Nuala, the Faerie gift, asked Dream to love her, that was the moment I understood my own feeling. The feeling that love is right there, just within your grasp, and yet without. Loving a fictional character is something all readers do. It’s what makes them keep turning pages, keep visiting the library, keep funding Barnes and Noble. A friend of mine fell in love with Lisa, a character from Girl, Interrupted. Or so I think. And she was simply a great character. I’ve fallen in love many times. Johnny Tremain, Atreyu, Dr. Jekyll, Robin Goodfellow (yes, a strange choice, I know), Romeo, and others whom I’ve only known in stories. Stories keep people alive, or maybe just sane. Or maybe just me.

I am currently Reflective
I am listening to random radio sounds

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today
08/01/2002 05:11 a.m.
I went crazy again today ... okay so I stole that line from Fiona Apple. But I did. And I got overemotional and just had a huge cry. It all stems from, I don't know, a buildup of paranoia and anger. I expect a lot from people - probably too much. And that's just crazy. I'm always asking for that one last percent. Koye pointed that out. I could have 99% and I wouldn't be happy till I'd sussed out that one last percent. (a Bjork word - sussed...) And that's really not fair. I shouldn't ask so much. Especially when I already get so much. I'm sorry. So a part of me was addressed tonight that I'm not really sure about. I'm confrontational usually. If someone pisses me off, I'm going to call him or her up and say "Hey, that pissed me off and here's why and don't you do it again, or else..." And if I get into an argument with someone, I'm coming with all my guns out. There is an arsenal and when war starts I don't reserve any weapons. I lay them all out on the table. I don't hold back when I'm angry. But what really hurt me tonight, what made me hang up the phone was that I'd do that to anyone, everyone. That is not true. There are people that mean everything to me. It would be impossible for me to destroy any part of these people because to do so would be to kill myself along with them. No one really plans on self-injury - at least not usually - so I would not do that. There are people that I love so so so much that I can't fathom hurting them intentionally. And it scares me when those people don't know when they're included in that group. It's way limited. But you know, when you're on the phone with someone everyday, when you see someone almost every week, when you tell someone everything ... if they're not one of those people, who is? I guess that's why I freaked out. Because I don't let people know how I feel or I don't demonstrate how I feel accurately. I'm sorry. In the end it all comes down to the fact that everything is okay. I'm not angry, they're not angry. The whole result of this craziness is hopefully the knowledge that there are some people I don't ever intend to hurt in any way ever ever. I hope this wasn't way too personal to share with the whole "pathetic" community : ) Ah well, transparency, right? It's a good thing. I'm tired and things are indeed playdoughieish. It's time to go to bed. Love be thine. : )
I am currently Sad
I am listening to "Paper Bag" by Fiona Apple

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missing him and masks
07/31/2002 05:49 a.m.
I REALLY miss him. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because I need a man. But he was so sincere. So submissive. Sensitive. And he liked me. And I liked him. It all sounds really great, huh? But Koye's right - it would get to be too much for me. I wouldn't be able to deal with how servile he is. It would be hard not to take advantage of. And the last thing I'd want would be to take advantage of him. But could we make it work? That question keeps everything alive. That "maybe it could work..." hope. He was a great guy, though. Sincerely. And I miss him . . . I meant to talk about masks. So far all I'm thinking is that they're irrational. People who wear them make no sense to me. It seems like too much work for minimal results. I think I'm a pretty sensitive person. I don't handle criticism well at ALL. I'm big on crying when someone goes "Well, you just aren't good at that." It hurts when people reject you or think you're not good enough. I'm not immune to that hurt. I just think I can accept it, cry a bit and then think "Who are they to know? Who are they to judge?" Cause no one can judge me. No one but God is worthy of that. That's why I never criticize others. Because it's a terrible feeling to feel. And what right do I have? So masks just, what?, cover up that hurt? Eliminate that hurt cause that was never really you to begin with? That doesn't make any sense to me. Why not just be you and if someone doesn't like it, screw them. Who cares about them, who needs them anyway? Certainly not you. You know? I have always had that little wondering in my mind -- "Do I really wear a mask? Am I just hiding from myself and others?" -- but I think that's something a person would be conscious of. Transparency is hard not to give in to for me. I may reveal too much of my real self. Ah well, masks . . . I don't know. I think they're pointless. If a friend really loves you, they'll love you for who you really are, no matter what that is. Otherwise, all your friendships are based on lies. That's what scares me. Don't even get me started on this whole "real self" mess . . . I don't know what to think about it. I think a mask is a mask, not a self. A mask by definition is false. If it's not, it's not a mask. At least that's what I think. I want to go watch the last 10 minutes of Rendez-view. (play on French words!) : ) Okay, goodnight.
I am currently Reflective
I am listening to Rendez-View on my TV

