Okay, I'm going to write this now, even though I know I'll suffer from lack of sleep. Even though it will only make the fatigue headaches and the heroin-addict-dark circles under my eyes just that much worse. I'm not even what could be called tired right now, though it's 12:45 a.m., and I've been up since 5:30 a.m..
I miss C--. I really do. There's just no getting around it. I wish he'd e-mail me, or something. It's hard to just give up when I remember a time when he'd tell me I was one of the special few--not like the rest of the world. That my words touched him, when he'd been cynical for so long. He's one of the few people who thought I was special, who knew about everything bad (and I do mean everything) and accepted it. Accepted it. Didn't expect me to do tricks, didn't regard me as an oddity. I only know a few people who see me that way, and I always mourn when I lose them. I'm mourning now. I know, somewhere inside me, that even if C-- writes me back tomorrow or the next day, he doesn't think as highly of me as he used to. It won't ever be the same. I became just another one of the human population to him, I think.
I sound completely pathetic--poor infatuated fool. I'm not. He was the only person I found in the world who was like me, and I managed to fuck up somehow. He reawoke the sleeping sociopath in me, taught me to accept her as a part of myself, then---what? Got bored? Had too many of his own problems? I don't know. I realize lately that I was the one who put most of the effort into our odd friendship. Isn't that always how it is with me?
To the girl who clicked on the link and e-mailed Ken: I want to thank you. You know who you are. Unfortunately, Ken insists that it was my best friend, Katie, who e-mailed him, and I cannot seem to disabuse him of the notion, try as I might. So, I'm afraid your efforts will exist in anonymity, save for my knowledge. But I thank you. You know who you are.
We spent the evening with Deb and her boyfriend. I don't know his name. I'm not even going to try, because I know I'll probably get it horribly wrong. We hung out at the ChiChi's at Fair Oaks Mall. It was alright, but I was tired, bruised, and felt stiff.
I got a raise at work today...about time. I've only been working there as a Top Secret Receptionist for a year!! Dirk looked at a room for rent today. He might go for it, but he wants to shop around a bit first, you know?
Ken's response to my journal was "why". I shall not even lower myself far enough to answer that. However, there's a fair amount of stuff in here that he never knew (like about Dirk and I), and that makes me nervous. I'd forgotten about some of what I wrote. I talked to him online...he was pleasant enough. 'Course, he might as well be. I've still got all his stuff.
Sometimes I'm afraid I won't be able to pull all of this out from the flames...that I'll fail, miserably. Then what?
I found myself so angry at Dirk tonight that I was about to tell him I wished he'd die. For nothing. Because he was ten minutes late, and I didn't like the way he looked at me when he got in the car. I'm so glad I managed to keep my mouth shut. It was like the rage was a dancing thing in my head, just spinning faster and faster. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I'll be able to control it.