Hmm
It seems that big, goofy white boys are a recurring theme in my life. Oh, how I do love them.
Sigh.
July 2009
I’m a pretty big flake. Article for the paper was due two days ago. I will probably send it in tonight, at 11:59 p.m. That is how I do.
Life is a game and true love is a trophy.
I think I need to see a doctor. A gynecologist, really.
Anyway. I’m alone. Sort of sad, not as sad as earlier. Loneliness sucks. I called you earlier, you didn’t pick up. That’s okay. I guess that happens, and I shouldn’t expect any more than that. I’d really like to talk to someone right now who might be able to help me out and make me feel better. I don’t think anyone I know can right now. That’s a selfish statement, isn’t it? Yeah, it is.
What am I expecting? Just a friendly chat, I guess. What I’m expecting now, though, is no call back, and no one to enter my room thinking I’m great, telling me they want to go rent a movie, or go for a ride, or anything like that.
I’m pretty bummed out right now, and I really do wish I had a snappier, happier post. It’s just not what I’m feeling right now.
I hate living in a house with thin walls. I can hear other people laughing. Isn’t it sad when the last thing you want to hear is other people’s joy?
I’ll feel better in a few hours. This passes, but not quickly enough.
I don’t like being alone. I wonder if that’s a sign of maturity; if a person handles solitude well, they must be mature. Extra-mature. Maturity. Sometimes, the concept seems overrated. Not all the time though, I’ll admit.
I need to write an article informing people about the glorious resources available at the library at school.
Dad’s calling my name. I’m out. See ya.
“Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him. Some nights these thoughts, seperated by miles and time zones, occur at the same objective moment, and Ray and Mirabelle are connected without ever knowing it. One night, he will think of her as he looks into the eyes of someone new, searching for the two qualities that Mirabelle defined for him: loyalty and acceptance. Mirabelle, far away and in Jeremy’s embrace, knows that what had been lost is now regained.”
—Shopgirl, Steve Martin
Why, hello there.
I figure that my appearance here is due to an unhealthy dependence on blogs/networking sites. I like that this is here. It seems easy enough to use, which, for a dumb-dumb like me, is relieving.
Let’s get started.
My ex-boyfriend who broke up with me no more than a month ago called me. Maybe 30 minutes ago. We had a short conversation, covering things like how we were doing, our Independence Day weekends, how he stopped to eat at McD’s in front of Wal-Mart in the town I live in while he was on his way back to Alabama. He was here today. Thank God I didn’t go to Wal-Mart today with dad. He asked me to go, and I didn’t feel like it. I may have actually seen my ex in my town. Weird.
I guess it was nice enough of him to call. I was feeling lonely earlier, wondering if I could ever really be friends with him. And he called. He cut the conversation short, but it was nice enough. Hm.
Maybe when I’m older I’ll understand.
I think I’ve sort of forgotten who I am over the last year. Now, “forgotten” is probably too strong a word, but I’ve definitely lost little bits and pieces here and there. I think I was too caught up in other people, trying to figure them out without really figuring myself out first. Maybe. I just feel sort of unwraveled right now. It could be because I’m hormonal. Every time I start my period, a wave of mood swings come over me, and one moment is sheer happiness, the next despair. I don’t know, dude. I’m weird.
The catepillar asked Alice, “Who R U?” I find myself asking the same question from time to time.
People. I miss them, but they make me miserable when I have to deal with them. I never thought I was that great at interacting with them. I mean, I have my moments, but mostly I think I am the most unlikeable person on the planet. Or at least one of the most difficult to get to know. No, I’m sure there are people who are much tougher to understand. I’m just some dumb college broad who wants to be happy. Who the fuck isn’t? Well, the wanting to be happy part, not the dumb college broad part. Part. Parts. Automobile parts. Parting the seas. Partitions. Pardon me, good sir, could you tell me what time it is? I’m sorry, madame, there’s a partition in front of the clock.
You’ll understand when you’re older.
G’night.
