*" he seems okay. he seems bored. you know how when you're sixteen, you're bored a lot. he says he sleeps a lot, though. which is good. " 2001-06-06 9:29 p.m.*

i think boredom has set in. i think that may be my problem. all my little projects have lost their charm. i wish i knew how to get to know people around here. i wish venice wasn't so much like sarasota, except even more boring. i wish erica would call me so we could hang out. i wish michael was back from italy. i wish i could stay like i was when i was in high school and books were enough company for me.

and it's weird, because even though i am lonely, i wish i was alone. this is the problem that always gets me during the summer. this house is so small, i get really claustrophobic when mom's home, and i get ornery and spoiled-sounding, and that's why she thinks i haven't changed at all since high school since middle school since i was five. "you've always been such a smarty pants. you've always been such a show off." and it's just that i'm trying to prove to her that i'm getting a good education and that i'm doing okay and all that. or something.

i want to stop crying, guys. i want to stop feeling sorry for my stupid self for having messed up and being stuck at home and unable to get a job. and i don't want to say this because it's going to make people feel bad, but it's my diary, fuck it, but i'm feeling intensely uninteresting right now, because the phone conversation tonight involved a lot of me blithering blithely to keep the sad away, and trying to think of the most interesting thing to say in the world, but feeling interrupted most of the time i thought i was starting to say something more than "my cat is cute. i'm playing with my doll." which is unfortunate because i was so looking forward to the conversation and most of it was good, but the end made me just want to curl up and cry. but instead i'm typing and crying. and the point is, why does my period make me hate myself so much?

i feel so nasty and gross and lonely and insecure and like what i'm meant to do with the rest of my life is sit, because that's my height of interestingness. i'm boring, which is why i'm bored right now. if i were interesting, i'd think of something interesting to get me off of my bloody ass to do other than sit here and cry and feel sorry for myself. and it's so selfish of me to write this because i know half a dozen people who will read this and feel bad for me, when some of me knows that i'm actually fine under all my tears and bloody goo and icky sweat and that i'll be fine tomorrow, or when i see harold and maude or when the dumb summer's over. but there's a part of me that wishes that the option of hurting myself had never even been mentioned. and i feel like i'm just being hurtful right now, but you don't understand, if your arms were around me right now, it would all be fine, it's not you it's not anything but hormones. and i have an eyelash in my eye which is pissing me off. and i hate being in limbo about a job, and i want to find a routine, and i think that's why i always sigh when i know mom will have the day off or get off early, because it upsets my sleepy routine. i feel less boring when i'm allowed to just live my sleepy routine knowing it will end soon, not having to put on the "i'm a productive member of society, mom" show. and i think it's good that i'm saying all this because it's getting it out in better ways, and i'm trying not to (figuratively) beat myself up about it too much, i wish i hadn't told you i ever hurt myself because i don't want you to worry, i don't do that anymore, i know it's not worth it, but it's dangerous that you know, because i'm a spoiled brat and being told not to do something makes me want to go out and do it. you weren't supposed to have to deal with this.

i want to go home. i hate that i'm home and i feel so far away from home. i want a home. a home that feels like home, with not a damn thing that belongs to me in a box anymore. i'm sick of this shit. i leave my stuff all over the floor because then it's not in a box anymore and it feels settled. no that's not true. i leave my stuff on the floor, because i don't know where else to put it because none of those counter spaces feel like mine. or it's a mix of both, plus 5. plus *holds up five fingers* i'm this many. and i will always be this many.

and ps i'm a faerie. because faeries bite, but they still have wings and they're still magic. but angels are dead and there are too much expectations on them. when i was in belfast i saw these children and i realized they were the fae, and that explains why they can be good and bad and they can bite you. and i appreciate being called an angel, part of it warms my heart, but part of it scares the fuck out of me. and i didn't want to tell you because i thought it would be fine, and the last time someone called me an angel... well, we no longer speak to each other, and i didn't want that to happen. and i want to stop hurting and i feel like if i scratch out at the air enough it will stop. but you're still not here. and by you i think i mean me. where did i go? where do i go when i'm in this house? i'm not breathing right. young jesus worked on me and said i wasn't breathing right, and i'm breathing even less right, now. take me home. i want a home. i want to move into where i'm going to live over the school year right this second so that the limbo will stop.

yes i know the feeling of saying "i want to go home" when i'm already there. i also know the feeling of saying "i want to be happy" when i know that deep down i am.

i'm sorry that i masquerade as being this together healer girl, when really i'm just as fucked up as anyone. but unlike before, i know that pain will not make the pain stop. i need to let it out, not keep it in. so, although this is an entry of ridiculous pain, it's a step in some process to letting the pain go.

this was supposed to be a spiritually fulfilling summer. i was going to meditate and michael was going to take me to the unitarian church in bradenton, and sure we were going to become alcoholics, but i wouldn't feel like my soul had been sucked out and left at the side of the road, somewhere, which is what happens when i'm home. i don't understand why i feel like this. i love my mom, we have a good relationship, we have a better relationship than most people i know have with their moms, this house is nice. but i hate being here.

*listening to: *
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