12-4-03 "The War of Northern Agression."

To be honest, we live in the south. There's just no getting used to it, it haunts me every day. The fact that people say "y'all" and eat grits regularly gives me nightmares. The fact that I live near a college that claims its motto is "NOVA: The N stands for Knowledge," it all makes me wish I were home. Now, let me paint a picture. This is home:



I'm a great painter aren't I? Notice I didn't day "aint." And notice just how beautiful the sky is. Now imagine looking at that every day. Started saying "you all" didn't you? And, unlike some people, I want to be near what makes me happy. Watching that sunset makes me happy. And if it snows enough to cancel school, I would have the possibility of being near my happy place. Like they say in Hook, think happy thoughts and you can fly. That is my happy place, and that's where I have happy thoughts. And gosh damnit, I like flying. Well, actually I hate flying, but I love taking the train. I love arriving in Boston and feeling like a human being again, instead of cattle. In New England we herd cattle, we don't act like it. So, now if you'll excuse me I need to listen to more Jesus Jones and pray for snow. I suggest you do too, because not only do we have cattle in New England, we have snow mobiles and hunting rifles.

12-12-03 "You'd think my tears were those of joy..."

Right now I am just so pissed off I could kill someone. But not just anyone, my dad. Of course there are laws against that, but I digress. So I come into the kitchen with a couple of dishes and such, after eating a slice of pizza in my room because it was either that or sit with my parents who talk to each other about work and yell about the injustice of America during Jeopardy, and my dad points at the dishwasher. Now, normally this is a sign to "put your dishes in the dishwasher," and I normally ignore it and leave stuff on the counter. But, because I wanted to rent a movie later, I felt I like I should at least try to be nice. And so I open the dishwasher, pull out the top rack and am about to put my cup in when my dad, after swallowing his last bite of pizza, screams at me because the dishwasher was just run and the dishes are clean. Well how the hell am I supposed to interpret silent hand signals because you can't finish a slice pf pizza? Which, by the way, you shouldn't be eating because you're so fat that you can barely fit through a doorway. I'm just so sick and tired of being yelled at, at having people trample on my dreams. No, not trample, stomp on, run over, beat, and kick into a submissive pulp. Especially now that I'm no longer 12 and my dream is to meet N'SYNC. I'm sick and tired of being called fat, ugly, and stupid. I'm sick of hearing dumb blonde jokes and being laughed at when I mention that I have friends. Somedays I just want to break every dish in the house and run away. But I know that wouldn't be fair to my mom, who as well as trying to be a crappy parent, is also a controlling, paranoid, psychotic freak who believes that M&Ms will one day be the death of her. And I'm also tired of being made fun of in front of my friends. We once went to family therapy to figure out exactly how dysfunctional we were on a scale of 1 to 10, and I've got to tell you that we are most definitely a 10. But we'll never know, because we never stayed long enough to finish the sessions. The one thing I can remember though, is that the only thing my brother and I ever asked of my dad was to be nicer and to not yell and scream as much. So not only does my dad beat his children, he also breaks promises. And if there's anything worse than physical punishment, it's mental abuse.

So I sit here, in tears, because I don't think that I should have to deal with this. And I don't think that anyone in the world should have to deal with my dad. I hate everything he says about my friends, I hate everything he says about me, and I hate everything he says about people he doesn't even know. Like the clerk at the grocery store being overweight, or a waiter, or a hairdresser. I don't even know why people put up with him. I guess it's because they don't hear the things he says behind their back.

12-14-03 "Hey, I look crazy, why not sound like it?"

Okay, I'll admit it. I talk to myself a lot. A lot, a lot. And as crazy as I sound, there's a reason for it. No one ever talks to me about the things I want to talk about, so in order to feel like I've been listened to, I make up conversations with imaginary people who have the same interests as I do. Who like talking about movies and television, or the music that I listen to or how overbearing my parents are. Sure, I've talked to people about these things, but then I feel guilty because I can look into their eyes and know that they're bored with what I'm saying and I've taken up their time. I realize now that I spent most of my summer becoming culturally literate. I used to watch E! and be confused about who they were talking about. "Cameron Diaz who?" Now I can sit back in my chair and say, "Oh yeah, she was good in Being John Malkovich, but she was pretty lousy in There's Something About Mary, and sort of average in The Sweetest Thing." Of course now that I've become culturally literate, I have no one to talk to about these things. There are some moments though, when someone will come up to me and ask me what's going to happen on Gilmore Girls tonight, and I just feel so happy because I finally know what they're talking about and I can respond. I'm tuned in and it feels great. But now those moments are few and far between, so I resort to conversations with myself. I've also found that I have less of a connection with people I've known for a long time, than with newer acquaintances. And I certainly don't want to lose those friends ships, so I try to be my old self. Someone who had no idea what happened way out there in Hollywood.

The old me had very few friends, and spent absolutely no time socializing or at least pretending to socialize. I would go through the day feeling bored I had pretty much no one to talk to. Well I can now tell you with all certainty that the new me is bouncing off the walls with socialism. Nothing makes my day more than to feel needed by the scores of friends I now have. And now really needed, but appreciated. When someone calls me over to talk to them or includes me in something I wouldn't normally do. It's just nice to be thought of. To be thought of as an actual person and not some loser who hangs out by herself. Sure, I like my alone time, but you can only tell the voices in your head that you don't like Ben Affleck so many times before it just gets redundant.