August 29, 2002
Crapola
So. Jillian is sitting in Haines Food Court eating. Alone, as per usual. Strange Asian Man at the table next to her has for some reason made tents on top of his empty plates with the advertisements on the tables. She takes a deep drink of pink lemonade. She sighs.
And the College Television Network just couldn't keep itself from playing Our Lady Peace's 'Somewhere out There.' They couldn't have played a song she didn't know. They couldn't have played a song he didn't know all the words to, didn't insist on singing to her at odd moments. O, no. That would have been too damn difficult today. Of all days, when she is most lonely.
I feel like crap. Is it obvious?
He mentioned idly in an email about coming to see me today, but I must agree with him in his decision not to. Sooner or later he'll get sick of driving all this way. Sooner or later he just won't.
I feel like crap. Just how obvious is it?
Classes today were unfulfilling. Art History with the crazy five-minutes-slow clocks. Experiencing the Arts with crazy-long-winded Brazilian professor.
I have plenty of time to read the seventy pages perpetually assigned to me. I just avoid doing it at all costs.
I cried today. Just a little. I removed myself swiftly from the phone conversation Mike and I had been having, closed quickly the door to my room, and allowed pathetic little tears to spring to my eyes. I forgot to tell him that I loved him, too.
I feel like crap. I want it to be painfully obvious.
I don't like being alone. But I don't have the energy to go be with anyone. I can't whine to them. I can't be silent with them. I have to be New Aquaintence Jillian with All Sorts of Grand Things To Say.
Frankly, that bitch can shove it up her ass.
My roommate woke me up this morning, which I am still stewing about. It doesn't matter that it was nine o'clock in the morning. I don't care how reasonable an hour that is to her. I was in bed. I was asleep. And she and her friend were in the room, talking, as though it were two o'clock in the afternoon. It's not nice. It's not fair.
I'm debating between saying something to her, in a nice fashion, or partaking in the rare delight that is passive-aggressive behavior and making a fair amount of noise next Tuesday when I get up at seven.
We all know I only entertain notions of the latter, and may not even employ what little balls I have for the former.
What is to become of me?
I'm writing a book, but it's currently at a dead stand still. I'm madly in love, but it's currently out of my hands to do anything about it. I'm always planningplanningplanning and it's become impossible for me to livelivelive because of this.
I called the Student Health Center this morning. I can get on birth control (the shot) for thirty bucks a month. She can make me an appointment for September 9.
Who would ever have thought that my deciding to have sex would come down to whether or not I could afford it?
astera at 4:19 p.m.