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Beautiful! Angie/guitar boy, seeing chris (?), James, loving God, self.

26 May 2000

I can't do this, I can't do this! exclaimed the girl.

Tossing her around, a soft a pillow, laughing with glee as she flies from one to the other. But she can't do this. She can't pretend she's not hurt. She is.

Want us to get you tomorrow night, they asked?

Yes.


Entrapment. Angie posed the question to the girl, her jealousy clear. Guitar boy, don't like you, honey, I thought. He wants a little aglaia, loving. But he won't get it, don't worry, he's beautiful, his music shines so clear. He makes me cry, I love his clear talent. He deserves to be heard, to be played across the waves of radio, into little girls hearts, boys' troubled dreams of unattainable ladies, in a boy's world, in a boy's world....

I told her I didn't know. Only to be fair. Right now it's easy for me to say he doesn't attract me, only his attraction to me does. But I'm easy, it's not his look, but his touch, of any touch that my body craves, I cannot turn away, totally lacking self-control, or any desire to apply it. And his music moves me. If I were alone with him, singing into my ears, I cannot trust myself.

But I won't see him again, I said. Angie, you sweetheart, your lovely hair, your droopy rolling up eyes, I'd like to kiss your forehead, and bring you close to me and we could laugh like old girlfriends. You were the sweet one. Kerrie was kind too, but so much older, so much cooler. She's like that to everyone, they say, but she's always been friendly.

But Angie, don't worry, I know you love guitar boy. He's yours I told her. I won't see you again, I told her. I won't see him again. Does it matter? Does anything matter?

He told me doesn't like you. He can't really stand you. You....you who go to him, to love him, and he gives you what you ask for, what you need. Your control, his lacking of self-control. Maybe we do have something in common....

But then Chris hops on, with her name. Was he there? Watching her type, watching the trap, that I escaped, that I passed? I still care for you Chris. I need you to disappear because there's no point going on with it now. I would be fine, but you had to press me. You pressed into me, all these buttons, all these colorful words, and sweet phrases to my ears, letting them sink into me, ponder.

You said I could hurt you. What is this? Passing me along to guitar boy? You were so jealous of him. You saw me dreaming into his words, his lyrics, his song, that night. The night I gave myself to you. Because it was you I chose, and you still. I don't want guitar boy. I don't want you either. I do, but not under these conditions.

I'm hanging out with everyone (Chris and his gang)tomorrow. I don't know what will happen. Probably nothing. I'd like to see frat boy Jeff. Maybe even rather see him. Can I be here? Going from one guy to the next, how James disapproves. It's not like that. Jeff, he's so normal. So typical. I haven't been with someone so normal. So regular. So average, in the sense of saying hello, passing phone calls. This whole step, this whole stage, of courting, unknowing. Does he like me? Does he ask himself now, why he ever called. Does he like my lips, my kiss, his hands around me?

I do. I joked and stopped him behind me in his hallway, and he slipped his hands around my waist, my hips. But took them away--too soon? So slow. We go so slow. It's good. I want more, I want life, I want everything.

"I want to love you more." I want to know you more, that's the line, how did I forget? I sing it to God, in my favorite youth group song.

My best friend; leaving for the summer, away. I can't go back to the youth group I cried into the telephone, my selfishness, what will happen this summer? I'm scared...almost. Not really, but curious. Curious and almost defeaten. I don't want to go home. I don't want to go to work. I don't want to give away my freedoms, my sense of false responsibility that I give myself here at school.

Skipping class. Never, but today, I did. A conscious decision. I'm glad I did it. Homework, and a quiz I could not handle, did not understand. Swallowing pride, asking for help is the hardest thing for me. Went to his office hours. He wasn't there. Well fuck you too. I tried. I dry cried the night before over math problems, that I used to so clearly understand. Not anymore. It can't happen now. Not with one more week of school to go, and then my finals to take.

I can't break down. The future is right ahead of me.

James said he would consider suicide. How long have we been talking? Where did I meet him, how did he find me? Yahoo classifieds? We used to pass "dailies". One or two emails a day. Filled with details and ramblings of each other's life. A diary, but better. One that responds, that aids, that questions. He's seen me grow. He sees me complain. He's seen me with boys. He understands, or at least has been open to hear and read into my mind unlike anyone else.

He hates me. He loves me and despises me. James does. He's jealous of my drama. He wallows in his attempts to win girls. He's creepy. He's upset I won't meet him. I don't like the way you dress. I don't like the way you complain either. I don't want to see you, I would be like the Portrait of Dorian Gray.

The world sees my youth, my innocense, the projected image that I like to give them, and for James reveals the woman with wrinkles, with lies, with secrets. I must be so terribly ugly to him. My self-absorbtion, my never ending, self-analyzing, selfish, ego living, me me me.

She's a part of me. I embrace me. I embrace God. I embrace the world. I love you. I love everything. Hate? I don't know, i don't understand. I'm one step closer, cuz I'm willig to say that everything escapes me. That sometimes I fall back into a cascade of thoughts and images and i lose myself to something I can't explain, helpless to give, because I've surrendered.


I desire peace. I desire goals. I wish for you to be happy. I wish for you to know. Whatever knowing is.

I desire beautiful music that makes me cry, and I want friends who can take me into them and make me laugh. I want cold wind to whisper through my body, on these hot nights in my dorm, and I want self-expressions and fears to be lifted up and out.

I want to tell people that I love, that I love them. Because Anais has given me a grander knowledge of love. There may be love within my mind, the idea I've created, but it's that wonderful namaste feeling, that washes over me sometimes, when I give it up to God, when I talk quietly with someone, and I want to share it.

I wish I could share God. I don't have one person I can give Him too. Not the way I view it, not the way I feel it. And if these diary entries are any show of my feelings for Him, my love for God, it's so....hard, I just need the fellowship, it's everything, She's everything, I want to be everything. I want to explode, like a star, and shower down on the earth.

I want to write a novel and change minds. Expectations breed unhappiness, so I expect nothing. But it doesn't leave me without my hopes. I hope for something grand. I will be something that I appreciate, something I respect.

Every action i take, I take with a conscious knowing. Even though, it may appear, i'm on the go, and going with no direction.

I love Bjork. She has a lovely voice. So imaginative. Jeff likes Bjork. I think that's cool.






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