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conversation . . . another short story
07/29/2002 05:34 a.m.
So this story started as nothing and then became something. Or is that how this is actually supposed to work? It was inspired ultimately by Neil Gaiman, Tori Amos, but definitely most important was a revealing conversation with Koye about these chicks we keep talking to. It’s a guess, a hope maybe. Another hope . . . that these stories are getting better. If not, oh well. All right, enough rambling.




“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked putting out her cigarette in a ceramic ashtray.

“Nothing,” I said as I walked into my hotel room. She hadn’t been there a moment ago. Now the whole room smelled of smoke and something else I couldn’t place.

“Bullshit. You’re moping. That sucks. It’s a thoughtless waste of life.”

“I’m not – not moping.” But I was.

“Stop it, just stop. What did you think you were getting yourself into anyway? Huh? Marriage?” she sounded condescending but I knew she didn’t really mean to. Plus, I knew she had a point.

“No, of course not. No. No.” I think I repeated it to make sure I believed it myself.

“You did, didn’t you, sweetie? You had gone all the way through the relationship. You two were geezers with twelve grandkids and all kinds of shit,” she sighed deeply, “Why do you do that?”

It took everything I had not to cry. I didn’t want to cry in front of her. She already thought of me as weak; I didn’t want to add to that image.

“I don’t know why. Because it’s easy to get lost in your dreams. Love is simple that way.”

“Don’t get poetic with me. I know what love is. And don’t even get me started on dreams. Besides, you said a million times that you didn’t love him. You weren’t lying. So why get so worked up?” We’d only been talking a few minutes and she’d already lit another cigarette. She had been a chain smoker ever since we tried it together in the sixth grade... on the day we’d met for the first time, actually. It made me sick that time and I’d never touched tobacco again though she constantly insisted I start. I always adamantly refused. She settled herself on the bed, and flashed me a sincere smile, probably so I’d know this whole talk was for my own good.

“Because I wanted to love him. I wanted this to be it. So I could stop trying. I’m sick of the game.” From my seat on the floor, I played with a tassel on an ugly gray rug. My eyes never met hers. I made sure of that.

“Damn it. I thought you were smarter than that. The game never ends,” she smiled sadly and took a long drag. “Even if you do get married... husbands cheat. The game ends when you’re alone... when no one at all is near you... except maybe me. You’re sick of the game? Then you’re sentencing yourself to the morally upright, but also sincerely lonely life of a Roman Catholic nun.”

“Nuns don’t have it so bad. Their husband never cheats.” I smiled inwardly, careful not to make it visible, in case she didn’t find it funny. She did and laughed for a few moments, looking dreamy, as if she were recalling memories she’d had with the aforementioned deity. She suddenly became serious.

“Don’t let this beat you. I know you won’t, but don’t give that boy any more power over you. He doesn’t deserve that. He’s an ass. You know that. He hurt you repeatedly. So why give him power? You’ve cried more than enough tears for him. Move on.” She sat upright as she gave this speech, referencing vocally, but not seeming to notice the tears welling up in my eyes. “Here,” she said holding out a cigarette and lighter.

Cautiously I took both from her, lit the cigarette, took a puff and coughed violently. She patted my back as I coughed and I saw a smile she tried to hide. After the initial fit, I was fine - more than fine. Better. And I think in that moment, I moved on – wasn’t sad anymore. He didn’t matter. And now I’m another one of those evil smokers. I’m not sure why I didn’t refuse that day. Maybe I saw something in her that I’d never seen before. Maybe I’d realized the truth about who she really was and how she existed within all people or at least, how all people came to converse with her at one point or another. Some just talk to her more than others, I suppose. She’s a popular girl, of course. After all, everyone eventually meets Death.

