May 22, 2002
Cheesefucks Abounding
You know what? Ryan is a hardcore hosefuck cheesebeast 4000.
Mallory and I conjured that slandering term today, and I so desperately wanted an excuse to use it.
So he calls me today and lays this guilt trip on me so thick I was suffocating. It was total bullshit. I knew he was going to do this. He has been telling everyone that I don't want to see any of them anymore, and tells me that everyone is "very taken aback" by the fact that I have segregated myself. Hello. Knock-Knock Ryan. I don't want to see you. And before you came home none of them cared to see me enough to call. So where is the crisis here?
I hate feeling obligated and guilty.
At any rate, he can kiss my ass. He came home expecting everything to be the same and everyone to be the way they were. I am not going to pretend. I don't owe him or any of them anything. I still care. But have they tracked my ass down all of these months that we've been within visiting distance? No. And neither have I. Because we have all grown apart, and I accepted that. Ryan has been gone. He hasn't seen it. He isn't going to come home and dictate the way I should behave.
Manipulative bastard. He can kiss my ass. 'Cause I went to see Star Wars again today. With a boy. Albeit only a friend. We talked about philosophy and Yoda and Monty Python and politics and Ireland. So there.
I'm sleepy. My bed is calling to me through the piles of laundry on it. It kind of sounds like a muffled, "Bitch, get yo' shit over here!"
Or not.
Do you know what? I want Natalie Portman's stomach. We should trade.
My stomach likes cheesecake. Bad stomach.
Considering my body and I were just coming to an agreement. I take it for walks, I look moderately slim. I feed it strawberries, it doesn't explode out of my favorite jeans.
I'm not fat. Not at all. But I'm not healthy. And I so don't think I will ever be.
Why can't I just be happy with the way I look?
O. Because I am a girl. Obviously.
astera at 12:56 a.m.