hildeguardog's Diaryland Diary


Sell My Old Clothes, I'm Off To Heaven

Yeah, just when I had it all figured out. Don't get me wrong, I still do; I just get really scared thinking about how much different my thought process will be when I see that there is no way that I have come to grips with all this. You can ask anybody who knows me and they'll all give you the same answer, granted you ask the right question, maybe more than once, and give them a little time to think. I do not know how to express my emotions. I can't show that I'm grateful or enthralled, or even sad, hurt, or hungry.

if it's not stupid, it's more of the same. i'm too tired to care, we're too busy to think. so let's sit back and laugh and watch the ship sink. the hull and the bow and the smokestacks disappeared and we watched it go down with a streaming bronx cheer.

Those are the clearest lines of that song(Lawrence Arms - Boatless Booze Cruise(Part 1)), and they can pretty clearly explain my attitude towards school, people, situations, and really anything else. Like that one episode of Chappelle's Show; I am the equivalent to Dave Chappelles' Oscar the Grouch.

fuck it

I've given the old 'fuck-it' approach and decided that depression is stupid, and just something that I am not. Realist, or whatever you could categorize me as, or even not, I think most of the stuff I "lack motivation for" is actually what I'm using my common sense towards. Of course I know the consequences of failing Geometry. I know that I have wasted hours of sleep, internet time, fresh air and socializing to wake up and go to that class each morning, which cut off about a month short of the school year. (I also know that I should find a new situation in comparison to me growing up, but that works for now.) A part of me cares that I wasted time, but a bigger part of me doesn't. I had to learn some way. I'm almost glad that I'll have to take it over. Ok, fine, I'm not glad, but when I force optimism upon myself I see that I made no friends for the first 50 minutes of almost every day of my life as a sophomore. Taking it again will maybe force a few friends into my life. I'm hoping so. But about friends: It's not that I feel the need to have more friends, or even people, in my life. With me, I'm too scared to be needy. I could handle having one or two friends if I was really close to them. What I couldn't handle, though, is my conscience that gets overly excited and tells me that I'm weird if I hook on to people. God knows I don't want people thinking I'm weird, which is why I'm shy, hyper, and also why I don't display my emotions anymore. Shit, I don't even show physical pain when it's real. So really, I'll suffer as long as I let myself.

They say that not letting out your emotions is unhealthy, and that suppressing any hard feelings will only make it seem like they've gone away, and it will all build up until you explode. Snap. Pop. I don't know who they are, but I know it's been said. I've heard it before. I don't feel anything building up. I can't see myself blowing up and telling everybody what I really think of them. Besides, I don't get openly mad at people unless I'm joking. I only yell at my younger brothers because I know them well enough. I yell at them so they know they're bothering me, even when I know yelling won't stop them. My voice means nothing to them anymore, though, and they even mock me when I try to initiate any kind of authority... and I couldn't hit them. Maybe if they were disciplined more appropriately, or even guided a little better. No, not happening: you see, Dad has depression. I could've sworn he'd been at work every day this week, working harder than ever on some big case that he didn't have time to think about. I was hinted at what was really going on last night when he handed me a 10 and told me to make it last a while. I was driving to Potbelly's from Trader Joe's with my mom and two younger brothers when I was told. My mom asked if my dad had been home all day. I told her no, because he usually says something when he comes home. Will, second-youngest, had answered my mom's same question about an hour earlier but was reminded of the truth and wanted to bring about a more honest vision of the situation for everyone. He said that Dad did come home, asked them a few questions, then went to bed. He's been in bed the better part of this past week and it sucks. He doesn't play catch with Henry anymore, or come to dinner to keep up his usual humor with Will, a humor I never caught on to. Jesus Christ, he doesn't even talk to me in that angry what-did-I-tell-you kind of way that he used to when he would find out that Mindy and I were in my room together. I'm kind of dissappointed, to be honest. My mom's talks don't even compare. My mom's are more serious, whereas everything my dad says is really, in the end, just one big idle threat. He's a joke to all my friends. it's ok though, or something, because we all talk about our parents. I don't know how serious everyone else is, but I know how serious I can be. And back to my fuck-it attitude: serious can be a hilarious word. I struggle to find a passion of my own because I give up on things too quickly. I laugh when I hear the word 'serious'. Usually I don't share the laugh with anyone else, but I hear it every time. Every time. It is always a nervous laugh. Always. How can you be serious about something, or someone, when you know you may be dead within 10 minutes? "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow you may die." That is a philosophy of which I don't remember its origin. Shouldn't that be my philosophy because I am under the "dead at any time" pretense? Why haven't I started skipping school entirely and just having fun? And what are my morals still doing here?

