June 18, 2002
Schizophrenic Far From Worthy Jill
Listening to Travis and drinking chocolate milk and feeling generally ignorant of everything.
Ian is shy. I think. Either that or impassionate. I don't know... perhaps he has miscontrued respect and admiration for me as romantic feeling? Perhaps I have done the same? I don't know.
I don't know. Anything.
I am glad I have comforts to escape to that do not involve boys or their confusing ways.
Mom and Dad came home today, amid a flurry of my entertaining my seven-year-old cousin and post-house-cleaning-glory. I missed them, but at the same time I cannot wait to again be messy and independent. Ah, college...
They came bearing gifts, mine consisting of three little ceramic monkeys, posed perfectly in 'Hear no evil, See No Evil, Speak No Evil' fashion. They are delighted to be sitting now on my shelf, under the care and guardianship of Obi-Wan.
Will my future roommate mind toys, I wonder?
Kels and I are off to take more pictures tomorrow. It is odd... I love being the photographer, and yet, it irks me that I cannot be in my own pictures. Because, if that were the case, I couldn't get the angle and the expression just right as I would not be standing behind the lens...
Still not enough of a reason to make me support cloning.
I feel shitty tonight. Let's just face it. I'm ungrateful. I'm confused. Ian speaks glowingly... but kisses briefly and reluctantly. As though he didn't want to. And while I am with him I think I want his kisses and his arms about me, then get away and am scared to death of it, while at the same time thinking that perhaps him behaving as a boy should, or would, or did, would soil him forever in my eyes.
I can't believe he likes me when he treats me as a friend, despite whatever poetry may be spouted.
And I am not sure if I want him to like me, considering our circumstances and my own fears and desires.
I don't know. Anything. Not even what I want.
And, on top of it all, Taylor Hanson was married. At nineteen years of age. And trivia retained proves him to be even six months younger than I.
I can only think, will I ever love someone so much? Will someone ever love me so much? And if they do, or I do, how will I know? What if I let them go, or what if it all just feels the same? What if I've already felt it? What if Ryan was love, and that's all I can hope for? What if there is no poet, what if there is no future? What if there is no wedding band or Victorian home or quirky children or evening solace in someone's arms?
Is Ian what I want? Will I marry someone like him? Is there someone better? Will I even marry?
I take so much for granted. I am shallow.
I care for Ian. And I think that is going to ruin this all.
What is 'this,' anyway?
astera at 11:49 p.m.