07 February 2003 - 12:14 am
terminal.

tonight's music brought to you by the wallflowers. "letters from the wasteland" which is a great song. and for some reason i am completely unable to type right now. i haven't a clue why.

and now it's norah jones. "come away with me / in the night" and i should really stop entering in this fucker.

tonight i wandered around with destiny and her brand new digital camera. it was fun. i've not really connected with destiny a lot before. i mean, once or twice, sure, but it was relaxed and awesome, even though the cold created a numbness spreading through most of my body, like a viscous prison from the inside-out. we stopped by her room for awhile, after visiting the gashlycrumb tinies' playground behind the big machine room and the department of facilities & management, etc.

that was all good, and i was enjoying myself. and this may or may not be stupid, but it stopped being such a good time when i came back to my room and wandered down to the quad. where jason and casey were. i haven't yet mentioned that i bought a jacket - made of ... some sort of leather, i think, and i enjoy it quite thoroughly. have had quite a few comments on it, actually, and it's kind of thrilling honestly. a little vain of me. slightly snickering at myself as i write this. "you look gay tonight," jason says.

"what?"

"you look good tonight." pause. "i was joking. just kidding, you know?"

at which point i swiftly lost all ... mood. sounds stupid, and this is only me being honest, because i don't know. matt says i use this thing too often as a means of indirect communication, and i agree, but fuck it, you know? i was going to go to the gym tomorrow morning, at 11ish, but then i started thinking about it. why do i attach such significance to such an idiotic event? because i know it'll make me feel better? because ..

(random)

tonight i feel silence like some sort of creature crawling down my throat and grasping my vocal cords. i hate how i'm furious in bottled-up ways, and that there's something cold inside of me that rages but i can't harness it. i'm researching xeroderma pigmentosum. the director of my show still hasn't found a jeremy yet. he called me to ask if i knew anyone who was interested ... what would i say, exactly? "hi, i'm a show, and i was wondering if you'd like to play my gay lover? thanks."

jason & casey are sleeping i think? or not. someone just got up. i have to get up tomorrow morning at 8ish. they're going downstairs now i think. "goodnight" i hear mumbled. who cares. it'll pass, i think.

this diary has been nothing but shit and stupidity. (feelin' the same way all over again / singing the same lines all over again / don't matter how much i pretend) thanks norah jones. (so many times i wonder where i've gone / and how i found my way back in / i look around awhile for something lost / maybe i'll find it in the end / and i'm feelin' the same way all over again)

"you look gay"

i fucking hate this. fucking hate it. "it doesn't matter even if you are," matt says, "it doesn't matter."

BUT IT DOES. and i'm NOT. and it's my CHOICE to be this way. "the more you play a role the more real it becomes"

FUCK YOU WORLD.

FUCK YOU.

(later : impetuousity ... i should learn to wait and clear up situations before i vent about them in this journal. i guess. in any case, it's all cleared up. a simple e-conversation. and some bible reading, to calm. proverbs. song of solomon? i don't know. i like the bible.)

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