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*you know how i say i think too much... 2001-12-02 2:32 a.m.*

dreams of cities and shared apartments and coffee house jobs seem too good to be true at this time of night. still, i have my harold and maude glow.

i feel like a drug addict. seriously. like i need my fix of people, to keep me away from this dark night of my soul. i'm just so worn out and i don't feel like i can do it alone.

which makes me feel weak and all "but people won't always be around, be prepared," and pullng out all the alone boogey monsters, which doesn't make it easier. she had a good point last tuesday when she said, "it seems like you're hardest on yourself when you need yourself the most." i think she says that every week. i don't think i listen.

it was a day of good. a day of actuallynotbad pumpkin pie, and time with habib, and getting to show him off to friends, and knowing that my friends would feel perfectly alright in my mom's house as soon as we opened the door and rusted root was playing, and realizing that i look quite the same as i did when i was 3 or 4, and cat and james taylor and bob on vinyl, and my mom getting excited that there were girls in the house, and my friends getting excited by my mom. a day of handing out baked treats and faeries. a day of naked parties with food and painting and dancing and joy and belonging.

i felt so welcome and good and there and i never wanted to leave. but i had to, or so i thought, but i got to come back, but i was faced with some harsh "you can't go home again"ness. that feeling of great joy and belonging completely blasted away.

i don't want to leave this place as every day i feel less and less like it is my place. and i question whether it's this small place or if the world has stopped being my place or if i have stopped being the world's.

i have two papers to write, an isp to rewrite, and a thesis to do. and the idea of any word of any of those things makes me want to crumple in a heap on my bed. it's that thought that makes me wail inside my skull, "i'm soooo tired!" but the world keeps going, and i sit here, behind, the caboose of the world.

never growing up, stuck in some sort of peter pan world of dreams and wonder, in which i suddenly feel trapped. like if i could get out of it, then the world would make sense. but the question is, is it where i belong, or is it just some sweet sweet drug? this child is who i am, she has never failed me before, but every day i feel like a parody of myself, and it's not remotely in a hip way. perhaps the problem is that i've gotten so young that i've lost the ability to laugh at myself.

in all honesty, i don't think i developed a sense of humor until i was 11 or 12. i was a horribly serious child. and hypersensitive and always feeling like everyone was picking on me to the point that i'm not sure who really was anymore.

i write this and think of people reading it. will this be one of the occasionally interesting entries that tsk refers to? will oneblackbird make it through, since she says she likes my diary? will michael ever read it and if so how will she feel about my response to the naked party (which was really 85 parts good, 2 or 3 parts bad)? will james and jennifer connelly gain any sort of insight or is it all stuff that was already blatantly obvious or is this entry too obscure even for them? will anyone else make it to the end and be hurt that i didn't mention them by name? does this count as mentioning them by name?

in other news, i have heard that my pictures turned out really well. yay!

good night as i fall into the land of drowse.

*listening to: *
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