she picked my topic. and she talked on and on. i can't stand her. i want to hurt her. she makes me so infuriated. nobody has actually done anything to me; i could have a reasonable reason for hating them so much. but i want to hurt her so much. she blathers on and on about the topic. nobody cares anymore. i cared because i disliked her with such a burning passion. i hate the way she stands, walks, talks (especially talks), laughs and jokes around. i hate how she brags. how she wrestles the guys. how she can be so snotty and not many people realize it. she didn't have any friends. why does she now?

i have black x's on my hands. i'm so straight-edge. i'm listening to saves the day "at your funeral." nothing else. i'm surprised my parents haven't asked me if i'm on drugs yet. it would be a reasonable question; i act like it. i sleep a lot, eat a lot and don't talk a lot anymore. what's wrong with me? i'm not bipolar. but i have these giant mood swings and i can't seem to control them. there are the days where i'll fake my laugh, and put on a happy face and laugh everything off. but when i come home the mask comes off? that sounds so stupid. i'm not depressed. because when i get to school, i'm happy. or a fake happy anyway. most people can't tell the difference.

im gagging on my own self-pity
choking on something that could be called normalcy;
or passes as it
there's no good television on monday nights.

shane wants another date. well. i don't know about that. i don't know at all. i don't feel that particular feeling about him. i haven't built up expectations about him; i haven't longed after him. he's just there. it's somewhat flattering, but not really. i'm the most shallow person and i hate it. i'm selfish and stupid about this. all i want is my own self-happiness and that's all i care about. he doesn't fit into the box that i categorize guys as being hot. i'm such a snob. i hate people like me. i absolutely hate them. why am i so mean? i don't mean to be. i just want someone i can hold hands with, can have an intelligent argument with, and will challenge me. i need that. i'm a stubborn person and i manipulate people when i can. not my friends, generally. i need a guy that i can't walk all over. because i'll do it. shane is a doormat. someone else's doormat, please.

when my mom's having a personal conversation on the phone, she goes into my room. she lies on the bed and talks. i don't like that. i mean, it's not like i have things like my diary under the pillows or anything. but it's like she thinks i'm fine with it. maybe it's because i've never confronted her about it. for all i know, she goes through my things. i have random notes and journal pages all over my room. for all i know, my parents search my room for any sign of depression or drugs or abnormalcy in my room when i leave for school. i would be surprised. my mom did find a letter that i wrote to a friend which described how and when i'd have a party (involved drinking) last summer. she found it "cleaning." i found it somewhat hard to believe and got really defensive about it.

today at supper, it was my parents and me. i talked maybe five times, only to answer questions, throughout the whole meal. i was hunched over my hash browns, piling them up and playing with them. i find i just go through the motions of acting normal sometimes. i feel like screaming and crying and ripping papers up and kicking things over, but i'll sit there and talk calmly. it's not like i bottle up my emotions. because i think that's the last thing i do. but sometimes, it happens. i won't want to cause a scene. so it gets pushed to the back and shuffled around until it's not a big deal anymore. or at least so i don't make a big deal out of it. i'm not even making sense anymore.

i used to like gossip about the other people in my grade. i find i don't even care anymore. i honestly don't. they're so shallow and self-obsessed. maybe they're really just my best friends. all they do is drink on weekends, copy off people's homework and fake being nice just so this goes about happening. it angers me, how so many people are taken advantage of just because they want someone superior to them, to like them. i was like that. some girl didn't do her homework so she copied off me. i did mind. i didn't want to get caught. i'm a nerd at heart, and i worry about getting caught when these things happen. but i wanted her to share a smile with me and possibly think of me as cool. this was in grade ten, i believe.

i realize that maybe i'm not so self-obsessed. sometimes i'll give something important of mine just because i want to make them happy. i want that smile. i want that shout of laughter or shriek of happiness. i've handed over things i loved just because i wanted to hear those sounds. it's not like i wanted them to like me. i don't know if there was any underlying self-motive under that, but i just like doing it. i like making people happy, but not in a way that screams "accept me."

somebody's ugly slouchy shuffly girlfriend was staring at me today. i don't know why. they were cuddling in the space between inside doors and outside doors. she was leaning against the wall, and he was positioned, leaning over her. he just standing upright then falling, leaning heavily into her. it looked somewhat perverted. i would glance over every once in awhile, and she'd be staring at me. their whole relationship is based on making another person feel like crap. how healthy can that be. you'd think she'd start realizing her boyfriend isn't really over his "ex" if all he does when she passes, is make some inferior remark to make himself feel better. to make himself feel like he's corrected a "mistake" but it wasn't. the mistake was himself. he was the bad part of the equation. he knows it. everyone knows it. he was erased, just not replaced.

my stomach hurts. these black x's are so ugly to me right now. the word "overlord" is written on my arm and i can't remember why. i know that i meant to say some other similar word, but instead said overlord. it was funny to me and apparently julia, who scrawled it. i'm listening to radiohead. they are good. "fake plastic trees" is my favourite. the live version is nice. i need a job and my g1. i seriously do. i'm buckling down this week and the next week to come. i need them both. i'm studying for my g1 before i go to bed. i've been phonebook-job hunting. so far, i'm going to apply at roger's video, pizza pizza and independent. the first two are not local. they're about a half hour drive away. yeah well. it's my only option. i hate my neighbouring town. everyone else and their dog has a job except me. i'm so discouraged.

