April 30, 2002
Yellow Sweater
My dad just commanded my brother to go read the ten commandments, most especially the one concerning 'honor thy mother and father.' And then he tried to get me to do the same thing.
Fuck that.
Why must my family be so generally psychotic?
Today has been as mundane as yesterday. I watched The Virgin Suicides and rather liked it. I am going to assume that Sofia Coppola, who both wrote and directed it, has some direct relation to Francis Ford Coppola. The film was certainly dark enough.
There are 77 days until I move into college.
How many minutes is that? How many more hours must I waste at work, online, in front of the television, with a book, fighting with my brother, fighting with my mother, pining for moronic boys, writing lukewarm poetry, wishing I were there and not here, anywhere but here?
I feel like a waste of time. Not my life, but me. Just me.
Ryan called me last night, and I was obliged to talk to him for about forty-five minutes. We said much without really saying anything at all, and I dread his coming home with a sick sort of passion. What will he expect of me? Am I supposed to behave normally? Pretend I still find him interesting and worthy? Will I be able to be honest with him as I have been with myself?
Who have I become that I am so far from the person I once thought to love for the rest of my days?
I'll wager I can't love like that anymore. Now I know better.
It was just a lie, anyway. Albeit a pleasing one.
It's beautiful outside today. I would go out and play my guitar, but there are children digging holes in my yard.
Spring has come to find me pale again.
astera at 5:43 p.m.