11/11/99 3:00 am
I am super-busy... pitying myself. And the shite state of shambles my pathetic joke of a life is in at present.
And, man, you thought you were busy, with school, with work, with friends, with plans, with HAVING A LIFE, whatever. That's nothing compared to how totally all-consuming this "lifestyle" of mine is.
Today, for example, I endured harassment that would stand up in court as "teasing", from a friend of my mother's. Said he had enough money to kick me out of this house and rent my room from my mother for the next twenty years. Screamed "RRSP's!!!!" at me. Dragged me by the chair I wuz sitting on, toward the door, "Okay, leave now! Time to move out!" Told me to "mind my manners", to "clean up this mess". He called me "Puppy". My fucking father called me "Puppy."
Speaking of my father. He had the right fucking idea in disowning me. Look where we'd be now if he had stuck around. I'm thirteen again. Shit, I've been thirteen for seven years now. Kids fucking suck. I know that. I sure as fuck know that. So, like every average father, he is gone. And my impression of all males is based on him. Sorry guys. What can I do? I denied that for a long time. I don't like it, but it's too true. It's ugly, ugly. And I am reading all these letters and I am thinking "What? Wake up." And, hey, I really don't have any friends left. I ask how that happened. But I know.
Degrassi High. Good episode I watched today. Realize I only watch it for the tiny little moments that have Spike in them. Everyone else is criminally dull. This episode, "Sixteen", part one. Spike's got this new boyfriend. Patrick, from Dublin. (Of course. Irish guy named Patrick.) He's crazy about her. He loves her. (He writes a song for her. Oooh, swoon.) And she freaks out and can't handle him. He's too cool. Too perfect. So she stops speaking to him. I think that's the best Degrassi High I've seen.
This North of 60 show. Things get so shitty for the characters that I find myself thinking "Go on, just kill yourself. Really. Your life seriously sucks, just do it. Die. There's no other way." But it's TV, so things always get better. But not just better. Things get golden. Beautiful. Joyous.
That Degrassi episode also ends happily. With Patrick giving Spike some solemn, sweet speach on "not hiding". She comes to her senses. And they are happy. Though in real life he'd rightfully vanish. And she would never find any evidence of Good Men, who don't Run Away. Bla bla bla.
"When you gonna make up your mind? When you gonna love you as much as I do?" -Tori
My "Good Will Hunting" complex. Whine, whine. I would, but...
"The things you could do, you won't but you might... "
And another letter today from that boy whose bed wuz the last haven of sweet sensuality I have known. ("I still feel you touching me... changing me... Consider that you're killing me... ") My ego is not happy on that confession.
Instinctive reaction "Oh God. Leave me alone." And the movie version of me would have written "Return to Sender" on that envelope and not thought of it again. But I could never do that with any letter. I can't deny myself a letter. I'm repeating myself. And this letter, written in third person cop-out. "... you cry softly, so softly..." Oh. Do I? (As Janis sings "I hate it when I cry, and baby I cry all the time...") I don't know about you, but.... actually, I'm throwing things. I'm spazzing out. Music is playing loudly. And I am crying loudly. I'm dancing and screaming and I'm falling down and getting back up and falling down again. I am Martin Sheen's Apocolypse Now intro. I am a flailing wailing cliche mess of misery. Not delicate. Not graceful. Not soft at all. But it's not about him. Nah. I don't think. Maybe the idea of him. But not him as a person.
Big fucking mess of wow I am really at this I know I'm unloveable phase purely wholely deeply irreversibly. I have been here for so long. I wait for fate to bring about the changes I should be bringing about myself.
And I want a warm bed. But I am too far gone. And I can't hear anyone anymore. Can't hear anything but "get out"s and "what's your problem?"s. Trials, accusations ... and dreams cut off. Cut off, and I am in this life so far and deep in a direction I do not want to be at all.
I got out a binder that I used to use as my diary. I opened it. Thinking I would write one of these people a letter. And that paper looked like such HOME to me. Tori wuz "I believe in peace, bitch!" and I'm on the floor, curled in a ball, sobbing. Home home home. And I can't write to these people. They don't know me. They don't REALLY know me. And I don't really know them. And if I try to change that they will go away forever and I will be even more hollow than I am now. Best to keep them far enough away... Stay alone and think think think on Hey what great people they could be to me. Could be, could be, could be. I want to tell you everything. If I did that on a TV show we would be infinitely close as a result. Here, it would just make you go away. So I'll just keep you right there. Right out there where I can't quite reach you and you can't quite reach me, and I will think think think... Better to think of "what could have been" than "what went really fucking wrong." I think.
I think. I think.
So, you see. I am very busy.