06 March 1999 ~ Pathetic...

This is going to be a short entry, and you'll be lucky if it's coherent. I am SO damn tired.

I was supposed to spend the day doing homework, but Mike decided to drag me to Albuquerque to buy a postcard for a friend of his. Seventy miles for one fucken postcard. Oh well. It was a cool postcard: Alex and his droogies from A Clockwork Orange.

So after we got back from Albuquerque, I studied. I did two chapters' worth of work in two hours. It was Spanish so I was utterly frustrated, and found three languages bombarding my feeble little mind in a vague attempt to give me the correct answers.

I still have two chapters to do, which is nobody's fault but my own -- I'm the procrastinator from hell. So I have that to look forward to tomorrow.

And, to top it all off, upon returning to my room to write this entry and go to sleep, I found half the photos ripped off of my door and tossed around the hallway. NO ONE ELSE'S have ever been misplaced. Oh, and there was a picture of Peter lying in the middle of the floor, ripped in half. It's a computer print-out, but I don't know if I can still access it. Mother-fuckers. I hate this feeling inside me right now: like I want to kill someone, just take someone by the thraot and shake him. But I can't, of course, because I don't know who it was. I want to cry, but that means he's won. Getting upset is only letting Mr. Anonymous win. But how can I NOT be upset when I find my property desecrated? Who could hate me this much? Who could find this funny? What kind of sicko thinks it's FUNNY to do things like this? I want to kill someone, but I don't know who did this, and getting upset only makes me feel guilty for being so sentimental and not being smart enough to keep my things inside my room.

I ran into Damian just before I came up here to find my pictures in a state of destruction. "I don't know ANYONE but YOU who fucken STUDIES on a Saturday night." Then he ran off to talk to some friend of his, completely ignoring me.

To have that followed up with the pictures all over my hall, folded and bent and taped to other people's walls... Oh, gahd, I just want to cry. I just want to cry myself to sleep and not bother waking up to the inevitable rage I'm going to feel in the morning when I look at the now-bare outside of my door.

What did I do so damn wrong???

~Helena*

"Helena, you're pathetic..." --Any one of countless people...