i've been writing for over an hour. somehow it seems like less. i have so much more to write. but these x's are distracting me. and i don't want to bore anyone. as if i haven't already. mark hasn't heard of pedro; i was mightily surprised. he likes a lot of great bands. he's fun. his eyebrow ring bothers me only because it looks like it's barely pierced. the photography shoot is this weekend. the pictures i'm posing for are: i'm turned to my side, cupping my breasts, and showing off my "slim" stomach; a close-up shot of my "slim" stomach turned to the camera; turned head-on, i tuck my arms behind my back (and wearing probably just a bra, but it'll be cut off below the breasts) and a guy's hands are placed on my lower stomach/hips. although we haven't decided who's hands. who am i that comfortable with? i don't know any guys who i'm close enough with. and no. it's not going to be shane. if i decide that i don't know any guys that well, ashley's going to clip her nails and do it. yay.

i feel really uncomfortably hot all of a sudden and i don't know why. i'm sleepy and cranky and quiet. apparently, ashley likes my stomach. when i hate it. i just found a crumpled up piece of paper on the desk. my brother wrote something.

there was the girl
she had a pet squirll
her name was marisa

huh. marisa is crossed out. squirll is spelled wrong - although, probably to look like girl. my brother's a crackpot.

"between 1983 and 1991, approximately 17, 630 canadians have died in traffic accidents where alcohol was a contributing factor, and another 1.1 million were injured. despite the reduced rate, in 1991, a total of 111, 307 (91% of them men) were charged with impaired driving."
- that's despicable and disgusting. that's all i have to say. it's tragic and horrible and inexcusable.

my mother has been on the phone for an hour and half an hour. all this time, i've been writing. she's on the phone, so i can't be online. so i blog, which you can do offline. i need to get online, however, to post this whole crap thing. flinging juicy "penis chunks" (pieces of pears in fruit cups) at people is fun. breaking the spoon on which the flingage takes place, isn't. my first try, i broke it. i'm being really calm about the whole "getting kicked offline for nearly two hours" thing. surprisingly. it's just because i'm quiet. my parents and i had a major fight last night about my lack of a job and license. so behind their backs, i've been job-hunting. since last night. i think i'm going to get ashley to drive me to drop off my resumes. that way, if i don't get the job, my parents won't have to know.

i like planning for prom. i really do. we're all going to drive to the closest chuck e. cheese and overrun the place, with big giant poofy dresses and nice makeup. we'll play in that ball place. then we'll go to some hotel, having reserved it for one person. then we'll sneak everyone in the backdoor. or just get a bunch of rooms together. either way, prom will be the best ever. we're going to kidnap meghan from nova scotia. i decided that i wouldn't drive in the "sensible" car with jen, heh. i'd take my chances and drive with crazy aimee. we'll probably get arrested along the way, somehow. she'd find a way for that to happen. so her dad would come and bail us out. and we'd join the hotel party. hehe. i love prom planning. the thing though: mostly everyone in our grade will get right smashed, because that's fun right? well, not for us. we don't need to get drunk or stoned, because we'll be so hyper, ecstasy couldn't top the high we'd probably have. there has never been a night where everyone was all together. someone's always busy or not wanting to come.

i can't stand my brother. i can't stand this family. i really can't. i need to drive somewhere. i want to hurt my brother; i'm scared that one of these days i'll just attack him. one of these days. i know i will. it'll happen, and you know what? i won't be sorry when it does. he deserves so much more than a slap in the face. he is the most horrible little person. he's selfish and rude and he doesn't care what he's doing to my parents. he causes them so much grief, he doesn't realize it. or he does, but he just doesn't care. i cry about him. i do. he'd laugh at me if he knew. but i cry about what he's like to my parents, how he's behaving. he's the most selfish person i've ever met. he thinks it's perfectly acceptable for him to push my parents around. he knows they'll waffle around. he gets his way with them. i don't know how. he'll be grounded "for serious" yet after day one of a week's punishment, he'll suddenly be ungrounded. it makes me so angry, i can't help but feel utterly frustrated.

i'm crying now. my dad makes me feel like the worst person in the world. i don't know how he does it either. what's wrong with my family? my dad's got a way of making me laugh when i'm incredibly pissed off. and making me cry at the drop of a hat, because of his choice of words. today's the worst day that i've had in awhile. my mom won't get off the stupid phone. my dad's giving me the silent treatment. my brother's constant mockery is becoming punch-worthy. my dad ignores me. and it makes me feel like i'm not worthy of even talking to. i never want to see this house again. i want to walk away and just never come back right now.

seventeen paragraphs. you'd think i'd stop writing after four. i see my tears on the desk and it makes me even more sad. i don't know why i write about these things. when most people cry, they curl themselves up into a ball in their beds or somewhere private. i'm writing and crying at a desk. how sad i am. how sad am i. i like watching myself cry. is that wrong. only when i can i'm crying...calmly. when the tears slip down my face all quiet-like. the only crying i hate seeing myself act out, is the uncontrollable sobs. where your whole body shakes, and your face goes blotchy and you're constantly sniffling and your face is all distorted, twisted and streaky. and you feel so exhausted afterwards. and it's so obvious you were crying because your eyes are stained red.

*   You're so silly, Nanny! 7:54:33 PM    * *       *