In a family with a natural inclination towards mediocrity, why am I so unbalanced? Physically I look fine, but nothing out of the ordinary. Athletically I can compete, but only to a certain level. I can learn and become good at a sport pretty quickly, for the most part, but my body hits a wall once I reach a certain point, or peak. It's not my peak, really. I can feel that if I didn't something differently I'd break through and be able to keep going until I would become absolutely magnificent at said sport. Or instrument. Maybe this is where an "attitude adjustment" should be taking place. If I had a more positive, less death-infested attitude, more confidence would follow. Right? With more confidence I could say that I don't care what people think of me, and I could mean it. I can say that right now, and I do, but I don't always mean it. When I'm completely comfortable, which is very rare, I am invincible. Well, until I'm shot down by some arrogant prick who smells me as his own. I would do the same, though. I can be a real dick, sometimes. Ask Aaron, especially, or Micah. They could tell you how I really am. But while you're at it, ask them why they let me come back to them. Or even if it was them that came back to me. I'd like to know. Really. I am not one for keeping up good relationships with people. You can ask Mindy about this, too, but give it a few months-- she doesn't hate me yet. Maybe she still likes me because she doesn't know me, because I don't let any emotion whatsoever slip through my lips. She knows how I feel about her, which is basically it. I regret that. oh it hurts to always have to be honest with the one that you love If Megan had time to listen, I'd tell her everything. Same with John, but we don't talk since he came home last. There are certain people that I can tell everything to. The kind of person Ms. Murphy told us about. She described a musician that has it, and "it" was control over the audience; someone that could go on stage and not even be ready to play quite yet, but already has the audience waiting for something-- something that's a complete mystery to them, only not. It's just music, they've heard all the chord progressions before, and over and over and over again by bands claiming to be different. They're waiting for something more than an opening band or a friend's band or a band that they've heard just one album of. They want that feeling that you get when your mind is on exactly the same not as the music playing; like music you cry to but you don't know why. [June 19th- House of Blues-- The Shins play Saint Simon. everybody contributes during the la la la, la parts. ::Enters Heaven::] You can get lost in music like that and come out with more direction than you thought possible. I want that direction and that clear-headedness and that bliss, but I want it forever, especially if it's in someone else. That's a best friend, I think. Something I don't have.

[Edit] Ok, honestly, don't I seem like the kind of person who doesn't think this much? I'm basing this off of my own experience. I cam across Luke Roeschley's Xanga a couple weeks ago. I knew he had one but this time he had written about something other than his day. I was shocked, almost. I don't even remember what he said, but it served as a big self-centered slap in the face. I felt ridiculous for all of the implied assumptions I had given, and still give, to anyone and anything I come in contact with. I'm not as perceptive as I thought I was. I had no idea Luke was capable of having a bad day. He's always got that buzz lightyear-style grin on his face like he's being paid to breathe fresh air. People think that of me, right? It kills me when Mike, or Chris, and anyone tells me that there's nothing wrong with being the funny guy. Or a funny guy, even. I don't want to be one, though. I don't fit that persona and I'd make a horrible comedian. My sarcastic humor is my way of expressing anger, even if it has absolutely nothing to do with the person I'm joking around with. That is along the lines of why such a foggy representation, or silhouette, is all that can be seen of me through the eyes of someone like Aaron, or Micah. Why don't I see more people worrying about an honest image? I can't really be the only one with lies draped smoothly over their bones. I can't be alone on this.

4:54 a.m. - Friday, Jun. 25, 2004


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