am bad, irresponsible child.

i write far more often than i clean.
i do everything far more often than i clean.
so here i go, writing again. satan's making my place in hell as we speak.
::shrugs::

so i found this that i wrote in my car on the way to molly's casa (of course i got lost again, but i am the champion backtracker of the world, so it's all good. and yes. i just said "it's all good.") the other night:

12/17/03 5:35pm

I haven't cried in a long, long time.
I mean really cried, like the puffy-cheeked, tear-stained, red veiny eyed, animal hiccoughs, nose running down your face, saliva strands stretching across your lips kind of bawling you don't see in movies.
And I don't know when the next time will be. I want to, oh I want to, but I really just don't have enough time in the day. Or a place. I guess it'll just have to wait.
For now I'll have to make due with the humiliating tears streaming down my tightly drawn cheeks and lips and hooded eyelids. No noise. No red. Pure emotion literally spilling out over the top of my heart after combusting beneath the reinforced steel that is my pride.

...so yes. i wrote it and drove despite not being able to see the road for the stubbornly unspilled liquid gathering in my eyes.

all because i'm terrified of my future and no one believes me.

...and wow. that sounded.... emo? is that the word i'm looking for? whiny? self-indulgent? maybe.
eh, it's a diary. i'm supposed to be self-indulgent.

~~~~~

and now fast-forward to random unrelated strain of thought as i was cleaning out the bathroom:

i have a friend.

yes, a friend. i know you're all shocked. but that's not my story.

i have a friend. a very good, funny, outgoing friend, who, two years ago, i would have loved to just follow around and watch and laugh at his antics and be a part of his inner circle of good friends. two years ago i did.
but something changed last year, something that no one can quite put a finger on, even now, long after the bitterness has washed away with the refreshing summer sun.
regardless, there was a split. a rift. a jarring break in reality that shoved itself right down the middle of the group of people i had grown to take comfort in and love. suddenly there were loyalties, secrets, stupid drama belonging not in real life but some low-quality, lower-budget soap opera on Lifetime

...not that there are any high-budget, let alone high-quality soap operas on Lifetime, but i'm writing a metaphor. deal with it.

as the gap widened, suddenly i mistrusted my closest friendships and they mistrusted mine. we all changed. it made us uncomfortable. it sucked.

but this year. this year we have grown into the changes. a lot. and we are rid of much of what was the problem. because, to be honest, many of our problems graduated.

with time and space, things are normalish. we are all different. all less naive, less reactionary, and, hopefully, more or less mature.

something is different.

two years ago i was perfectly content to follow this person's every whim and gladly. i got a great friendship with a wonderful, caring, funny person in return.
but now i've grown. my personality has grown. with his friendship and unwitting guidance, i've become a stronger person. i've learned that exuding confidence is everything, whether it be real or not. i've learned going all-out makes for all that much more fun, comfort in physical closeness is a gift not an enemy, and being authoritatively loud is the only way to be heard in a crowd. i've learned from the best, and, more importantly, the best of friends.

but now it doesn't always fit. i don't always feel like following or watching or giving in. i don't always want to wait my turn and use the cards i'm dealt. sometimes i just want to be on an equal playing field, and it saddens me that we can't do that without ever-so-softly butting heads.

maybe i'm still biased. maybe i'm still bitter. but i don't think so. i think i'm just sad. i think i just miss my friend.

and i think it's two o'clock in the morning and i need to go to bed.

i'll read this in the morning and erase it.

ink :: graphite