Don't Want to Say Goodnight

I think I'm good now. We'll see. I still miss you.

So today I've been going through my room figuring out what to keep and what to get rid of. And I stumbled across my history notebook from sophomore year.

What a nightmare. Most of it is not full of history notes, but of Lindsay notes. And not notes from Lindsay, notes to Lindsay. And not letter-notes to Lindsay, but sentences that she responded to in her own notebook because I was stalking her Latin class for most of the year and we'd "pass notes" by writing things in our own notebooks during class.

That girl, Jesus Christ.

There were all these euphemisms that we would just toss back and forth that I had completely forgotten about. "Poke" could mean anything from like, love, fuck, obsess over, talk to, and marvel at to your normal everyday generic poke. "Missing-toed" meant gay. That one's a little bit harder to explain.

Lindsay's mother did not like gay people. According to Lindsay, she thought they had "some kind of defect, like they were missing a toe." "Missing-toed" came to describe gay people because Lindsay was equally uncomfortable with it. So there are things in this notebook like "Wonder what Cy would think if he knew he'd been sitting next to a missing-toed person for the whole year" and "I mean, yes, I have a missing toe, but it's just who I am."

So there are all these things I said in this notebook, and none of her responses to them. And the things I said just sicken me. I was so...weak. And even now I find myself thinking "no wonder she hated me, I was pathetic." But these are notes from at least a couple months into the relationship, so by then...yeah.

But seriously. According to something I wrote, she told me I was beautiful and that it was almost enough to make her wish she was missing-toed. Jesus, fucking, Christ.

"Please tell me what I did. You sounded so angry and disappointed when you threw me out of your room."

"I miss you. I failed you, again. I tried. He just wasn't there. I guess I just need to be reminded now and then how unusual this is, for me to be able to do all these things with you. What you said this morning, you used to say that about me. And I still think about how I hurt you. I don't know when you want things. What I want is not important, because I want what you want. And I fail you so often. And I wish I could be enough for you. I wonder what I'd be like as a guy. Not just cue m as suddenly guy, but if I'd grown up one. You say I'm wonderful...would I still be, as a guy?"

And oh my god she had this whole thing about how she was going to sleep with my brother and my dad. And she tried to convince me she'd actually done it once. She tried to convince me she'd slept with one of the lecturers who came through. She had me stalk the guys she liked, or I had to be the guys she liked. And I just put up with all of it, I made myself enjoy all of it.

When I got back to my room after the Freedom election night I almost scared myself to death. I'd written out my speech on printer paper and then read it into the computer, and I'd left the page on my desk when I left. And when I came back, I almost had a heart attack because it looked so much like the notes she used to leave me. I'd come back from class and find her gone, with a note saying she wasn't ever coming back, or that she'd gone into the woods and I'd be sorry when someone found her body in the creek, or that she'd gone up to the bathroom with scissors.

Sometimes I feel like I should see her again just so I can tell her to fuck off to her face. Sometimes I don't want to know what would happen if I saw her again. Sometimes...who knows.

It's been said that I still love her. I guess. It was three years. Three years doesn't easily disappear. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had never met her, or if I had resisted her, but it's not given to us to know the might-have-beens. And in some ways I'm glad I had that experience because now I know what it looks like.

Anyway. I'm going to be at Steve's LAN party tonight, so. Bye.

Thought I'd rearrange my journal a bit for the summer...

New colors, new layout, new icons. Two of them may qualify for "stalkerish" at this point...but I like them... *pout* Just let me know.

In other news, I finished my applications to Black Hawk and Hawthorn Hollow today, but didn't get to mail them because everyone's working on the house. So we'll see if I have a job this summer. Well, we'll see if I have these jobs this summer, because I can't just lie around the house all summer and I can't just volunteer with the summer reading program either. Should've just done them earlier, but I didn't.

It felt good to write a poem yesterday. Now if only I could write actual songs instead of just lyrics and melodies.

So, Liz graduated today.

I didn't take a shower today, and probably won't get to because they painted the doors upstairs and we can't close them. Hopefully tomorrow.

I'm exhausted. I don't really know why. And the phone keeps ringing and it's giving me a headache.

In other news, I can play Maple Leaf Rag from memory again without screwing up too much.

Meh. I probably have to go and help out around the house now.

Why do I always get angry when my mother asks me to do things? I'm not really doing anything important, she just wants me to play with Shadow a bit (who seems to be doing better, by the way) and do the dishes. But as soon as she gives me that look and tells me to get off the computer, I get all resentful and mean. I don't spend enough time at home, I guess. I slide back into the person I've been at home for the last couple of years, the person who hates her mother and has no motivation. It's not really my home, I just live here. And I don't even really live here.

This place sucks me into a hole for some reason. All my motivation disappears, I get headaches, I sleep all day, I snap at my parents. Maybe there's just so much bad energy in here from all my family's fights. I mean, we've been here five years now, and in those five years my brother has changed schools four times and tried to kill himself at least three times, my parents have started legal proceedings for divorce three times and considered it at least three additional times, my parents fight all the damn time, my dad has moved out and moved back once, two of our dogs have died and one is sick... God. If only I knew anything about space cleansing.

And the whole house is full of paint fumes.

And I miss Liz. And I was already missing Kaitlyn. At least I'm relatively sure that they're happy, because they're together, even if there's other stuff that's not exactly optimal.

*bangs head on desk* Maybe I'll feel better with some honey.

I should do something to keep myself occupied. Writing the poem was good. I'm still reading my book and I've got more after that. I should re/start my webcomic, write the GV website, translate Loveless, draw erotic art, something.

Aaaaaaagh.

I'm so starved for cuddles that I can't stop petting my roommate.

Her hair is awfully soft and I can't believe I never noticed that before.

But still. Petting my roommate?

Almost bad as playing Minesweeper nonstop.

I even went out to the common room yesterday after the CWIT meeting when Hariklia and Alison and Lauren were in there and offered backrubs just because I wanted to touch someone. Nobody wanted one.

Probably just my fucking body making me fucking weird.


I can't believe Jodi gave me an A. What was she thinking? I mean, I thought I did a good job on those papers, if I'd written them for the class I would have expected an A, but I turned them in months late. But hey, why argue with an A?

Time to go curl up on the bed with apple juice and study, or translate manga, or read, or work on applications, or do sudoku, or read tarot. Something. I'll feel better later tonight or tomorrow when my insides stop trying to squeeze themselves out through my crotch and just be annoyed instead of miserable. I should take a shower later because I actually went out and bought tampons.

Aaaaaaaggh.

The book I'm reading is really good though. And She Was by Cindy Dyson. I admit I liked the cover, picked it up, saw the author and read "Aleutians" on the inside cover and bought it partly because I thought it looked good and partly because I thought she might be related to George and Freeman. She's not, but it's still a good book. When I finish it I guess I'll get back to the Tin Drum.

What am I going to do for books over the summer? Logistics must be worked out. If anyone wants me to write to them over the summer, because I don't know how much access to a computer I will have, email me your address.

The ball of angst in the pit of my stomach is lessening, making me less of a ball of angst myself. I'm still going to go curl up on the bed though, since it's 4:30 and I should do some work if I want to have a hope of doing anything other than work tonight and passing my exams tomorrow.