I am currently Peachy
I am listening to "Steam Will Rise" by Silverchair

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going to college
07/14/2002 11:29 p.m.
I didn't intend to ever discuss this, because I think all my major problems with life are intertwined with this and to actually outline the "big picture" by starting at the top would sincerely take years and years and years. But I think it must be said that going to college was NOT an easy decision. I didn't look at my life when I was in high school and say "Well, I suppose four years of college is the next step." It was not my idea to spend four years at a college where I can't listen to contemporary music, get near a boy, transfer to a better college, just generally do what I'd like to do. That was not my pretty little vision of my life. Not at all. What would I like to do? Move to London, buy a crappy flat, work at a crappy waitressing job and attend mass every Sunday. That sounds like the most beautiful plan in the world to me. But the first thing on my list of things to do in life is *stay alive* which includes not having to rely on my parents to do so. I need to be independent. It's part of what my personality is all about. But I can see very very plainly that if I ever want to get back to England and survive over there, I need to be able to get a job a bit better than waitressing. I don't want to do that for my whole life. I need something that will propel me into a higher, broader range of work opportunities. What'll do that? A degree. Even a degree in English from a silly college in South Carolina. So it's not that I'm allowing the plan of my life to be drawn out for me. Or that I'm just doing what kids are supposed to do when they graduate from high school. I have dreams that I want to attain. Goals my heart needs to reach. And to do those things, logic dictates that I have to go to college. What is normal, honestly? Everyone does things for different reasons. There is no normal. And by extention, there is no different. People are just trying to get there. Wherever it is that they long to be. Some think it's a good idea to go to college, some don't. Does that make one better than the other? Obviously not. Life is not easy. Decisions aren't easy. And it's mean and thoughtless to assume that someone else has an easier time with life or decisions. Koye didn't know he was going to Baltimore his junior year of high school. He was one of the first (if not the first) to declare his disdain for the idea of college. But he is going to Baltimore. He reached that decision due to many different factors that no one but he can claim to know or understand. And it's not anyone's place to say "Well, you're going to college. THAT says something about you..." Because no one has any idea and it's silly to assume you do. And it has taken me months to know what direction I'm heading in during college. A major is a hard thing to choose. I may still change my mind. And I resent the fact the some people don't understand all the sacrifices people who are going to college have to make. There are quite a few. That needs to be seen. The only reason I wrote this journal entry is so that I can state my mental stance that no one's life is easier than anyone else's. And it's wrong to assume that something like that is even possible. Everyone has his own path to follow. And it's hard enough to stay on that path without people taunting you about how easy your path must be.
I am currently Strong
I am listening to "Miss You Love" by Silverchair

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what is love?
07/10/2002 06:33 a.m.
So I've been wanting to recount this story for a while but never had the drive or the time or something. Anyway, it's about love in general - which is not something I usually give a lot of thought to. Love for me is usually about one person and is made very specific for him. But Koye and I were asking each other the question "Have you ever been in love?" I, of course ever dense, need an explanation as to the differences between "loving" and "being in love." So Koye gives them, using the "you love your friends - you're in love with a spouse" idea. So have I ever been in love? Yes. Once. I'm fairly sure. It's not who you think. Anyway, Koye mentions that if he's ever really been in love, he must have been in love with a lot of people because that feeling occurs frequently. So somehow I go into an irrational tangent mainly wondering how he could love a certain person. (because I'm a very mean person sometimes). He wanted to know why he shouldn't love that person. "Because that person does NOT deserve your love." He said "That's silly, everyone deserves love." I said "No, no one deserves love." Koye - "That's the same thing - if no one deserves it, then everyone deserves it." And then for some reason I felt the need to outline how love works. (though I'm truly the last person who should talk.) "Love is when you realize that no one really deserves love but you like someone and are compatible with someone to a point that you want to spend the rest of your life with them so you offer to love them despite the fact that they (and you) don't deserve love. And love is completed and is truly love when the other person does and feels the same thing." So basically I said that love is a sham. A deal to be negotiated. A bargain two unworthy people work out to become worthy. After time to think about it, that is the single silliest explanation of love I've ever heard/given. People don't plan out love. Koye called me on how ridiculous my idea was right then and there, but, being stubborn (and mean, remember) I denied it. At the time, it made sense. But when I loved, did I think that boy didn't deserve my love? Of course not. Of course he deserved it. Of course I was willing to give it without a "finishing contract." I never expected his love in return. And I didn't necessarily intend to spend the rest of my life with him. So I think the moral of this story is that it is impossible to explain what love is. And when you try, you come out looking pretty stupid. We can only comment on the feelings before, during and after love hits us. So do I understand why Koye loves this person? Surely. Of course. Obviously. Love isn't rational. It doesn't make sense. It's not supposed to. That would take the fun from it. So, yes, I do understand. And I don't need to know why. I think on some level I do know why. And you know what? Love is good. Even when it hurts. Even when you think nothing will ever be right again. Love is good. And (this thought is mainly for Jonna) it comes to you. Eventually love finds you. I have no doubt that you'll meet a boy who sees all you have to offer. Yes ... ALL you have to offer!! It's immense. Once you see that about yourself - that you DO have so much to offer - you'll realize that it's nearly impossible for you to go on being without a boy noticing it. Give yourself time to grow up, give boys time to grow up. I don't worry about your future in regards to love at all. I know you don't believe me and you don't care to hear it, but I'm being completely serious and honest. Lyrics make it right :) "It's a matter of time and faith." (Shakira, she knows...) So love ... ? That's what I was talking about, right? I'm praying guys at Bob Jones won't all be chauvinistic. That would be a gift. And maybe I can get myself some of that love stuff. :) In conclusion, Koye and Jonna -- I love you guys. Thanks for being yourselves with me. They're some truly great selves. :) It's late and mommy will fume if she finds I'm online. Goodnight.

