*my cat's breath smells like cat food. 2001-05-19 2:19 p.m.*

i should be writing, or reading up on stuff that i need to write about. but it doesn't appear to be happening.

i like this shirt. it's sparkly and flowy and pretty and all that. but it makes me feel so very big. and i really feel most comfortable when i feel very small. i'm pretty comfortable with my body and stuff-- i mean i did pull my skirt over my head in palm court last night without wearing underwear, that's gotta mean something... but... i weighed myself on my birthday. i think that's what turned it from a fair to a poor day. i had this fear that i would be a certain weight and that would be really bad, and i wasn't sure if i could handle it. and i weighed myself. and i weighed 15 pounds over that weight. which is 5 pounds less than the scariest weight in the world. i'm short, and i've been told by lots of people that i don't look nearly as heavy as i am. and i don't feel heavy generally. i feel pretty okay about things, i've become resigned to the stretchmarks that started appearing at the same time i was getting pubic hair.

but i don't like looking bigger than i am. i think maybe i do have this fear. that if i wear the wrong clothes... the kind that make me look heavier than other clothes do, it only means that the clothes are telling the truth and i'm really that big, and the glamour is wearing off.

i remind people of a little kid. i wonder if that adds to the illusion of smallness. if i look littler because i act younger. i still have people mistake me for a 12-year-old, and it drives me crazy. which i suppose is weird. since i act so young. i act like a kid because i feel like a kid. i'd like to think i'm childlike vs. childish, but my birthday can attest to some childishness. i act like a kid because i decided i was grownup when i was 7 and got rid of all my toys and stuff, and i got sick of that in high school. being grown up is not worth it. now i have a tremendous peter pan complex. but at the same time i want to be taken seriously. one of the worst things that ever happened to me was once when i was crying and i can't even remember about what, but it was really bad. i remember the way my heart ached. and someone walking by told me i looked adorable. i wanted to slap them. it was such an unvalidating experience. it made me feel unreal and toylike. decorative. this person who has nothing to give the world but a cuteness she can't even control.

i wonder if this new hicky is cute. aiee. the last one at least was on the side of my neck, and kind of in shadows. but this one, though smaller, is dead center in the middle of my neck. thank you, james (i can't think of a code name, ar ar ar! so, i'm going to call you that... it does appeal to me after the thing about how "i'm a boy" and michael's a boy's name, too.).

thank you laurel tree and jennifer connelly for putting up with the sexile. it was good sex. and a good talk afterwards.

i don't want to take sad away. i want to bring joy, but sad is valid, too. the problem of evil does not interest me, because it's all learning. i like royce's explanation of evil and pain as something that god needs to become wiser. pain bites. but it's good. it's necessary. i do want to make you happy. but not at the expense of the sad that has made you who you are.

alongcamea, barbies was fun last night. yay ra ra! and know that there's a hug for you in my heart right now.

*listening to: *
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