June 27, 2002
Too Heavy
Good things. Like honesty and popcorn and sleeping until eleven and mix tapes and fuzzy, fawny pants. Today was full of good, quiet things.
Ian and I talked. Lovely understanding from both sides. I pray yet for that brilliant and beautiful English girl, so that his thoughts may revert forever from me. He doesn't want me. He shouldn't, anyway. I'm just trouble.
I'm changing my layout again. This one will be probably a week yet, merely because I really won't have a clue as to what I am doing. I've already changed my mind several times, and each time it becomes more difficult and beyond the reach of my html abilities.
I installed Adobe Photoshop, courtesy of Kelsi.
I have no idea what I am doing.
Today I ate things that were horrible for me and wore my coin belt. I changed my pants a bunch of times.
I feel like adventuring. I wonder, were the occasion to arise, if I would be brave enough? If the world ended tomorrow, would I live to be a coward or a heroine? Or would I die under the first blow and never even be given a chance to fail?
We live in strange times. I want to be a mage. I want to live in a book. Life isn't fair.
College doesn't seem like it will happen to me. That Jill won't be like this one.
I hope I learn something from all of this apathy and waste. I hope this year means something to my soul.
I want to be exceptional. It'd make everyday bearable.
Is it possible for me to fall in love? Will I ever know? Ian is perfect. I don't love him. I can't really even like him.
I want to go to the park and wade through the creek and feel fifteen again. I want to be silly again, and not feel sorry for it.
I don't want to be a fifth of a century old, I don't want to be twenty if I can't be twenty. I don't live. I meander.
I'm a writer. Who needs a life when you can create one? Do I have the heart to venture beyond my pen? I fashion a perfect place, one riddled with desperation and injustice and hope and magic, I dream of it and so it becomes mine. But only in my head. Things are only ever in my head.
I feel stupid.
I think I am.
astera at 12:36 a.m.