Okay, resolved: I am going to pretend Roachboy died. This will be the last entry where I mention him, except when I do explanatory flashbacks. It's no fun to bait people when they can't even be coherent anymore. However, I would appreciate it if Roachboy or his pet would refrain from signing me up for e-mail lists. I know it's you, and you don't want to go there.
I'd also appreciate it if he'd quit reading this fucking journal, so I can speak more freely in here (no, not about him). However, I've learned that miracles don't happen to people that God's trying to smash under his thumb.
On to more important topics. I forgot to mention that Dirk jams with a guy named Jason weekly now. He met the guy at work, and Dirk's basically teaching him the finer points of the instrument. I think they're supposed to get together today, actually. I haven't seen the guy in person yet, just heard him over the phone.
I went over to Katie's house last night, to talk and to watch The Truman Show. I only got halfway through the movie before I had to go home. I called Dirk from her house, and he was asking me about the money I've been saving up. He was a little irked when he found out that there was only the sixty dollars he'd given me.
Oops.
See, I didn't really have money for the guitar I got him for Xmas. I used the money I'd been saving after I got the abortion. Go figure. He calmed right down when I told him that, though.
Dirk said that Clinton came up with an utterly brilliant plan for testing prisoners for drug use. Oh, what happens if they test positive? Do they go to jail? What a stupid fucking idea. This is just so they can keep prisoners in jail for a long, long time, if they get caught in that catch-22.
America is just prison-happy. It's one of the fastest-growing industries in this country. Where my grandfather lives, they built a prison near the downtown area to re-vitalize it. Now that they've got the prison, people have jobs, the economy's picking up a bit. If you don't mind passing the prison every day as you drive down Main Street, you're set.
My old friend, insomnia, is back again. I got off the computer at my usual time, because staying online only makes it worse. Then I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, even though I ached from sleep deprivation. That kind of ache is unforgettable...it's as though there are strings attached to the major muscles in your limbs, chest, and neck that meet at a point in the upper part of your back. The pain feels exactly like someone pulling on these strings all at once.
I need a nap.
For breakfast this morning, there were eggrolls. This is unusual, but my mother was making them for my father's office party and had some extra. Yeah, we try to live healthy.
It's been much easier to get along with my mother now that she's accepted the idea of me moving out. She doesn't hassle me about much of anything, including going out on weeknights. For my part, I try to get in by ten or so on weeknights, so I can "get enought sleep", and so she doesn't worry.
With so few real problems, why do I feel like my life is falling apart? Must be time for medication.
I've just been so angry the past couple of days. Stuff has been eating away at me, stuff I'll probably never talk about here. The stuff you guys know about bugs me, too.
I'm not nearly as good at controlling it as I was. I can't internalize very well these days.
And, of course, no word from C-- as yet. Didn't I decide to give up yesterday? Didn't I proclaim for the world that I'd finally realized that things will never be right betwen us again, and it was time to move on? In novels, it would be now that he'd e-mail me....I've got to start admitting that my life is nothing like a novel.
Except perhaps Sweet Valley High for crackheads.
I don't think I'm going to write anymore before tonight, but I might surprise you. I've got a book I want to write, and I need to get my ass in gear on the timeline.
(3:00 pm) Well, maybe my life is like a novel. A little bit, anyway.
C-- e-mailed me, at...seven thirty EST or so. Which must have been 6:30 for him. Every time I do something stupid, like try to remind him of the way he used to be, I expect recriminations. I'm always wrong. The days when C-- would get angry at me and let me know it are long past. If I make him mad, he keeps it to himself. I don't think I made him mad this time, just sad.
i admit that i deserve to relive a memory of that which is but a shadow of my present self.
I'm just a complete sucker, aren't I?
Working full time is...interesting. I'd forgotten what complete assholes I work with. When I move out, it'll be easier. I can say this because I won't need to go out at night to see Dirk. He'll be right there. I'm not really worried about monetary issues. We'll survive just fine.
(3:50 pm) I just talked to Dirk on the phone. I'm going to visit him tonight (providing my mother doesn't do something special, like pitch a fit). He said he had a strange dream. In it, I was psychic....odd.
I am about ready to collapse.
Always remember: I love you all.