** hey Koye, note the mood - I'm a handsome, mysterious swordsman!!**
I am currently Mysterious
I am listening to "Sombra De Ti" on the Shakira MTV Unplugged DVD : )

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"I Melt with You"
07/03/2002 05:04 a.m.
I cried today. Because of stupid song, no less. He sang it to me on our first date. He was on key and everything. I didn't suspect that he had a great voice but it really wasn't so bad. And the words... they were amazing words. All the more reason for me to cry when I hear the song now. Images just kept flashing - our first date, the first time he held my hand, our first kiss and every moment we shared after that, not to mention the feelings that happened as those things were happening. I couldn't get it out and in front of all that there was this echoing voice "it's over" flowing in and out of my head. It was terrible. And really nice at the same time. I hadn't truly cried about this since it happened. It was nice to finally express those feelings that I hadn't been able to name but that had been resting just below the surface. It's hard to think that it's actually over. I think I had talked myself into believing that it would last even though I knew deep down it wouldn't. Even as I write that there's a part of my brain going "...and maybe it's not really over yet...??" That's not easy. It won't be. But sleep sounds like a good remedy. At least for now.
I am currently Disillusioned
I am listening to "Time" by Tori Amos

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Browning ... the tie guy ... a story
07/02/2002 04:00 a.m.
I was thinking about it today (I don't know why) but it's a really good story. Koye and I were just sitting there waiting for chapel to start. I was marveling at the fact that Koye's been a boy for about seventeen years and yet he's never learned how to tie a tie. That just struck me as very odd. And so we were talking about that and this voice chimes in. A voice we'd never heard before. And Koye looked at me with this terrified look... I think we were both wondering if the other had heard the voice. We're kind of paranoid about being crazy. It wouldn't have been the first time either of us had heard a voice that wasn't totally real. Lucky for the both of us we turned around and saw the boy who'd spoken. He was reading (automatically a red flag goes up here... a reader... ah...). The sun was behind his head so it was one of those overly dramatic moments that you see on TV and think "geez, that never happens" but it did just then. And he said something about it actually not being so strange that someone didn't know how to tie a tie. Koye, being industrious and somewhat outgoing, asked the guy to tie his tie for him. The boy's name was Browning. He tried at first to explain how to tie it but eventually gave up when he got himself confused. And then he was gone. Truthfully, we hadn't found out his name at that point. We were calling him "the tie guy" for obvious reasons. And when we realized that this guy was some sort of tie-tying angelic being, we couldn't find him. We looked all over the place but there was no trace of the tie guy. Dejected, we went to chapel. Throughout the service we looked in vain for a sign of him. Later in the day it was time for dinner. I was still looking for the tie guy, but I may have been the only one. Then... it happened... we were looking for a table to sit at... there he was... the tie guy. And we basically swooped on him and demanded seats. He surrendered them warning us that he was very antisocial and we might not get a whole lot of interesting conversation out of him. I'm not sure if he was lying or if he just wanted us to leave, but conversation poured out of him. All kinds of things. Things that made no sense. Offensive things. Silly things. And we talked about those things until we were dragged away. (by a very bored and then angry Jonna) Koye gave him his email address, but in my mind it was one of those things that don't last long. Like you meet a person, drain out all of what they are and then the relationship is over. That's how I saw it. And there is nothing wrong with a relationship like that. I still think about the tie guy sometimes. Wonder what he's doing. Saving other guys fumbling to tie their ties? It could happen. And maybe I was wrong at the beginning - maybe that wasn't a really good story. But it is a good memory. I think I'll keep it...
I am currently Silly
I am listening to "Fast as You Can" by Fiona Apple

