1 June 2000

*I* am in a wonderful, hyped up, fab mood. This is good. :)

I really can't tell you what has spawned this random act of joy and cheerfulness. Perhaps it all started when I skipped down the stairs (almost falling I tell you--that would be bad.) out of the building; my very last math class ever. How nice. Okay, okay, so not really. I have math tomorrow. But it was my last math discussion class. And then next week I have my final, but as I was saying--let's be positive.

I did bad on my math midterm that I took yesterday--a 78%. C's are unacceptable. I have a 93% in that class, and I expect to get an "A". I'd really like that "A" I really need that "A"--because, let's be honest, I really don't know how things are going to turn out for me in Economics. So, let's say I manage to get A's in all of my other classes, three A's and one C wouldn't look that bad. I hated my Astronomy B-, I'd really like a "B". That would be so nice and pleasant and wonderful.

Enough about grades.

Real quick: Snatch has such pretty writing! Umm, I'm thinking, yeah. Oh, and I used to read this girl regularly, but her small box is so annoying to read that I stopped. Then today, I ran into just while doing some d-land surfing, and this entry was sooo good, i might just have to start reading her again! Go check 'em out!

BTW: Congrats to Hobbes--my OSU reader I'm assuming--who is graduating from this fine University this Friday.

There's no real reason for me to be here. I have no specific event to talk about. I am going home tonight to attempt some "haha" quality time with the Mom. Birthday's and all. I am beginning to resent my mother. I don't...like her very much. And I feel bad saying that. Because....I think she is a good mom, and she's just doing what she knows or thinks is best for me. But I don't like her.

She's not terribly unfair. She tells me "I love you" gives me the comforts I need and sacrifices her own wants for mine. I should appreciate her. As a mom, I would want to be a appreciated. But...I can say I appreciate her, and I think I do. But they feel like empty words. I feel like I just should say them, because that's the way I feel. But I still don't like her.

I don't want to hurt her. I don't want her to be disappointed in me. I love her. I love my mom. I don't show her I appreciate her. And I'm sorry. I'm not good with that. I hope...with my children, when i have them, that I am good with them. Because I'm not touchy-feely. I'm not good with gratefulness, or thoughtfulness. I don't think about your feelings ahead of time. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, Mom. I know...I have hurt you, and I don't mean to. And I know you know, that I don't mean to, but it still hurts you. And...I want to change, but I don't care enough.

I think I'm a brat. That's how I would define that behavior. I just....I've got that whole teen mentality going on. But mom, you influence me. All those times we get in arguments and I stormed off. I'd be crying in my bedroom. It's just important for me to stand up for something. Even if I know you're right.

But you're not always right. And I don't want to say the stupid thing here and say that I always am. Because I'm probably not. She's right most of the time. She should be....she's the "wiser, older..." Mom. But I still don't like you.

I don't want to share anything with you. I don't want to have comfy conversations, and tell you about the boys I like. I don't want to talk about school. I don't want to talk with you. I don't want to be with you, hang out with you. I don't think...yes, actually I do think it's something you have done. I think it is very much a "me" problem, not a "you" issue. But, I can't deny the fact that I don't like telling you things, because you criticize. You tell me what I should have done--even though there's nothing I can do about it now.

When I complain, I'm just venting, Mom. I don't want to hear solutions. I don't want you to sweep in and fix it. I just want you to listen. And you don't listen to me.

Oh, god. Am I crying?

I am. That's weird. I didn't know...I was thinking about it. I mean I have before. Mom. I just keep hurting you. And we keep on fighting. I don't like fighting. True love, is freedom. I need to be free, mom. Just let me free. You won't let me. You think you can confine me. Keep me in a box? It doesn't work that way. I resent you. It's not helping.

I'm glad for your values. You have taught me good things. I'm sorry if I'm not following them...in the way you hoped. You're lying about the Christian thing though, mom. Let's not even play it like you are one. There's no reincarnation in that deal, babe. So close, mom. We aren't close, Mom. Forgive me for the treatment I deal you. Forgive me for not seeing the bigger picture, cuz i'm sure there is one, and i just refuse to give it a look.

Why do I have a curfew?

I'm 19 years old. I may still be young, but you can't do this to me. It's not as if I'm going to stay out all night long, into the morning every night. Infact....I probably would almost never do that. I mean, what exactly am I going to do at home anyway? I'm not going to be out drinking, i'm not going to be out doing anything. I can't, I won't.

You wouldn't, you won't let me go to a late movie. You know I'm really going to the movies too. It's not about that you say. If I break the rules you can't trust me. But you don't trust me to do anything in the first place and that's why the rules are there. Free me, mom. Free me.

I don't want to go home.

I don't want to come home tonight. Pretend I care. Eat dinner. Give you a gift.

You know what I like the most about us? (Oh, I'm crying again...) I really liked watching all those movies with you. Remember? What is it--TNT? Black and white old films, really late into the night, at these strange hours. Or sometimes in the middle of the day. Both of us, sitting on the couch, or in separate chairs in the family room. Drinking ice tea. You maybe doing a cross-word puzzle. Me curled up in a corner, taking a sip every so often. I really liked that.

Maybe it's cuz we weren't talking.

Don't you ever wonder why I talk to dad and not you? Why I beg him not to tell you anything, because I don't like the way you react?

And mom, I'm so open, and willing. I'd tell you my life story. I would tell you every detail. I would call you when I was hurt. I would call you when I was happy. I'd call you to talk. But I can't. I won't. You won't let me. I don't want to hear your disappointment. I don't want to hear your criticism. I know...you compliment me to. When I've done good, you're always there with support, but I just...don't want to feel bad around you.

I feel bad around you.

And that's why I don't want to be with you. That's why I don't like you. I don't want to come home. I can't believe how much I am dreading leaving school. As much as i will miss friends and this lifestyle, I still at the top, dread being with you. I don't look forward to the fights.

I'm being dramatic. We don't fight...that much. It's just..enough that I notice. Enough that it starts hurting all around. Enough that it makes me unhappy that it's going on. And I take this total stand-offish position. I stand there, with a stony face, and let her yell, and then I run up there stairs, muttering 'F*ck it, I don't care' under my breath. I'm always right. It's easier that way. I'm sorry. I'd like to tell you, but it never seems to come out right.

And I bet...that when I'm a mom, I do the exact same thing. I resent that. I hope I'm not that. How else can you be? You're a mom. If only I could better understand you...and that you could understand me. I love you. Don't hurt me. I love you. I'm going to try to stop hurting you. I'm trying. See you tonight mom.

Love, Aglaia.