Insensitivity = Ignorance
I can't think of anything more beautiful than a Prelude.
My house got blown away by the hurricane, and now I live next to the tree. Not in the tree--just next to it. We thought it would have been sweet to build a home out of flowers, but now our nest has been distributed equally over the roofs of my neighbors. They've cleaned all other debris by now, but I told them I like the way the petals look when the sunlight hits them, and I don't think they have the heart to take that away from me. One good thing that came of this is that the hurricane swept my mother away, so I won't have to deal with her anymore. Avante! Good riddance! I've spent my time mostly with Brandon. It has been priceless. We went to the grocery store and bought food from an isle with Indian food. We purchased Mate soda. It has no aftertaste. I cooked him vermicelli and he called me a butter nazi. We watched Edward Scissorhands. We had a great time together. I read Breakfast of Champions the next day. I loved it. I may need to read it again to understand the purpose of Dwayne Hoover's character. Next up is Slaughterhouse Five. I spent more time with Brandon, taking pictures, dining, and not being able to let go. The Chinese BBQ accross the street from Viet Garden on Colonial has excellent, affordable food. I reccomend the beef. I am anxious to take a trip to the market next door again. On the subject, while having dinner at Planet Hollywood (in a state of anger--worst restaurant of all time), I learned that the lead singer of A Flock of Seagulls(Mike Score) lives on a small road that intersects with mine. That is the coolest piece of information I've recieved in a while. And also on the topic of things I hate, I watched that movie Elephant, which I had already predicted would be retarded--but I had no idea. That movie was a complete waste of film, and nothing more. There is no beauty to it. It is a movie about something tragic, but not unique, without any content at all. You do not get to know any characters. Fuck that movie. Fuck rain, too. I want to play outside. My boyfriend is the only person near my age that I've spent time with since The Velvet Teen. It would be nice I could meet more people to call me. I could use a friend. All I want is a nice setting, to talk and to listen. I would like to meet people who need that, too. I suppose because of my brain chemicals, every night I randomly get upset about an overwhelming feeling of heartbreak in my chest. I cry and cry and cry, sometimes feeling like I hadn't ever cried that hard before. Sometimes I will think of the lack of joy in my youth, and sometimes I will not think of anything. It has no trigger and comes in waves all night. Truthfully, it has gotten to the point where I haven't been able to write an entry before now, because when the pain is at its peak, it's as though my hands are unable to function. My family does not have the money to send me to talk to someone for 200 dollars an hour, so all I can do is hope for the best and that one day soon I will have enough money to make the pain stop, and that until then I can surround myself with interest and love to keep me "occupied", to say the least. Of course, it gets more frightening every day, and I start to think irrationally, but what's a life between between friends? Actually, between me and the rest of the world. After three years, or longer, of dealing with this as a sickness, one starts to get tired. I am just exhausted. Not sad.
If I had two wishes, I'd wish for health and a friend to call.
Here is a strike between your knees.