I am still alive, just...bored. And uninspired. The Lime Girls page is getting completely redone, so there will be that to play with soon. Nothing ever HAPPENS, and there is only so much of the same chaos in my head to update this hole with before it gets TOO bizarre and I have to lie down in a dark room for a while. Most of my thoughts concern my interactions with people who read this, so I have to watch what I write. I can’t, for example, complain about Punkin being a mercurial, psychotic FREAK whose main purpose in life four days of every seven is to make me slam my face into a wall until my nose breaks by going into inexplicable, spiteful sulks and persisting in listening to music that I rate a -16 on a scale of one to ten and NEVER USING HEADPHONES, because she might see it one day.
I hate the dining halls. They plaster the place with four-food-groups posters and little health brochure things, but all the food is double-dipped in lard. Tonight, for example, was inexplicably full of chocolate. Chocolate cheesecake, chocolate fondue, chocolate cookies, chocolate mousse. WHY. Do they think we’re all going to waddle over to the rec center and run it right back off...well, Muffy and Buffy might. I would get keyboard withdrawal. It’s going to make me outgrow my newly-discovered size eight (hey, I’ve been wearing grossly oversized pants for years) before I have a chance to enjoy it. Oh well. At home I can live on Slim-Fast and Diet Coke if the urge strikes me, and it just might. When I get bored, I either overeat or come up with weird new diets through which to purge sin. And I’m going to be BORED. God forbid I ever get a job or anything. Dad keeps pushing me towards the student employment section of the Northwest home page, but I have no faith in that. I will systematically be rejected for every single one, just as I have been for every job I applied for down here all year. This will further feed my inferiority complex and make me still more angry and bitter, which will make me gain or lose ten pounds.
Angry and bitter. Apparently I radiate these two emotions. I was chatting with some weird guy from Rolla, thinking I was doing quite nicely for as long as it had been since I’d talked to anyone new, when, out of what seemed to be nowhere, he asked, "Okay, so why are you so upset at the world?" This utterly threw me. Have I become completely incapable of interacting with other human beings? Every time I think I’m getting a little better, someone will say something that pushes me back to square one. In my junior year of high school, I was all happy for a little while and thinking I was fine, when Biskit writes me a note one day saying she’s worried about me because I seem to be slipping back into past behavioral patterns. Glurk glurk glurk. I do know that I have lost whatever mother-magnetic power of personality brought me the Splutglut in the first place. Slutbucket agreed with me on that. (Thank you so much, Bunny.) Maybe I’m too tired. Maybe I just don’t care enough anymore. Maybe everyone else has outgrown it. I suppose being popular among sixteen-year-old boys is nothing I should have been very proud of anyway.
People are so dumb. I’m dumb too, but at least I know it. Beer is not entertainment, South Park is stupid, American society is commercial and materialistic, and I have a pack of walking billboards for a peer group. If I ever hear or read the word "Abercrombie" again, I will not be held responsible for my actions. I hate clothes shopping because they try to make us wear the most Godawful things.
Everyone is so into things. Punkin is obsessed with Tori, Ani, and what Biskit refers to as "the angry lesbian bit," Caitlin does the fantasy-sci fi fanfic thing, Jennifer is all into roleplaying. How do they do it? Maybe my problem is that I cannot take anything I do seriously. I think of myself objectively and crack up all the time because my life is so stupid. Someone from another country (maybe Texas), another culture, or another planet would die laughing, but I am not amused with any of it in the slightest. Or anything else. Someone asked me what I do for fun the other day, and I couldn’t come up with an answer. Alienate. Accelerate my pulse through concentration. Sit here and write long-winded irrelevant rants that I shoot out into a void of people who don’t give a shit, just so I can say I updated my page this month. Are you having fun? I’m having fun.
Then I think, what more do I want? I am the most loved person I know. So what if I don’t have a big group of people to hang around with. My family worships me, even my dad who thinks I need to cut my hair and be given Prozac in an IV. Biskie’s the ideal best friend (read, she’s as hopelessly depressed about her lack of a future as I am about mine, so we can whine at each other for hours). That boy absolutely adores me, even though I’m so mean to him. Bunny humors his sick mother. Bill dreams about my ass. I may not be radiantly gorgeously anorexic, but I’m not hideous, I don’t look like everyone else, and AT LEAST MY HAIR IS LONG (Daddydear). Maybe I can’t get a job to save my life, but at least my dad sends me checks every month (or I’d be dead). Maybe it’s going to be hell after I graduate, but I can always run off to Hawaii with some old rich guy and mail all my friends about how nice it is not to have to worry about rent or food or classes (like this one short girl I know).
Why doesn’t anyone ever write on the damn message board. I don’t have it there just because I thought another link would look nice. I never update because I have no ideas. I don’t even know what audience I’m addressing. I think half my hits are the bratpookie at home, but the other half frightens me. Do you like reading this drivel? Do you want more Sailorkitty? More Kitty Goes to Town? Would anyone watch if I did puppet shows for the webcam? Is anyone actually out there?
Hello. I’m Kitty. Please excuse the mess.