i have decided to voice my angst, nequiquam, to to the idle winds of the internet. Yes. Like a journal, except for lonely people who hope that stranger-passerbys will somehow stumble by and understand and nod to themselves that life DOES suck, random internet girl is right. Yes.
I wrote Andrew Andrew Andrew all over a piece of notebook paper. I meant to solve my moral crises via pen and paper but the daimon did not speak to me and counsel me and and give me care in my time of need. I'm ruining my life. I meant to make a "journal" so as to express all my feelings which are bottled up inside. Hmm. Bottled up inside.
In the library I sat in the sunny silence in front of the library window in a cushy leather chair and thought resentful thoughts about my boyfriend, who is comparable to Jesus in terms of moral goodness, guidance and love, but who is underappreciated because I am a bitch. I was stewing about retarded things that I stew about. Like in high school when I stewed about how my mom wore my shirts with out asking. I'm like the evil girls on the real world. Yes. I am evil.
In the library I huddle in the corner and dart dirty looks to the sorority girls who behave like prostitutes and chew gum and wear stretchy gym pants with CORNELL written across the butt. And I reflect upon how they couldn't possibly be happy people, because they do not deserve to be. And I'm generally a very bad person, and I think nasty thoughts about people. And I am consumed by my guilt.
I wrote a good 1 and a half pages of a paper, except I will not turn the paper in, I will just reflect upon the goodness of my one and a half pages and languish in the excellence of my artistic talent. Yes. I would tell you what the paper is about, except it is not very interesting, so I don't think I will.
Maybe I will not write a webpage, because html seems to be complicated. Hmm. O well.
Sometimes I tell andrew I want to die and maybe kill myself and jump off the bridge near the house and I want him to look at me with scrunched up eyebrows and say I CARE! Because I want people to care about me. My life is so fucking lonely. Andrew is always a little bit surprised when I say fuck. "fuck." Fuck.
I tell Andrew all the weird things about my life, about the part with Joe, that I dare not name even under the random "ex/animo" identity because I am weird and it is appropriate to edit out the parts of my life that I want no one else to know about, because hell, i do most of the time. Andrew says I'm a bad liar. I am weird, and the rest of the world has no doubts, and that is depressing too.
when I was in honors orchestra camp program I thought I fell in love with a boy who wore a nice white shirt and rolled up the sleeves, and I really liked the way he rolled up the sleeves, and he paid attention to me, but not in the yucky Ted or Gerry from the school Bus way. When I visited Davidson college a yucky boy, who I would at this stage of my life characterize as evil frat boy, gave me "you are hot" looks because I was wearing a sweater that was too small. And I felt very flattered, because I am yucky like the weird girl from latin class who talks like a man and is "big boned" and says strange things and people look at her funny even though it is not high school anymore and we are, in theory, "above that". I am like weird girl.
If only the senior smart girls knew, and Jessie and robin and katherine would give eachother raised eyebrows looks and think, "she is weird". And I didn't wear matching socks in highschool (except I swear that was unintentional- it wasn't a trendy thing) and i didn't sleep and I was weirdly silent except when I made some strange and pretentious commentary in English Class trying to prove that I was smart, or made some other weird commentary in History Class trying to prove myself to be very smart but oh so humble as well.
Best not to say anything at all. And not to make strange webpages for no one and everyone to read.
I read Othello today in between phases of nasty thoughts in the library, and I thought about what a nice girlfriend Desdemona was, and how I should be a nice girlfriend like that. Or actually the guilt and desdemona reflections didn't set in until later today. I do not know.
Hmm. What else? I am disappointed that I have still not come to a good conclusion about how to be a good person and live a happy life, and I never do; i just remember all the ways that I am bad and doomed to badness and to boyfriends who are too loving but will realize, one day, one day, she has grown mean, so mean, and the good doesn't outweigh the bad anymore, and she is cute and sweet, but not very often, not often at all, and I think it's time to get a divorce and then where will she go, what will she do. Maybe she really will want to jump off the bridge that time.
andrew says I have emotional problems and I should talk to a guidance counselor, except he says it in a non condescending way, in an I care about you way. One time at the Cafeteria tables robin was talking about the girl from summer camp who was weird and had emotional problems and lay in bed thinking that she was going to die of aids. And robin squenched up her nose and thought she was disgracefully abnormal and so am I.
The other one
This is another webpage.
This is from when I was sad.
Yes.
Useful statistics
but one last one.
