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Not that YOU're reading, but this one is for YOU
2002-12-22 - 12:18 a.m.


Today was uneventful. The most random sentence I ever heard out of my dad's mouth was uttered this morning: "A friend of mine is coming over with a Kimball organ this morning- he doesn't want it anymore." So now I have an organ, for whatever strange reason. It's got those footy pedal things and everything. Two years of college piano class does not qualify me to use footy pedal things. But there are books with it so maybe I'll learn one of these days.

My new favorite word is "whatsofuckingever". Try to use it in a sentence. Like this: "It doesn't matter whatsofuckingever what the hell I do because nobody cares anyway."

Haha. As you can tell I am full of Christmas spirit. It all just seems so empty and meaningless this year. Is this what adulthood is like- losing every shred of joy you once had in the holidays, yet being forced to put on a festive face for the younger siblings and little cousins and that sort of thing?

*************

Ok now, forgive me for asking for forgiveness, but I just want to warn you all that there is a large rant/depressive mopefest ahead.

I would like to address this rant to no one in particular. No, wait, actually there is someone. But the point is, I highly doubt that someone knows they are a someone.

Well, I guess I am a foolish, silly, stupid, little girl. Attachment for me takes so long to happen. But then, oh but then, it takes hold too deeply. Attempting to remove an object of attachment from my tiny little world is like trying to chop down a redwood with a butterknife. Nearly impossible to do. Only time will finally bring that tree down. But some trees are so big and so old, with roots that grow so deep and giant trunks that will take years to get through with that pitiful butterknife. I do my best. I've never been pegged as a quitter. I work hard with that butterknife. But the tree is still standing, and will be for the forseeable future.

You led me to believe for an instant or two that I was not the things I most fear becoming: too quiet, too boring, and too annoying. That maybe I mattered as a person. That maybe I mattered to you. For a night here or a night there, instances that were probably nothing to you, I thought I did indeed matter. I've never known a nice, funnier, more talented, or more wonderful person than you.

Though through forced isolation and much melancholic self-reflection, I have discovered in these past months that I must be everything I feared that I was. Too quiet, too boring, too annoying. All my life I have been pushed aside as soon as more interesting people enter the room. As the terminally shy wallflower, I grew accustomed to this phenomenon. But I can't accept it from you. I have enough shortcomings in my own life to deal with. I know I should be in school now but again my twisted mind turns you ignoring me into punishment for not being in school. Ridiculous, I know. This is all ridiculous, especially the fact that I am writing this all down after such a long time spent quietly miserable. It sounds silly but if you said everything was going to be okay I really would believe you.

So now I sit for hours and days and weeks and months, staring at a computer screen, listening to the same sad songs over and over. I get frequent urges to pour a bottle of vodka down my throat, go outside and rub my face raw against the concrete, and fall asleep in the middle of the street, just waiting for a truck to run me over or miss me or maybe my lost guardian angel to come along and take me to the psychiatric ward where I can be strapped into a bed in a padded room, and be drugged up into a state of blissful numbness.

Perhaps I have a gift for blowing things out of proportion, but I assure you this is a symptom of my poor, shy little brain. Maybe I'm imagining the constant empty ache I feel in the lower third of my foolish little heart. The grayish tinge to the world is probably only a normal part of life in December in the Northeast. Even if you were actually reading this, I can imagine you're probably laughing your ass off at my stupidity. It might have all been some elaborate game but my stupid "sheltered" mind does not understand these things.

My inner 12 year old wants to pass this all off by saying "Guys are dumb" and going to the mall to buy silly crap from Claire's and a gumball from the giant gumball machine and make life all well and good again. But my 22 year old self realizes that that would indeed be petulant and childish, because you are certainly the least "dumb" person I know.

I think I will conclude by saying that I wish I could just know. Just to know, that's all. Underneath my miserably quiet exterior I'm screaming aloud for a reason to go on. I'll accept things and set to work with my butterknife if I just had a reason to do so. I would just as easily, no, probably more easily throw my butterknife away with just cause.

**************

Thank you, diaryland, for letting me post such a thing. Things have been eating away at my soul since the beginning and I'm just now posting them. Well, New Year's is soon. New year, new leaf, right?

Tomorrow I'm leaving for my mom's house. In case I don't write till then, but I probably will Monday night or thereafter, have a very Merry Christmas, or simply a very Happy Wednesday if you prefer. Happy Belated Hannukah, Happy Early Kwanzaa and Boxing Day, and Happy Everything Else too.

Now I will go pack and try to turn off my continually looped sad songs, in favor of Christmas carols.

**************

"So in the end/I'll be what I will be. No loyal friend/was ever there for me."

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