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so it's a goodbye
06/30/2002 06:12 p.m.
they say someday you'll find, all who love are blind
when your heart's on fire, you must realize smoke gets in your eyes
. . .
now laughing friends deride tears I cannot hide
so I smile and say
"when a lovely flame dies, smoke gets in your eyes"
-- the Platters

* * *

so mom says pride's not a bad thing. it's a good thing she says. don't call she says. i'm better than that she says. i can only choose to agree. spending mornings crying isn't something i should willingly submit to. so in my mind, it's over. i don't need anymore hurt and i'm sick of putting myself in a position to be hurt. so i'm not going to anymore. Jonna, if friday would be better for you, let's do something friday. i don't need / want / have to wait around for him to bless me with his call. and i'm not going to. if he does call, i'm going to slam my hand in my bedroom door so that i'll be more angry than sad then i'm going to tell him how i feel. and that'll be it for us. it's not about college. i think it's necessary to emphasize that. it's about not being hurt anymore. emotional abuse is almost as bad a physical and i would never allow that to continue. why allow this? so that's it.

* * *

it doesn't leave a scratch so therefore no one's hurt
-- Tori Amos
I am currently Jaded
I am listening to "Fade into You" by Mazzy Star

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finally... a post-graduation entry
05/29/2002 05:40 a.m.
I think on some level, I knew he wouldn't be there. His being there would throw everything out of whack. Craziness would have ensued. He would never have put himself into a situation that could have gotten sentimental or emotional. He'd never go there unless he absolutely had to. I know all that now, and I knew it then... regardless, it hurt. It hurt more that words can express. Not everyone saw what it did to me, actually, just my mom saw. I got into her car and cried as I haven't cried in years. I gasped and gulped and snorted and made all kinds of awkward sounds and I banged my head on the window and hit the dashboard with my fists as hard as I could and went on about how stupid I was and how, if he didn't really care about me, he shouldn't have kissed me and on and on in like manner. This lasted for about thirty minutes. I've never hated him... or myself, for that matter... so much. But for that period - from after graduation on Friday 'til the moment he stepped into my house on Sunday - I hated him. With every fiber of my being, I hated him. I even made plans for my life without him. I decided that since he was abandoning me this summer (which he still is, by the way...) I was going to have my own fun without him. I was going to streak my hair pink (which I still plan to do, by the way...) and go to bunches of emo concerts and flirt shamelessly 'til I found a boy a million times better-cooler-smarter-sweeter-handsomer-lovelier than him. Then I'd go from there. That was the plan. And then... he stepped into my house on Sunday. It was a party for my mom really. I didn't invite any of my friends - not counting him - so it wasn't really my party. I thought that after not showing up at graduation, there would be no way he'd come to this graduation shindig my mom was throwing (for her, really...). No way... no WAY he'd show up. Well, he did. And he bought me a lamp. With butterflies on the shade. Did I tell him I loved butterflies? I can't remember. He picked it out himself. His mom picked out the card, of course. Sentiment, you know. But he picked out the lamp... with blue and pink butterflies on the glass shade. It is really beautiful. We plugged it in... the bulb burned really brightly for a few moments and then burned out. A few days later my dad said "Hmmm, maybe that was an omen of some sort... ?" He was joking, but it made me sad. Sad to think that our relationship could do that. It almost did. I was ready to throw it away. I was holding it - by a thread - over the trashcan. He stopped me. Just that concept... that he stopped me... it makes everything better. I'm still angry he didn't come. Apparently, they were having their floors redone and the guy who was doing it got there late and they couldn't make it to graduation in time. Their PHONES were still working though... hmmm... oh well. I guess not everyone understands they should call if they're not coming somewhere they said they'd come. He's leaving this Saturday for camp. When will he get back, you ask? August. So my summer plans... still intact. Anyone interested in viewing multitudes of emo bands in the Atlanta area with a pinkish-red-haired girl who writes poetry, send an email my way... boys are SO dumb...
I am currently Lazy
I am listening to my own typing...

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